Dear Diary,
Granddad, look!Ethel pressed her nose against the window. Dog! she cried.
Just beyond the gate a stray mutt bolted pastblack, filthy, ribs jutting out.
That damned cur again, muttered Peter Whitfield, pulling on his rubber boots. Its been prowling for three days now. Get out of here!
He swung his stick. The dog leapt back but didnt flee. It sat a metre away, staring. Simply stared.
Granddad, dont chase it! Ethel grabbed my sleeve. Shes probably hungry and cold.
Ive got enough worries of my own, I snapped. Shell bring fleas, disease. Off with you!
The mutt tucked its tail and walked on. Yet the moment I disappeared behind the door, she turned back
Ethel had lived with me for half a year since her parents were killed in a crash. I took the girl in, though Id never been much of a father figure. I was used to silence and my own routine.
And then there was a child who sobbed at night, constantly asking, Granddad, when will Mum and Dad come back?
How do you explain that they never will? I could only grumble and look away. It hurt us bothme and her. Yet there was nowhere for her to go.
After lunch, while I dozed in front of the telly, Ethel slipped out into the yard, a bowl of soup leftovers in her hands.
Come here, Bessie, she whispered. Thats the name Ive given you. Nice name, isnt it?
The dog edged forward cautiously, lapped the plate clean, then lay down, head on its paws, gazing at me with grateful eyes.
Youre a good one, the girl cooed, patting the mutts flank. Very good.
From that day Bessie never left the house. She guarded the gate, escorted Ethel to school, and met her on the way back. Whenever I stepped outside, the whole neighbourhood seemed to hear my annoyed shout:
Not again! How many times must I endure this?
Bessie merely knew: the man barked, but he did not bite.
Neighbour Samuel Clarke, leaning on his fence, watched the spectacle and once said:
Peter, youre wasting your breath on her.
What for? I need a dog as much as a toothache! I retorted.
Perhaps, Samuel began, God sent her to you for a reason.
I only snorted.
A week passed and Bessie kept her post, rain or frost. Ethel still sneaked food to her, and I pretended not to notice.
Granddad, can we let Bessie into the shed? she begged over dinner. Itll be warmer there.
No, absolutely not! I thumped my fist on the table. Animals have no place inside this house!
But she
Enough! Im done with your whims! I roared.
Ethel pouted and fell silent. That night I lay awake, restless. In the morning I peered out the window.
Bessie lay curled in a snowdrift, a thin breath escaping her. Soon shell be given over to God, or who knows where, I thought, a sour feeling creeping up my throat.
On Saturday Ethel went skating on the frozen pond, Bessie trotting behind as always. The girl laughed, twirled, while the dog watched from the bank.
Watch me! she shouted, racing to the centre of the ice.
The ice gave a thin, clear ring, then cracked. Ethel slipped through.
The water was black and icy. She was pulled under, thrashing, her cries muffled by the splashes.
Bessie froze a heartbeat, then bolted toward the house.
I was chopping firewood when I heard a wild, frantic bark. I turnedBessie was dashing across the yard, snarling, lunging at my trouser leg, dragging me toward the gate.
Are you mad? I shouted, bewildered.
But Bessie would not relent. She clamped at my coat, eyes blazing with panic. Then it hit me.
Ethel! I yelled, sprinting after the dog.
Bessie raced forward, looking back as if checking whether I was keeping up, then again toward the pond.
I saw a dark blot on the ice and heard faint splashes.
Hold on! I shouted, grabbing a long pole. Hold on, girl!
I slid across the cracking ice, it creaked beneath me, but I persisted. I hauled Ethel by the jacket and hauled her onto the bank. Bessie never left my side, barking encouragement.
When we pulled her out she was bruised and blue. I brushed snow from her hair, blew warm air on her face, and whispered every prayer I knew.
Granddad, Ethel whispered hoarsely, Bessie, where is Bessie?
The dog sat trembling beside her, shivering from cold and fear.
Here, I croaked. Shes right here.
After that rescue something shifted. I stopped shouting at the dog, though I still kept her outside.
Granddad, why? Ethel persisted, She saved my life!
Saved, saved, I growled. Theres still no room for her inside.
Why not? she asked.
Because thats how things have always been, I barked back.
I was angry at myself for reasons I could not grasp. It felt as if a rule had been set in stone, yet my heart felt like it was being scraped by cats.
Samuel stopped by for tea sometime, munching on ginger biscuits at the kitchen table.
Did you hear what happened? he asked cautiously.
I heard, I muttered.
A good dog, clever, he said.
It happens, I replied.
You should look after her.
I shrugged. Were not chasing her away; were just keeping her out.
Dont you see? She saved a childs life, and you Samuel shook his head. Thats ungratefulness.
I owe nothing to that mutt! I snapped. We feed her, we dont beat herenough!
Whether youre at fault or not, how do you act like a proper man? he pressed.
A proper man loves people, not shaggy things! I retorted.
Samuel fell silent, understanding that arguing was futile, though his eyes held a hint of reproach.
Winter grew harsher, snow piling waistdeep each morning. I spent the days clearing paths, only to find Bessie still at the gate, thin as a skeleton, fur matted, eyes dull but watchful.
Granddad, Ethel tugged my sleeve, look at her. Shes barely alive.
She chose to stay, I shrugged. No one forced her.
But she
Enough! I bellowed. How many times must I hear the same thing? Im fed up with that dog!
Ethels cheeks flushed, and she fell silent. Later, as I read the paper, she whispered, Bessie hasnt been seen today.
So? I said without looking up.
All day. Maybe shes sick?
Maybe she finally went away. Thats where she belongs.
Granddad! How can you speak like that?
Because thats how it has to be, I said, setting the paper aside, meeting her eyes. She isnt ours. Shes a stray.
Shes the one who saved me, Ethel said softly. We didnt even give her a warm place.
No place for her! I hammered my fist on the table. This is a house, not a zoo!
Ethel burst into tears and fled to her room. I sat at the table, the newspaper now forgotten.
A blizzard hit that night, shaking the cottage as if it were a ship in a storm. Wind whistled through the chimney, windows rattled, snow slammed against the panes. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Dog weather, I muttered, berating myself. What does it matter? Its not my problem. Yet the difference was real, and I knew it.
By dawn the wind died. I brewed tea, looked out the yard was buried to the windows. The path vanished, only a lone fence post standing. At the gate something dark lay in the drifts.
Probably rubbish, I thought, but my heart sank.
I pulled on my coat, slipped boots on, and trudged out. The snow was deep, kneehigh. I reached the gate and froze.
There, half covered in snow, was Bessie. She was motionless; only her ears and the tip of her tail peeked out.
Right, thats it for her, I whispered, feeling a crack inside me.
She shivered at my voice. With a gentle sweep of snow I uncovered her. She breathed faintly, a rasping sound, eyes closed.
Damned thing, I muttered. Why didnt you go?
She twitched at my words, tried to lift her head, but strength failed her.
I stood there, uncertain, then whispered, Come on, love.
I lifted the limp body, surprisingly lightjust bones and fur, still warm.
Hold on, I murmured, stumbling back inside. I set her on an old blanket by the fire.
Granddad? Ethel appeared in her nightgown at the door. Whats happened?
Its she was out in the cold. Ill let her warm up, I said, trying to sound calm.
She rushed to the dog, eyes wide. Is she alive? Granddad, is she alive?
Shes alive. Get her some milk, warm it up.
She hurried to the kitchen, and I sat beside Bessie, stroking her head, thinking, What sort of man have I become? Ive driven her nearly to death, yet she still trusts me.
Bessie opened her eyes slowly, looked at me gratefully, and I felt a lump rise in my throat.
Milks ready! Ethel placed the bowl down. Bessie lapped it with effort, then again, then again. We watched, amazed, as she drank.
By midday Bessie was sitting upright. By evening she shuffled around the kitchen on trembling paws. I kept glancing at her, grumbling, This is only temporary. Shell get stronger and then back outside!
Ethel only smiled, noticing how I slipped the best bits of meat under her blanket, how I wrapped her in a warmer shawl, how I patted her head when I thought no one was watching.
She thought, She wont be shooed away again.
The next morning I rose early. Bessie lay on a rug by the stove, watching me intently.
Well, are you back with us? I grumbled, pulling on trousers. Alright then.
She wagged her tail, cautiously testing whether I would drive her out again.
After breakfast I donned my coat and stepped out. I walked along the fence, inspected the old doghouse by the barnunused for ten years, I guessed.
Bessie! I called, waving a hand. Come here!
Ethel bolted out, Bessie trotting close behind, but she kept her distance from me.
Look, I said, pointing at the hut. The roofs leaky, the walls are rotten. Needs fixing.
Why, Granddad? Ethel asked, puzzled.
What else? I muttered. Itll just sit there empty. Its a mess.
I fetched boards, a hammer, nails from the barn and began a halfhearted repairnailing where the boards fit, cursing when they didnt.
Bessie sat nearby, watching, seeming to understand why I was working.
By midday the doghouse had a fresh roof. I brought an old blanket inside, set out bowls for water and food.
Done, I said, wiping sweat from my brow.
Granddad, is that for Bessie? Ethel asked quietly.
For who else? I snapped. She cant stay inside the house, but she needs a proper place out heredogstyle.
She threw her arms around me. Thank you, Granddad! Thank you!
Enough, enough, I waved her off. Dont get soft. Remember, this is only temporary until we find proper owners for her.
Deep down I knew Id never look for anyone else. Bessie now belonged to us, and no one else.
Samuel popped by, eyed the newly repaired hut, the dog, and Ethels smiling face.
Well, Peter, I told you she wasnt sent in vain, he said, smirking.
Back off with your God talk, I growled. Its a pity, thats all.
Certainly a pity, Samuel replied. Your hearts good, you just keep it hidden deep.
I wanted to argue, but let it go. I watched Bessie sniff her new home, watched Ethel pet her, and realised we were a familyimperfect, perhaps odd, but a family nonetheless.
Alright, Bessie, I whispered. This is now your home too.
She stared at me a long moment, then settled beside the hut, keeping watch over the door where her people lived.
Today I learned that hardheartedness can melt when a creature shows loyalty beyond its own suffering. I must remember that kindness, however grudging, is the truer measure of a man.
