October 12th, 2023
Tonight, as I walked the dog, I found myself thinking about something that happened a few months back. Funny how the mind drifts to these moments when the air turns crisp and the leaves crunch underfoot.
It was a quiet evening in our little corner of Yorkshire. My daughter, Emily, was out with her West Highland Terrier, Daisy. They always took their strolls behind the house, where the old factory grounds used to bejust overgrown grass and the odd apple tree now. Most folks took their dogs to the proper park down the road, but Emily preferred the solitude.
Daisy was a proper lady, that one. Pristine white coat, nose perpetually in the air as if she owned the place. Tolerated children with a regal sniff, but other dogs? Not a chance. One flash of her teeth, and theyd scarper.
Everything changed the summer Emily turned fifteen. Thats when Daisy met her matcha shaggy, lumbering beast of a sheepdog named Bruno. Belonged to old Mrs. Thompson from down the lane. First encounter, Bruno barrelled into Daisy like a freight train, tail wagging, tongue lolling, utterly besotted. Daisy froze, scandalised. Mrs. Thompson chuckled and called him a daft lump, but Bruno didnt care. Hed found his true love.
From then on, their evening walks became a ritual. Bruno would come charging the second he heard Daisys bark. Theyd chase each other through the grass, roll in the dirt, then collapse under the apple tree while Emily read and Mrs. Thompson shared tea and biscuits. Sweet old girl, that one. Lived alone except for Bruno. Said her son and grandkids rarely visited.
Then came the night things turned ugly.
Emily and Daisy were out late when a souped-up Land Rover came tearing across the field, music blaring. Three ladsdrunk, loud, looking for trouble. Two of them staggered out, circling Emily. She backed up, phone in hand, voice steady as she warned them: You dont want to do this.
One of them grabbed her wrist. Come on, love, well give you a ride.
Thats when Daisysweet, proper Daisylost it. She lunged, snarling like a demon. And then, like something out of a film, Bruno came barrelling out of nowhere. Ive never seen a dog move like that. One minute, the lad was leering; the next, he was flat on his back, Brunos teeth inches from his throat. The other two bolted, leaving their mate to the mercy of the lawand a very wet pair of trousers.
The police took him away. Emily never pressed charges, but word got round. Those lads havent been seen since.
After that, Bruno stayed with us. Mrs. Thompson fell illpneumonia, the doctors said. Her son took her in, but no room for Bruno. Didnt matter. Hed already chosen his family.
Now, as I write this, the rain taps against the window. Emilys curled up in the window seat, Daisy and Bruno sprawled at her feet. Mrs. Thompson video calls every Sunday, and Bruno sits there, tail thumping, like he knows its her.
Funny, isnt it? You think youre the one taking care of the dog. But sometimes, its the other way round.
Lesson learned: A loyal heart doesnt need pedigree papers. It just needs someone to protect.
