I must have been about five or six, still too young for school, in the early nineties, when an elderly couple from London moved into our little village in Kent. Their names were Granny Edith and Uncle George. They bought the house right across from ours: a small, low cottage with just two windows facing the lane, but with a massive garden at the back, which, given their age, they quickly decided not to tend. Each day they would go for long walks, sometimes through the woods, sometimes down to the stream, only venturing into Canterbury now and then for shopping. They lived quietly, barely making themselves known.
They rarely came to visit, only ever popping round twice a week to collect milk from us. We kept a fair-sized smallholding then, though money was always tight, and Granny Edith would often sneak me a little treatsometimes a bar of chocolate, other times a notebook, or even a small handful of coins. The old couple didn’t have any children of their own.
A good three years must have passed, and then, one dark and chilly winter evening, just as wed switched the telly off and gone to bed, a gentle knock sounded at our window. It was Granny Edith, her voice low and sadGeorge had passed away.
We did what we could to help her with the funeral.
Afterwards, Granny Edith took the loss very hard. She became ill and hardly set foot outside. We made it a point to check on her nearly every day, and each time she would tell me about her 52 years with George, about how they’d worked together in a tough factory, and how, after retiring, they’d decided to leave the flat to a niece and move out here for fresh country air.
Spring finally came, and though Edith grew used to being on her own, she was still a shadow of her former self. One afternoon, out of the blue, she called me over, showing me a little scruffy puppy crawling about in a box on the kitchen floor. Id never really been one for dogs, but the moment I set eyes on that puppy, my heart leapt and I adored him instantly.
I still remember, all these years later, how I sat on the carpet, stroking his silky fur with one finger while Granny Edith watched us, her face glowing with a shy, toothless smile Id not seen in so long.
We never had cats or dogs, George and I, she said, and, well, children never came along either. Its a lonely old thing, being by oneself. I found this wee thing by the bins behind the market in town. Just look at his lovely little face. How could I leave him?
I was so transfixed by the puppy that I barely dared to breathe.
What does he eat? Is he hungry? I asked, nearly in tears.
I warmed him some milk, but he cant drink from a bowlneeds a teat really, and I havent got one. Ill buy one tomorrow, Granny Edith whispered, almost apologetically.
I dashed home and snatched the bottle from my baby sisters cot while she slept. It turned out the puppy was only a few days old. I coaxed the warm milk into his mouth, anxious that he might not survive.
For over a week, Granny Edith and I struggled to find the right name for the pup. Shed giggle and want to call him Rusty for his red-tipped ears, but I objectedI favoured Silent Sam, since he always sat so quietly, hardly making a sound, and we, too, would hush when we were with him. So, Sam it was, and soon enough he became Sam, Sammy, or Little Sam to us both.
For weeks, right up towards summer, Granny Edith and I nursed Sam togetherwarming up his milk, making him bits of food. When the air turned warm enough, wed let him out onto the grass. Hed been orphaned so young he was a frail little thing, always trembling and prone to illness. But we cared for him as best we could. Straight after school, Id race to Granny Ediths, check on Sam, then do my homework and help Mum on the farm, rounding off each day playing at Ediths side with my puppy friend.
As summer wore on, Sam grew, but not by muchhe was clearly some small breed, never more than a foot high. Id take him out in the mornings with me, fishing or herding cows, and if I was busy, hed keep Granny company, trailing her everywhere indoors. With Sam around, Granny Edith transformedshe seemed healthier, bursting with care for that tiny dog: cooking special food for him, grooming him, even reading piles of books about dog care and health.
A year passed, then another, a third and a fifth. Throughout those years, Sam lived with Granny Edith but every morning, he’d trot over to our door, waiting to escort me on the long walk to schoolthree miles each way. Then, come two oclock, hed run back to fetch me home. Snow or rain, mud or shine, he never missed a day beside me. Nine years slipped by like that.
After the local village school finished at Year 9, I had to travel into Canterbury to finish my studies at college. After much discussion, it was agreed Id board in the town.
On the morning I was due to leave, waiting for the bus to Canterbury, I sat for ages on Granny Ediths porch, Sam cuddled in my arms, crying my heart out.
Take him with you if you cant bear to part, sobbed Granny Edith as well.
How could I? Hes your little dog. Take care of yourself. Mum will check on you daily, and Ill call all the time.
When the bus pulled away, I watched from the window, tears streaming down my face. Sam ran along the roadside, tongue out, never taking his eyes off me, clearly baffled at why I was leaving him behind.
Life at agricultural college swallowed me uplong hours with books on animal care and farm economics. I didnt make close friends, except for the odd chat with a former schoolmate who lived in the neighbouring dorm block.
Just before Christmas, ready to return home, Mum rang to say Granny Edith was very poorly. Shed been bedridden a week, and Sam hadnt left her bedsidea dish of food now pressed in beside her quilt.
I got home sooner than planned. Sure enough, Sam was sitting solemnly on a chair beside the bed, gazing at Edith with sad, damp eyes, barely whimpering. Granny Edith, frail and sunken, struggled to reach out and pet his head with a trembling hand, her thin fingers gently stroking his leathery nose. They both looked terribly thin. It was a sight to break anyones heart: an old lady at the end of her long, childless life, with a loyal dog as her only comfort.
By the time I headed back to Canterbury after Christmas, it was clear Id never see Granny Edith alive again. Sam only followed me outside as far as the porch, tornhe couldnt bring himself to leave her alone. I felt that small dogs heartbreak, burdened with the impossible task of caring for his ailing owner.
Edith died in February.
Some may scoff at a sixteen-year-old mourning an old neighbour and her little companion. But not everyone understands the pain of losing the only personor even a dogin your life who truly feels like family. A dog who would outlive you, and feel, too, the agony of losing someone dear.
I couldnt return home until term ended, late in May. Sam was nowhere to be found. No one knew what had become of him. Mum said that at the funeral hed run in circles about the grave and tried to jump in, until the grave-diggers shooed him away. Afterwards he came back with us, my dad built him a warm kennel, but Sam wouldnt settle. He kept returning to Ediths empty cottage until the weather warmed, and then one day, he disappearednever waiting for me to come back from Canterbury.
All summer I searched. I walked through neighbouring villages, knocked on doors, showed his photo around, combed the lanes and the markets of the district. No one had seen him. I reckoned that, once the grave was filled in, he must have believed Edith would come home. When she didnt, he must have gone to look for her. Perhaps even now, he was somewhere out there, seeking, poor soulso I told myself.
August came round. One day the whole family set out for a memorial in the old family plot at St. Johns cemetery, a good thirty miles off. Looking for Sam so far from home never crossed my mind.
But as soon as we stepped out of the car by the church, I heard mad scrambling pawsthere, darting towards me, ears pinned back, tongue lolling, was my Sam.
I fell to my knees and bawled my eyes out.
Sam! Sammy, oh you daft thing! I spent all summer looking for you, and here you are!
While I knelt there, Sam hopped onto his hind legs, licking my face gleefully, both of us in tears, I think. He was filthy and thin as a rake. I rummaged through the picnic basket wed brought, offering him all the sandwiches, sausage rolls, and cheese pasties I could find. He wolfed them down, never taking his eyes off me.
A church lady nearby spotted us. Is this your dog? she asked.
Hes his, Mum replied, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
Ive worked here for ages, said the woman. I noticed him near the end of spring, living by that grave over there. Hes dug at it constantly, made a real mess. Ive filled it in again and again, but he comes back all the time.
Of courseit was Granny Ediths grave.
We visited the other family headstones, and Sam stuck close by, following me with his gaze fixed upward, hardly noticing the path underfoot.
The grave was all pawed up on the side where Granny Edith lay. Dad straightened the wooden cross, Mum arranged the flowers, and I, squatting nearby, cradled Sam in my arms. Sam looked between me and the grave, ears pricked, licking my face every so often.
Dont force him to come with us if he wants to stay here, Dad said gently, squatting down next to me. Let him decide.
I dont want to leave him here. Itll be autumn soon, then winterhes getting on, nearly ten now. But if he decides to stay, hell just run off anyway, and thirty miles wont stop him.
When it was time to go, Sam couldnt decide; he darted between us and the grave, torn. Finally, just as we climbed into the car, he leapt onto my lap.
Sam, my dear boy, I swearIll never leave you on your own again, I sobbed, hugging him close.
