“Barkley!”
William leapt from the car and rushed toward the old dog lying motionless by the roadside. But Barkley didn’t rise or wag his tail. The truth burned through William like fire—he was gone. “What will I tell Mum?” he thought, bending over the lifeless body, hot tears dripping onto the dog’s grizzled muzzle.
***
Old Mrs. Eleanor Higgins’ dog had never taken to her daughter-in-law, Millie. Not from the first meeting. He’d growl deep in his chest when she passed, thumping his tail nervously against the wooden porch. Millie despised him quietly, shrinking back whenever he bared his teeth.
“Useless brute,” she muttered once, glaring at Barkley. “If it were up to me, he’d have been put down ages ago.”
“Millie, don’t say that!” William sighed. “Maybe it’s your perfume, or your heels clicking. He’s an old boy—old dogs have their quirks.”
Mrs. Higgins only watched disapprovingly. If only that stuck-up city girl knew what Barkley really was. He’d done more good in his life than she ever would.
***
Mrs. Higgins had kept out of her son’s business. Even when he introduced her to Millie, she bit her tongue, though the girl’s smile never reached her eyes.
“So, Mum, what do you think? Isn’t she lovely?” William beamed.
“You’re the one marrying her, dear,” Mrs. Higgins said gently. “As long as you’re happy. I’ll bless you both.” She hugged him tightly, kissing his forehead.
After the wedding, the couple settled in Millie’s inherited flat. William rarely visited the countryside now, though he missed it—Millie hated the place. But that summer, she suddenly insisted on a rural retreat.
“I read online that eco-tourism is all the rage,” she declared, packing designer luggage. “Stress relief, detox from city life! And it’s fashionable! Of course, those resorts cost a fortune… so I thought of your mother’s village.”
William brightened. If “eco-tourism” meant going home, he’d play along.
Mrs. Higgins welcomed them warmly. “About time you came! Fresh air, homegrown food—better than any fancy holiday.”
“I wouldn’t go *that* far,” Millie sniffed. “Mrs. Higgins, do you have livestock? Proper rural immersion is vital for the experience.”
Mrs. Higgins blinked. “Well, there’s Barkley and a dozen chickens. Had a goat once—passed last winter.”
Millie curled her lip at the elderly collie sprawled on the sunlit porch. “*Useful* livestock, I meant. Not that mangy pensioner. Honestly, I’m shocked he’s still breathing.”
Mrs. Higgins bristled. “Plenty of work in the vegetable patch if you’re keen to ‘immerse’ yourself.”
“Let’s start tomorrow,” William cut in. “I’ll chop wood, fix the fence—whatever you need.” He hauled the bags inside as Millie teetered on her heels, muttering curses.
Barkley lifted his head as she passed, baring his teeth with a low rumble. Millie shrieked and ducked behind William.
“Aw, Barkley,” William chuckled, ruffling his ears. “Don’t take it to heart. She didn’t mean it.”
The dog’s tail thumped weakly.
***
Morning came, and Mrs. Higgins led Millie to the garden.
“Chickens here, apple trees there—and this,” she gestured, “is the vegetable patch. Needs weeding.”
Millie squinted. “They all look the same.”
“That’s carrots. That’s a weed. Yank it out—honestly, never seen a dandelion before?”
“I’ve seen *dandelions*,” Millie snapped. “Not whatever *this* rubbish is!”
She groaned, her manicure ruined, her designer tracksuit filthy. Within an hour, her back screamed for mercy.
“Enough! This isn’t eco-tourism—it’s slave labour!”
“I was going to show you the hens next—”
“Tomorrow!” Millie hobbled inside, only for Barkley to bare his teeth again on the porch.
“That thing *hates* me!” she whined to William later. “What if he bites?”
“Barkley’s never bitten anyone. You’ve just hurt his pride.”
“Oh, should I *apologize*?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
Millie rolled her eyes.
Mrs. Higgins tried mediating. “Pet him, talk to him. He’ll warm up.”
“Why would I *care* what that mongrel thinks?” Millie scoffed. “Honestly, treating animals like people—ridiculous.”
Mrs. Higgins sighed. Barkley had always sensed ill intent.
***
One sleepless night, Millie stepped outside to gaze at the stars. Silence. Then—rustling. A growl. She fled blindly, shrieking as she tumbled into a nettle-choked ditch.
William found her thrashing in the stinging mass, red welts rising. “Why wander in the dark?!”
“That *vicious* mutt tried to kill me!”
“He was *guarding*,” William said firmly.
Millie seethed but said no more. Yet by dawn, she’d paid a local to take Barkley “somewhere he won’t come back.”
***
“Will, have you seen Barkley?” Mrs. Higgins fretted. “He never roams far now…”
They searched all day, calling his name, asking neighbors—nothing. As dusk fell, Mrs. Higgins crumpled onto the porch where Barkley used to lie and wept.
“Why fuss over an old dog?” Millie said flatly. “Get a new one.”
“Barkley wasn’t just a dog.” Mrs. Higgins wiped her eyes. “Will—lift your shirt.”
“My burn scars? You said I got them as a kid—”
“From the *fire*,” she whispered. “You were five. I was at work—your gran was watching you. Barkley dragged you out, half-dead from smoke. The beam that hit you… he couldn’t save Gran. You don’t remember?”
William paled. “I… forgot.”
Millie scoffed and left.
William cornered her later. “If you know *anything*—”
She cracked under his glare.
The farmer confessed for a fee, leading William to a distant roadside. And there—
“Barkley!” William sprinted forward. But the dog didn’t stir.
“He walked far for an old boy,” the farmer muttered. “Tough one.”
William cradled Barkley’s body, tears falling onto the matted fur. *How do I tell Mum?*
At home, Mrs. Higgins wailed as he laid Barkley—wrapped in William’s jacket—on the step. They buried him under the old apple tree by the porch. William held his sobbing mother, silent. Millie left hours earlier.
“You’re making a scene over a *dog*?”
Wordless, William packed her things and drove her to the station.
“You’re sending me back alone?!”
“Maybe for good,” he said quietly.
***
By autumn, the divorce was final—Millie had already moved on. William returned to the countryside for good, stopping first at a shelter.
“Are you sure about this pup?” the attendant asked. “He’ll be big—not suited for a flat.”
“Perfect for a farm,” William said, lifting the wriggling collie. “Plenty of space. A sunny porch. Good people.” The puppy licked his cheek. “Right, Barkley?”
