She was afraid theyd take him back
The first time I saw him, he sat pressed against the wall. No barking, no begging, no approach. Just sitting, his nose buried in the corner. The other dogs leapt, stretched their paws through the barssome whined, others spun in circles. But him? Not a sound.
Hes been here a long time, said the volunteer. Eight years. Came in as a pup and never left. Twice he was taken, twice he was returned. Once after a day, the second time after a week. Didnt work out. Quiet. Doesnt play. Doesnt seem to care.
I stood there, hands clenched in my pockets to stop them shaking.
Whats his name?
First it was Buddy. Then Rex. Now we just call him by the name on his card: Archie. Though I doubt he cares. Only perks up at the sound of a food bag.
I wasnt sure why Id come. The silence after Mums death had grown unbearable. The flat echoed with nothingnessno footsteps, no life. Just the kettle in the morning, the radio in the kitchen. And the emptiness.
Friends suggested I get somethingfish, maybe. A parrot, even. Instead, I went to the shelter.
And there he was.
Could I try? I asked hesitantly.
The volunteer nodded. Ten minutes later, we stood by the exithim on the lead, me with papers stuffed in my pocket. No one believed it would last. Not even me.
He didnt pull. Didnt strain forward. Just walked beside me like he knew the way. On the stairs, his paw slipped. I said, Careful, but he didnt reactno glance, no twitch of the ear. Just a deeper breath.
At home, I laid an old blanket by the radiator. Bowl of water, bowl of kibble. He sniffed it, sat, looked at me, then at the door. For a long time. Like he was checking if it was locked.
That night, I woke to creaking. He lay by the door, awake. Head on paws, eyes open. Like he was waiting to be taken back.
Archie youre home now. Its alright, I whispered.
He didnt move.
The first two weeks passed like that. He ate. He walked. But silent. Not a whimper. Always watching me. Like he was asking, How long can I stay?
He never got on the sofa. Not when I patted the cushion, not when I called. Just stood beside me, then retreated to the door to sleep.
New dog? asked Mrs. Wilkins, the neighbour, spotting us outside. Handsome but distant.
I nodded. She was righthe didnt belong. Not from here. Didnt want to be.
He wouldnt take food from my hand. Refused treats. Only ate from his bowl, only when no one was watching.
I talked to him like a person.
Mum always wanted a dog. But she was afraid to love one. Said she couldnt bear the loss. And now here you are. Shed have liked you. Knew how to handle broken soulsworked with them her whole life, at the care home.
He blinked like he understood.
Stay if you want. Im not waiting for anyone. Neither should you.
Every morning, he followed me to the door. Sat while I tied my laces. No whining, no wagging. Just watching. Waiting.
When I came home, hed be on the threshold. Wouldnt touch his food, wouldnt drink, until he was sure I was really back.
Think I wont return? But I did. I always will.
Loud noises startled himfireworks, kids shouting, motorbikes. Hed tense, yank the lead, shrink back. Never ran. Just withdrew.
Its just noise, Archie. Only noise.
His tail tucked under, like he wished to vanish.
Week three, he barked. Just oncehoarse, abrupt. It startled us both. He looked at me, almost apologetic. Thensilence again.
The vet said his ears were fine. Just his nature. Maybe trauma.
Hes wary. Watching. Waiting for you to give up on him.
I nodded. Id already felt it.
One late return, he hadnt eaten. Lay by the door until I stepped inside.
Youre scared, arent you? Think itll be like before?
His ear twitched.
I came back. Always will.
A month later, another. He no longer slept right by the door, but closer to the room. Then by the wardrobe. Then the armchair. Never the bedroom. Not even when I left the door open.
I grew used to him. Loved him. Not cheerful. Not playful. But real. Quiet, complicated, achingly aware. His eyes understood everything.
Archie, I didnt choose you. Just walked in. And now I cant imagine life without you.
He lifted his head, sighed, rested it back on his paws.
Two and a half months in, he licked my hand. For no reason. Just did. I cried. He backed up, confused by the tears.
Its joy. From you. You dont get it, but its happiness.
He stayed closer after that. Withdrew less.
Thenit happened.
An ordinary evening. Work, shopping bags. As usual, he followed me to the kitchen. I drank tea by the windowthen heard his paws step into the bedroom.
He placed one foot over the threshold. Stopped. Looked at me. I didnt move.
Want to? Go on.
Slowly, he walked in. Sat by the bed. Thencarefully climbed up. Not the pillows. The edge. Lay down. Breathed in.
And slept.
Not tense. Real. Calm. His body relaxed, breathing even. He was home.
Youre really home now, I whispered.
No reply. Just his ear flicking in a dream.
After that, he didnt wait by the door when I left. Stayed on the bed. Waited by the window. Because he knewId return. Not someday. Always.
On walks, he lingered longer. Sniffed passers-by, sometimes wagged. Once let a child pet him. Startled, but didnt flee.
I bought him a new collar. A taghis name, my number. For the first time, he wore it like he belonged.
An old man recognised us in the park:
That dogs from the Leeds shelter, isnt he?
Yes.
Remember him as a pup. Always in the corner. Never went to anyone.
Now hes got a home, I said, gripping the lead.
Now he knows where his bowl is. His blanket. Where his person is.
Hes started grumbling. In the morning if breakfast is late. When the doorbell rings. If I talk too long on the phone.
He started living.
And I wonderwhat if Id chosen differently? A happy one. An easy one.
But I walked in. And saw him.
He saved me. I saved him.
Three months now. And only recently does he truly sleep beside me.
With a look that holdslove. Real love.
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