Julia Waits at the Flats: The Loyal Dog of Number 22 and Her Incredible Journey Through Small-Town England in the Early ’90s It all began one early June morning in a quiet English provincial town, when a stray dog was left injured by the bookshop’s doorstep. With the courage and kindness of Vera and her friends, Julia—the dog—found shelter, experienced heartbreak, and showed unimaginable faith and perseverance. From being taken in by the bookshop staff, cared for through crippling injury, and finally, returning each time to wait faithfully outside the door of her absent family’s flat, Julia won the hearts of the whole community. Through summer holidays on the allotment, vet trips, tearful goodbyes, and ultimately traveling with her family across the country, Julia demonstrated a devotion that overcame every obstacle. Spanning thirteen extraordinary years, this is the unforgettable true story of Julia, the dog whose love never faltered, and the English neighbours who rallied around her.

Author Walton MerrittReading 10 minViews 1

Julia sat by the entrance to the flats. All the neighbours knew the family from number 22 had gone away for a long spell, and now there was a dog in the courtyard with an unwavering resolve to wait for their return.

It all began in the early nineties, in a quiet English market town. One fresh June morning, the shrill sound of screeching brakes erupted outside the bookshop. The shop assistants ran out to see what had happened, but the street was nearly empty.

By the kerb lay a dog, whimpering gently and struggling to stand, her back legs hopelessly dragging behind.

Bravest of the shop girls, Vera, hurried over. She spoke softly to the animal, cautiously stroking her head and back, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Well, whats the matter, Vera? asked Natasha and Mrs. Helen Granger, the manager, who were standing nearby, hesitant to come closer in case the injury was especially awful. Though there were no obvious wounds, the lifeless way the dogs legs trailed behind her hinted at a serious injury.

Girls, lets carry her to the storeroom, Vera suggested. Maybe shell recover. We cant leave her outside.

Natasha glanced at Mrs. Granger, who hesitated but then nodded. Alright, Ill get something to lay down Can you carry her yourself?

Ill manage, Vera replied, considering the best way to lift her.

The dog was a medium-sized mongrel, with something of a collie in her look. Thin, scruffy, no collarmost likely a stray.

She lay in the storeroom all day. By evening, she recovered enough to drink water and eat what was offered, but she never stood, unable to move her back legs.

Next day, Vera convinced her father to pick her up during lunchtime and take her to the vet.

The towns only vet surgery was a tiny place, unequippedno X-rays, nothing advanced. The vet couldnt say much: She might improve with time Shes young and strong. With proper care, shell live, he said gravely. But walking again highly unlikely.

On the drive home, nobody spoke. Vera cradled the dog in the back, and her father sighed as he glanced at them in the mirror. Over dinner that night, he said, Vera, try not to get too attached. Dont get her used to you. Were leaving for Yorkshire in autumn, remember?

I know, Dad, Vera replied softly.

The staff named her Julia. She remained in the shops storeroom. For the first two weeks she hardly moved, later dragging herself outside, her back legs trailing behind.

What do we do with her? She wont last on the streets, and no one will take her home the assistants discussed. Good thing Mrs. Granger lets her stay here.

Julia herself didnt seem bothered by her disability. She explored the courtyard at her own pace, sniffing everything, doing her business, then returning to her place.

At weekends, the girls each took Julia home in turnwith Vera always declining. In a few months time, she and her family would be relocating to Yorkshire for two years for her fathers job. He was right: attachment would only make leaving harder.

But she realized she was already attached, from that very first exchange of looks with Julia on the road. And Julia gazed at her with a warmth and loyalty that set her apart.

One weekend, there was no choiceVera had to take Julia home, as everyone else had plans.

Just this once! Vera insisted, seeing her fathers stern look. The others are all away, camping, barbecuing

Were off to the allotment ourselves, you know, her mums voice floated in from the kitchen.

Julia made straight for the kitchen, as if she knew Veras mum was the key to winning a place in the family. Her awkward, trailing legs already stirred sympathy, but Julia turned her sad, hungry gaze on mum, and soon mum was fussing:

Oh, darling Are you hungry? Vera, do you not feed her at the shop? Never mind, well take you to the allotment. Dads going to do a barbecue; youll like it

Vera exchanged meaningful glances with her father, but he only shook his head.

At the allotment, Julia was endlessly happy: barbecues, friendly sniffs from the neighbours dog, Ben, who welcomed her as an old mate. When they returned home the next day, Julia curled up by Veras bed as if shed always slept there.

So the next morning, being taken back to the shop was a shock. She fretted all day in the storeroom, and when let out at lunchtime, she disappeared.

The assistants called and searched, but Julia never returned before closing.

Vera was beside herself, walking home and calling for Julia every step:

Julia! Julia, where are you? Come on, girl

And finally, she found Juliabarely alive, waiting by Veras own flat entrance. Shed clearly endured a taxing journey, but seeing Vera brought a surge of joy: whimpering, licking her hands, wiggling as if her tail still worked.

There was no point returning her to the shop now. She certainly knew the way home, and Vera could no longer bear to lock her away.

What now? her dad asked, watching loyal Julia at his daughters feet.

Im going to get her well, Dad. I hope youll help, Vera replied.

In a week, Veras holiday started, after which she planned to resign. The two months before their move, she resolved to devote to Julia.

Her dad drove them several times to the nearest city, where a proper vet hospital could X-ray her. The doctors promised nothing, but agreed to operateso there was a sliver of hope.

Vera and Julia relocated to the allotment. Vera spent every moment caring: medicines, massages, leg exercises. Julia seemed to be learning to walk anew.

It looked hopeless at first, but Veras parents visiting at weekends noticed small improvements: Julias legs didnt drag so mucheven if they still splayed awkwardly.

After a month, Julia could chase Ben, her gait a comic shuffle. Another month later, only a slight limp remained.

Vera was overjoyed, yet the approaching deadline weighed on her. Time was short.

Bens owner, Mrs. Harris, suggested, Leave her with meshell have company, and its familiar here. She wont pine so much

On departure day, Vera took Julia to Mrs. Harris to visit Ben. That evening, the family boarded a train to London, then flew onwardeventually, they arrived in Leeds.

After settling in, Vera rang Mrs. Harrisand heard the news shed dreaded.

That night, sensing change, Julia dug under the fence. In the morning, Mrs. Harris found only Ben. Realising further waiting was futile, she drove to Veras old flat.

There was Juliaright by the entrance. She recognised Mrs. Harris but growled gently, making it clear she was staying put. Neighbours soon gatheredall were familiar with the family from 22, now gone for ages. Julia had resolved to wait, however long it took.

From then on, Vera kept in touch with another neighbour, Mrs. Olive Smith from 23, who provided regular updates:

Your Julia sits at the entrance like a sentry! No one gets near. Ive met your other neighbour a few timesbribed her with sausage, coaxed her, nothing works!

Vera tried to send Mrs. Smith money for Julias food, but Mrs. Smith refused:

No need, dear. The whole street feeds her! What would I do with your money

Winter arrived. Residents, especially Mrs. Smith, often let Julia into the hallway to warm up. Julia would climb to the third floor, where number 22 was, and lay on the mat by the closed door. She somehow knew her family were gone, and once warm, would head back out to continue her silent vigil.

Vera kept in touch with the bookshop girls, too; they visited Julia at the flats, bringing treats. Julia greeted them fondly, accepted gifts with gratitude, but refused to go with them.

Part of Vera was torn apartshe wanted desperately to drop everything and come home, but circumstances, not least financial, kept her in Yorkshire. Times were hard; folks were getting by however they could.

Vera returned only the following June. As she approached the flats, she spotted Julia. The dog sat upright, ears pricked, but the slight tremble gave away her recognition. Julia hesitated to believe her joy in case it disappeared again.

Then came the hugs, tears, and a sense that something impossible had happeneda miracle for both of them.

Summer passed in a blink. In August, Veras parents arrivedher father had a months leave, but by September a fresh assignment awaited that would keep them away for another year. Vera begged them to take Julia. Her mother looked to her husband, who just frowned and sighed. The journey would be long and tough for peoplelet alone a dog unfamiliar with trains, planes, and city bustle.

Tension crackled in the air. Julia sensed family anxieties, grew nervous, and stuck close to Vera. Then, one morning, Veras father said, Pack up, Vera, and bring Julia. Were sorting out her paperwork. Shell need her jabs for travelno train or plane will take her otherwise.

The local vet, for a few jars of marmalade, backdated Julias passport and marked her as vaccinated. There was no time for official procedures.

That night, Veras father sewed Julia a muzzleback then, finding the right dog kit wasnt easy. Julia, never having worn anything, sat patiently as it was fitted, seeming to know it was important, proud and happy.

All doneyoure coming with us, he said, tying off the final stitch. Dont let us down, Julia.

Julia never did. The family never regretted their decision for a moment. They travelled by train, then through airports, connecting flights. Julia became a seasoned traveller, flying in RAF transport planes across northern England, visiting the Lake District and up to Scotland. After a year, they moved home again.

Julia spent thirteen bright, kind, truly happy years at Veras sidefaithful as ever, following wherever Vera went.

Who Slept in My Bed and Creased the Sheets… A Story My Husband’s Mistress Was Just Older Than Our Daughter—Chubby Cheeks, Innocent Eyes, Nose Piercing (He Forbade Our Daughter Ever Getting One)—Standing There Bare-Legged in a Cropped Jacket, and I Wanted to Snap: “If You’re Planning on Having Children With That Idiot, Buy a Coat and Wear Tights Under Your Jeans.” Of Course, I Said Nothing. I Just Handed Over the Keys, Grabbed My Bags of Leftover Belongings, and Headed for the Bus Stop. “Mum, Who’s Slept in My Bed and Creased My Sheets?”—When My Daughter Came Home Early, She Found the Young Nymph Drinking Cocoa From Her Favourite Mug, Wearing Her Slippers, While Her Dad Was in the Shower. It Was Just Like a Fairytale, But With Extra Betrayal. Unlike My Daughter, I Took It Calmly—Of Course, My Ego Was Bruised Seeing Such Youthful Beauty, But Mainly I Felt Relief After Years of Late-Night Calls and Coffee Shop Receipts From Places He Never Took Me. Even So, He Lied Shamelessly: “It’s Just the First Time—A Comet Fell From the Sky,” Yet That ‘Comet’ Turned Out to Be a Twenty-Year-Old Hotel Worker Who Chased Him All the Way to London. Sergei’s Flat Was His Before We Married, and Once I Filed for Divorce, My Daughter and I Had to Move Across Town to My Gran’s Old Place—She Hated The Daily School Commute, but Eventually We Settled in, New Jobs and Exams Keeping Us Busy and Distracted from Sadness. Sergei’s Mistress, Arianna, Phoned for Baking Advice and Turned Up Once With Forgotten Photos. She Marvelled at Our Faded Wallpaper—Not “Chic,” but It Was Home. Then, About a Year Later, Arianna Appeared at Our Door in Tears, Mascara Streaming: She’d Just Stumbled on Sergei With His Secretary Instead. Clutching Her Sports Bag, She Asked to Spend the Night and Borrow Train Fare Home. My Daughter Was Furious—It Was Her or Arianna. I Kept the Peace, Brewed Tea for the Distraught Mistress, and Eventually Put Her on a Train, Having Lent Her Money and Listened to Her Promise Never to Fall for Married Men Again. Sergei Called Later, Swearing He’d Changed and Wanted Us Back—“Running Out of Clean Laundry?” I Asked. I Didn’t Take Him Back, but I Didn’t Gloat Either—Instead, I Discovered a New Joyfulness, Adopted a Dog, Took Evening Walks, and Began to Smile More. I Even Befriended the Handsome Neighbour, Ten Years Older. Life, At Last, Moved On.

The Waiter Offered to Take Away the Kitten, But the Six-Foot-Two Gentle Giant Scooped Up the Fluffy, Crying Baby and Sat Him on the Next Chair: “A Plate for My Feline Friend! And Only Your Finest Steak!” — Let’s wear something daring, nearly as bold as the young nymphs, and head to the poshest restaurant in town. Time to flaunt ourselves and size up the gents… So declared one of the three friends—a headmistress of a prestigious and pricey private school, always armed with clever words as her profession demanded. These “nymphs” were all thirty-five—the perfect age, they believed, for miniskirts and blouses that highlighted their charms more than they concealed them. Deep necklines, flawless makeup—ready for battle. The venue was chosen accordingly: only London’s most exclusive, status-defining, and extremely expensive restaurant would do. Booking was easy, and soon they were catching admiring glances from the men and sneers from the men’s companions. Conversation, as always, revolved around the chief subject—men. Dreams, hopes, requirements. Each was waiting for her ideal—tall, fit, handsome, and, of course, rich. A man to sweep her off her feet, fulfill every whim, never chatter needlessly, nor burden her with chores. Nobility a bonus. — But absolutely not like those lot… The friends exchanged glances, nodding towards a trio of cheerful, slightly portly men with receding hairlines at a nearby table. Beer, crisps, and mountains of steak, football and fishing stories. Their laughter was loud, genuine, completely uninhibited. — Disgraceful. — So tasteless. — Ugh. Their verdict unanimous: scruffy, coarse, without a whiff of nobility—utterly wrong for such sophisticated ladies. And then, in a blink, everything changed. In came The Man—arriving in a scarlet Ferrari, the latest model. — Lord Coburg Saxon! — announced the waiter with great pomp at the entrance. The friends straightened like hounds catching a scent. Tall, sculpted, salt-and-pepper hair, a perfectly tailored suit that cost a fortune, diamond cufflinks, dazzlingly white shirt—the full package. — Oh my… — This is it… — Mmm… Necklines dipped even lower, eyes turned openly seductive. — Now that’s a real man, — one whispered. — A Lord, a stunner, and a millionaire, — crooned the second. — I’ve dreamed of the Bahamas since I was a child. The third said nothing, but her gaze spoke volumes. Within ten minutes, the ladies were invited to the lordly table. They walked tall, faces set in subtle disdain for the rest—including the three beer lovers. Lord Coburg was charming, sparkling in conversation, regaling tales of ancient lineage, ancestral estates, and rare art collections. Tension brewed—the invitation for the rest of the evening would go to just one. For now, gourmet distractions: lobsters, trays of seafood, aged wine. The ladies feasted, casting smouldering glances at the lord, their daydreams already far from the dinner table. Cheeks flushed—their beauty at its peak. Lord Coburg dazzled—joking, sharing high society stories. It mattered little where he might invite them next. At the restaurant, a small garden gave off tempting aromas even outside. Soon, a tiny, grey kitten emerged—skinny, hungry—and scooted under tables to sit at Lord Coburg’s feet, pleading for mercy. In vain. Lord Coburg’s face twisted in disgust. Without hesitation, he kicked the kitten away. The tiny creature flew across the floor and smacked into the table leg of our trio. A hush fell over the restaurant. — I despise filthy, mongrel creatures, — he declared loudly. — In my estate, we have pedigreed hounds and champion horses. The waiter rushed to soothe the situation: — Right away, sir, apologies… He aimed for the “beer” table, but one of the men was already on his feet. Huge, nearly six-foot-two, face flushed, fists clenched. Friends tried to hold him back. He silently picked up the kitten and sat him on a chair. — A plate for my furry friend! — he thundered. — Only the very best steak. Now. The waiter turned pale and dashed to the kitchen. Applause erupted across the restaurant. One of the “nymphs” silently rose, approached the gentle giant and declared: — Move over. And order a lady a whisky. Lord Coburg was struck dumb. A minute later, the other two friends joined, sparing Lord Coburg a scornful look. When the evening ended, not everyone left together. One new group—man, woman, and a grey kitten. Time passed. Today the first friend is married to the gentle giant—owner of a leading investment firm. The other two wed his mates, both famous lawyers. All three weddings happened on the same day. Now, the ex-“nymphs” lead a very different life: nappies, cooking, cleaning. Almost simultaneously, each welcomed a daughter. And, to sneak out for beloved dinners, they send their husbands off to football or fishing, call the babysitter and reunite to talk about life—the female kind and, of course, men. And Lord Coburg Saxon? A year later, he was arrested. Big scandal—serial conman preying on gullible women. As for real men? They’re the ones with bellies and thinning hair, no glitz or glory, but hearts of true nobility. That’s just the way it is. There’s no other way.