I moved into this building in late autumn. Every morning on my way to work, I would see my neighbor. Sometimes she would sit on a bench under a tall linden tree, and other times she would slowly walk around, supporting herself with her cane.
After some time, we started greeting each other. I would stop for a moment to ask about Margaret Thompson’s health and wish her a good day. She would always smile and thank me.
At the end of December, a new resident appeared in our courtyard – a dog. It seemed to be a young dog since it was small, but no one knew exactly where it had come from.
It was a shaggy, dirty creature with matted fur, of no identifiable breed. A sausage that Margaret offered him determined his fate—after that, he stayed in our yard. He probably wouldn’t have survived elsewhere, given how pitiful he looked.
Most of the building’s residents were not happy about the dog’s presence. Many tried to chase him away, yelling, “Go on, get out of here!” whenever he approached, looking into their eyes as if silently pleading for food.
Still, he sometimes managed to get something—a crust of bread, a small bone. Margaret would also bring him biscuits or crackers and talk to him quietly, stroking his head and calling him Paws.
By spring, when the snow had almost melted, I met Margaret in the courtyard one morning, and she told me she would be leaving that evening with her granddaughter to stay in the countryside until autumn.
“Maybe even until late autumn,” she added. “There’s a stove in the house, and it stays warm even during the coldest nights.”
She made me promise to visit her.
I decided to go see her at the end of August. After buying a small gift for the kind elderly lady, I got on a bus heading to the village where she was staying.
When I arrived, I saw Margaret sitting on the veranda, peeling bright red apples. Beside her, lying on the wooden step, was a dog.
“Paws, go on, greet our guest!” the old woman said.
The dog jumped up, wagging its fluffy tail happily, and ran over to me.
It was a magnificent creature, with sleek, wavy fur.
“Mrs. Margaret, is this really the same scruffy Paws from our courtyard?” I asked in surprise.
“The very same! It turns out she’s a real beauty!” the elderly woman replied with a smile. “Come, let’s have some tea. You must tell me all the news!”
We sat at the table for a long time, drinking cherry tea and talking. Paws, after finishing her meal, lay by the warm stove, occasionally letting out a deep sigh in her sleep—perhaps dreaming of something…
Outside, a gentle breeze rustled the branches of the apple tree, and large, red apples fell softly into the grass…
