There once was an old English lady named Mildred who decided, in a fit of adventurous spirit, to get herself an Anatolian Shepherd puppy. The dog grew by the hour and guarded the little cottage with all the pomp of Buckingham Palace. She would wolf down a mixing bowls worth of food in seconds, scratch her back along the garden fence until it looked like a storm had hit, and once nearly yanked Mildred clean off her feet when she strolled by. A young pup does need hobbies.
Then, one day, Mildred shuffled off this mortal coilnot because of the dog, mind, just because she couldnt quite make it to ninety. Soon enough, her children and grandkids arrived at the house in the sprawling green of the Cotswolds. And there, tethered as regally as any lion at the Tower, was the Great Dog. Judging by the dogs face, guests were a welcome noveltyone doesnt get such a healthy variety of vitamins and flavours in one day, after all.
Discussions began. What on earth were they to do with her? Putting her down felt cruel. Living alongside her, terrifying. Letting her loose in the worldnot exactly what the vicar would suggest, and the world wasnt nearly wicked enough to deserve a test like that. So they determined to find the beast a good hometheyd even offer a cash incentive if needed. Nothing was too much for whoever would take on this furry behemoth.
Eventually, they found George, a chap whod always dreamed of feeding a massive dog from mixing bowls and scratching its ears with a garden rake. People have all sorts of psychological quirks, dont they? The family called in a vet.
The plan was all mapped out: the vet would sedate the dog, and shed be whiskedgentlyoff to her new abode. No one was to forget crossing themselves or lighting a candle for the new owners health (or possibly, their soul, given the risks).
At the appointed hour, the vet arrived, looking every bit the dashing adventurer, armed with a tranquiliser rifle. One gentle dart and the massive dog drifted off to the Land of Nod. They unclipped her chain, rolled her onto a tarpaulin, and hauled her away.
The dog was loaded into the boot of Georges estate car, which, in true English fashion, was only slightly cleaner than a barn. The vet rode up front, clearly valuing his professional comfort above all. George took the wheel. Mildreds entire extended family squished in the back like sardines. Jolly conversation ensued until the dog started to stir.
Up popped her head, peering around with a look of keen interest. Humans, everywhere. Sitting and staring right back.
The vets eyes widened to the size of Christmas puddings. George was just as agog. Head still rigidly facing forward, but it was clear his mind was gripped by dog-induced terror.
How terribly curious, thought the dog.
Is there a heaven? thought the humans.
Without further ado, the dog started climbing into the main part of the car, eager for some quality time. Meanwhile, George fumbled with the door handle, ready to leap outthe fact that he was driving clearly a secondary concern.
The dog then proceeded to slather everyone with licks. She licked the grandkids, after all, not total strangers, and Georgewell, practically a soulmate. Even the vet got a lick, despite the whole shooting incident. Not a grudge-holder, our dog.
It turned out reports of a man-eater had been much exaggerated. They finished the journey soaked from top to toe. Above the waist, thanks to canine kisses; below, due to the emotional deluge from a wakeful dog.
Ah, my beloved English cottage and gardenWhen they finally arrived, their shoes squeaked in puddles of drool as they tumbled out, giddy and snorting with laughter. George, wobbling, declared that no sum of money was neededthis glorious chaos was exactly what hed hoped for. The grandkids clamored to visit her, vowing each birthday would now be spent in Georges riotous garden, dashing from her enthusiastic paws.
As for the Anatolian Shepherd, she settled into her new kingdom with a benevolent air. No fence was left unscratched, no mixing bowl left unemptied, andmost importantlyno visitor left unloved. People from the village came by, drawn by the legend, and always left smiling and a bit soggier than when theyd arrived. And with every lick, every bounding bark, the memory of Mildred lived onher spirit perhaps a bit more boisterous than before, but just as grand, and just as good.
In the end, the Great Dog proved the world was indeed wicked enough for a testbut maybe, with a slobbery guardian at its gate, the world stood a fairer chance.
