Dear Diary,
Its been a strange few weeks, and I cant help but put my thoughts to paper. The dog, nearly indifferent to life, seemed ready to slip out of this harsh world
Ethel has lived for years in a modest cottage at the far edge of the little hamlet of Willowbrook. Whenever anyone called her lonely shed chuckle. Alone? shed reply with a grin. Not a chancemy family is huge! The village women would nod kindly, but the moment she turned away they would exchange glances, a finger tapping the side of their temples. Family? theyd think, no husband, no children, just animals Yet to Ethel those fourlegged and feathered companions were her kin. She paid no heed to those who believed beasts were kept only for utilitya cow for milk, a hen for eggs, a dog for guarding, a cat for catching mice. In her home there were five cats and four dogs, all living indoors where it was warm, not out in the yard, which left the neighbours scratching their heads.
They whispered their surprise among themselves, realising that arguing with the odd woman was pointless. To every rebuke she simply laughed. Nonsense, shed say. The streets have enough room for them; our home is cosy enough for us.
Five years ago her world shattered in a single day. While returning from a fishing trip, her husband and son were struck by a lorry that barreled down the A303. After the tragedy, Ethel realised she could not stay in the house that held every scent of her lost ones. Walking the familiar lanes, entering the same shop, meeting the sympathetic eyes of the neighbours became unbearable.
Six months later she sold the property, packed up her tabby, Dusty, and moved to the outskirts of the village, buying a small thatched house. In summer she turned the garden, and in winter she took a job in the community centres canteen. Over time new critters found their way to her a stray begging for a crust at the station, another rummaging around the canteen for scraps. Thats how her family grew, a collection of oncelonely, mistreated souls. Ethels warm heart healed their old wounds; in return they offered steadfast loyalty.
She fed them all, even when it was tough. Knowing she couldnt keep rescuing forever, she vowed repeatedly not to take any more in. Yet one March turned into a brutal February: prickly snow blanketed the footpaths, and a biting wind howled through the night.
That evening she was hurrying to catch the last bus back to the village. With a couple of days off ahead, shed stopped after her shift to shop for provisions for herself and the animals, and even carried a parcel from the canteen. The heavy bags weighed down her arms, but she pressed on, thinking only of the warm hearth waiting for her. Then, just a few steps short of the bus stop, she froze.
Under a bench lay a dog. Its eyes were dull, glassy, its body dusted with snowclearly it had been there for hours. Passersby shuffled past, scarves wrapped tight, none stopping. Did no one see? a thought whispered in her mind.
Ethel felt something tighten inside her chest. Forgetting the bus and her promises, she sprinted, dropped the bags, and reached down. The dogs eyelids fluttered. Thank heavens youre alive! she breathed, relief spilling out. Come on, dear, get up
The animal didnt move, yet it didnt fight when she gently lifted it from beneath the bench. It seemed the dog had already given up, ready to leave this cruel world behind.
She cant recall how she managed to lug two heavy sacks and a shivering dog to the bus station, but once inside she settled in a corner of the waiting hall and began to rub the thin creatures chilled limbs, warming them with her hands.
Come on, love, well get you sorted. We still have a way home, she murmured softly. Youll be our fifth dog, just to keep the numbers even.
From her bag she produced a mince patty and held it out. At first the dog turned away, but after a moments pause, its nose twitched, eyes brightened, and it accepted the food.
Within an hour Ethel was back on the road, the dogshe named her Millyby her side, flagging a car as if to stop it, though the bus had long since vanished. She fashioned a makeshift collar and leash from her belt, though it wasnt really needed; Milly trotted close, leaning against her boots. Ten minutes later a car pulled over.
Thank you ever so much! the driver said. Dont worry, Ill let her sit on my lap, she wont make a mess.
Mind if she gets a seat? Ethel replied. Shes not a little thing.
Milly, trembling, cuddled against Ethel, and together they settled on her lap. Much warmer, Ethel smiled.
The driver turned up the heater, and they rode in quiet, the snow flashing past the headlights. Ethel stared at the flakes, cradling her new charge, while the driver stole glances at the calm, tired profile of his passenger, guessing shed found a stray and was taking it home.
When they reached the cottage, the driver helped with the bags. The snowdrift at the gate was so high the man had to shove it aside with his shoulder. The rusted hinges gave way and the gate tipped over. No matter, Ethel sighed. Its about time we repaired it.
A chorus of barking and meowing burst from the doorway, and Ethel hurried inside. She ushered her motley crew into the yard. Well, youve been waiting, havent you? Meet the newcomer! she announced, pointing to Milly peeking from behind her boots.
The dogs wagged their tails, nosing at the bags the driver still held. What are we doing out here in the cold? Ethel mused. Come in, if a big family doesnt frighten you. Tea, perhaps?
Thanks, but its late, the driver replied, keep feeding yours; theyve missed you.
The next afternoon, as the sun lingered over the hedgerows, a knock sounded at the gate. Ethel slipped on her coat and opened it to find the driver, now fixing fresh hinges, tools stacked beside him. Good afternoon! he beamed. Im Vladimir, the fellow who broke the gate. Thought Id come and mend it. And you are?
Ethel, she answered.
Her tailwagging family swarmed around the stranger, sniffing and circling. He sat down to pat them. Ethel, get inside, dont freeze. Ill be done shortly and would love a cup of tea. Theres even a slice of cake in the boot and a few treats for your big brood.
As I write this, Im reminded how a single act of compassion can swell into a whole household of gratitude. Ive learned that kindness, no matter how small, never truly disappearsit simply finds new homes in the hearts of those we touch.
A lesson worth keeping close.
