Gran, I hope you dont mind me asking but how do you afford to look after all these little dogs? Life must be pretty tough
The surgery was warm, the lights glaringly white, that distinct aroma of antiseptic hanging about, and the silencetense, as it always was in those moments before the verdict.
Dr. James had just peeled off his gloves and was peering at the shivering scrap of a dog on the table. One paw had been hastily wrapped in what looked suspiciously like the remains of a tea towel, and his wide, watery eyes seemed to plead, as if nothing in this world made sense or felt fair.
Beside the table stood Mrs. Margaret.
A diminutive old lady, bundled up in her ancient parka, even though it was only brisk outside, not exactly polar. Her floral headscarf was tied under her chin, rural style, and her hands were gripped together as though apologising for being alive.
It wasnt her first visit.
Actually recently, shed appeared nearly every evening.
One day with a pup whod been knocked by a car.
The next, one sadly riddled with mange.
Then, another, nursing a wound that stank of old, buried pain.
Or a stray that hadn’t eaten in God knows how long.
And every single time, James found himself equally amazed:
She paid.
Never much, nothing grandiose, no ta-da! moments.
Shed fumble notes and coins from an ancient purse, worn thin at the edges, as if the very act was an inconvenience.
That evening, when the checks were done, James couldnt hold it in.
He took a deep breath and, in a gentle, puzzled voice, asked,
Gran forgive me, but how do you pay for all these dogs? Surely it’s a bit much
Mrs. Margaret blinked rapidly.
She dropped her gaze.
And she smileda small, threadbare smile.
It is hard, love but I daresay its harder for them.
James was silent.
She nudged her headscarf back a tad, maybe because emotion was making her too warm, and began to speak quietly, slowly, with the kind of pauses that come from living a very long life.
Ive only a tiny pension, you know.
Can barely cover my electricity and my tablets and the heating
She paused, wrinkling her nose.
But do you know what, pet?
James nodded, softly.
When I step out the flats at night I spot them.
On the pavement. Staring up at me with those eyes like Im their last bit of hope.
She swallowed.
And I cant walk past, Doctor I simply cant.
Its as if something snaps inside me.
Like theyre begging without a sound.
James felt his stomach twist uncomfortably.
But how do you manage? he asked, almost whispering. You come so often, and the treatment its not cheap
The old lady hugged her coat tighter, as if bracing herself against life itself.
I dont always manage.
I cut corners for myself.
She started ticking things off on her fingers, the way someone does who doesnt need to make a fuss about being kind.
I dont buy any meat for myself these days.
Potatoes, beans whatevers knocking about.
I dont buy new clothes.
This coats ancient, but it keeps out the cold.
And sometimes I skip a tablet or twobut dont tell anyone, please.
James looked up sharply.
Gran thats not that isnt good
She gave a tiny wave of her hand.
I know, dear.
But, you see I dont hurt like they do.
Not anymore, not like that.
Thats the first time James saw something else in her eyes.
Not just tiredness.
But an old sadness.
The kind of ache you carry for years, until it becomes part of who you are.
I had a son once. Her voice cracked on the word son.
I raised him as best I could.
But he was gone too soon.
James felt his own throat tighten.
And since then the house is quiet. Far too quiet.
And when I found that first little dog, soaked through and shivering by the bin shed well, I picked him up.
She smiled again.
He made my home less empty.
Didnt fill the hole, not really
But he gave me a reason to get up each morning.
Dr. James looked at the pup on the table.
Then at her.
And something dawned on him.
Mrs. Margaret wasnt just bringing in animals.
She was bringing in bits of her own worn but stubborn soul, night after night.
Doing what she could to mend what could be mended so she didnt have to feel quite so lost herself.
Do you know what frightens me most? she asked, whispering now.
Not being poor
James quirked an eyebrow.
But indifference.
People walk past them, treat them like rubbish.
And if I walk by too I start feeling like rubbish myself.
She paused, almost reticent, then added,
So, better for me to eat less
if I know Ive done something good.
A heavy hush settled over the surgery.
James felt his eyes prickle, which never happenedhe wasnt the weepy sort.
But that night something broke in him.
He picked up the file, scribbled something across the top, and slid it towards her.
Gran from now on all your dogs check-ups are on the house.
Mrs. Margaret froze.
No, love I couldnt
Yes, you can, he replied, firm but gentle.
And do you know why?
She looked up.
Because youve reminded me why I became a vet in the first place.
She covered her mouth with her hand.
Her eyes shimmered.
Doctor Im not doing anything special
You are.
In a world where most people look away, you stop.
He scooped up the dog, stroked his head and said,
Itll be alright, little one.
Then he turned to her.
And Gran dont skip your tablets anymore, alright?
Well sort something out.
She nodded, tears spilling quietly.
And that night, as she left surgery, clutching that little dog, James watched her trundle slowly down the corridor.
Such a small woman.
Such a small income.
Such a hard life.
But a heart oh, a heart nearly impossible to find these days.
If this tale touched you, leave a and pass it along.
Maybe someone needs to recall today that kindness is about the soul, not the wallet.
