The Shaggy Guardian
Emma slowly edged backwards, never taking her eyes off the enormous dog sitting smack in the middle of the lane as if hed reserved it.
Good boy, easy now she muttered as soothingly as she could, practically whispering and doing her best to avoid any sudden movements.
He was colossala solid frame draped in thick, wild fur tangled here and there into dubious dreadlocks. His eyes, dark and sharp, tracked her every move, while his ears flicked at the slightest noise. Terror knotted in Emmas stomach; her knees nearly gave way, though she fought to keep her composure. Emma had always been afraid of dogs. Not just the big, drooling ones you see in police dramasbut even the tiny, handbag-sized fluffballs that old ladies parade through the parks. Her dread had roots in childhood, fertilised by one truly unpleasant incident.
Emma was only four when her parents hauled her off to the countryside to visit Granny. Next door lived a bloke who bred dogs. Emma, a dangerously curious child, wanted to touch, poke and prod everything in sight. Of course, as luck would have it, an adorable puppy tottered onto Grannys lawn while the grownups squabbled over tea. Emma scooped up the squirmy ball of fur, determined to parade her prize indoors. Shed barely taken two steps when a huge dog, the puppys mother as it turned out, blocked her path. The beast stood menacingly over petite Emma, baring enough pointy teeth to fill a dentist with terror. She didnt lungejust let out a low, guttural snarlbut that was plenty. The memory lodged itself firmly: the fear, the helplessness, the paralysing chill from head to toe.
Years passed. The fear, however, lingered like a persistent cold. And now, smack in front of herthis woolly leviathan made it clear he wasnt moving anytime soon. Emma decided not to tempt fate; better to detour than test her luck. She turned slowly and headed the other way, pretending to be as calm as a yoga instructor on a Monday morning. Every few paces she peeped over her shoulderthe dog was following. Not closing in, just trotting at a polite distance, a silent tailgater.
Smart lad, Emma mumbled, sneaking another peek at her unexpected minder. Keeps his distance, picks up on the terror. But why is he following? And wheres your owner, eh? No answers, of course.
At last, her block came into sight. Emma half-jogged to her door, fumbling with her fob until the lock pinged open. Once safely inside, she turnedthere he was on the pavement, still as a statue, watching her with those thoughtful eyes as the door glided shut between them.
Inside her flat, Emma carefully set down her bag, kicked off her shoes and froze in the quiet hallway, listening. Nothing but the citys distant rumble. She wanted, almost desperately, to check he wasnt still lurking out front. She tiptoed to the window.
Through the glass, the familiar shaggy figure sat on the pavement. He seemed to sense her gaze: he sniffed the air, then wagged his tail and, with the slow dignity of royalty, trotted off. Emma exhaledhed finally gone, at least for today.
The routine soon became something of a tradition. Every evening, as Emma trudged home from her marketing job, the big dog materialised out of thin air and glided behind her all the way to her building. At first, he hung back a solid ten metres; hed never try to catch up, only followed at a respectful distance. As days went by, he crept closerturning ten metres to five, and five to three. Eventually, he walked just a little behind, as if they were rehearsing for a three-legged race.
Emma still went a bit wobbly at the sight of him, but the wild edge of her panic waned. Where any sudden movement used to make her jump and clench her fists, she now merely threw him a cautious glance. Her inner child still quailed, but her grown-up head slowly accepted the obvious: this dog wasnt dangerous. He simply walked with her.
Soon Emma began to notice things shed missed before. His gait was dignified, almost stately. The ears shed thought were always on guard were mostly relaxed. And those dark eyeskeen, yes, but not menacing.
One day on her walk, it dawned on herit was oddly comforting to know he was around. She paused, pondering what to call him. He was so large and so solemn that he needed a name out of myth. The answer was obvious.
Hercules, she murmured. It fit.
To her amazement, the dog reacted immediately. Next evening, when she called out, Hercules! he whipped his head around, as if to say, About time you figured that out! Emma couldnt help but smile.
Her days as a junior manager at a poky advertising agency were box-ticking chaos: early-morning meetings, temperamental clients, endless edits, ringing phones, and an inbox that groaned in protest. By the evening, she felt wrung out, dreams consisting solely of ditching her shoes, making tea, and collapsing in front of Netflix.
Only now, walking home was more than slumping from Point A to B. Hercules made the evening stroll something special. His silent presence worked wonders for Emmas nerves. He never barked, bounded, or drooled on her tightsjust walked quietly by her side, as if he understood what she needed most was company that wanted nothing.
Sometimes shed slow, allowing him to amble closer. Once or twice she even managed a glance in his direction, rewarded with a calm, patient look that seemed to say, Trust takes time. Every day, her unease lesseneda bit of trust here, a pinch of warmth there, until her jitters were replaced by something quieter: the beginnings of affection.
It was on an unusually toasty September evening, after a workday that felt like being run over by the 8:17 to Paddington, that everything changed. Emma had stayed late, frantically redoing a client presentation, putting out email fires, and fielding last-second demands. By the time she bailed out, it was nearly eight.
She hurried along her usual shortcut, breeze cool and trees whispering above, but her mind was on one subject: something was off.
No sign of Hercules. Normally, hed emerge from the corner or the mini-park, falling into step like a well-rehearsed partner. Without him, the street felt oddly empty and, dare she admit it, a little foreboding.
What if something happened? Maybe he was unwell. Or his owner had finally claimed him. Or maybe hed got fed up with her brisk walks. Emma tried to fend off the worry, but it gnawed at her all the way home. Still, as she neared her flat, she caught herself scanning for a shaggy, loyal silhouette sneaking from behind a bus shelter.
Dusk thickened. With the street lamps slow to flicker on, every shadow stretched out menacingly. Emma hated being outside at this hourevery rustle became suspicious; every passerby, a possible mugger. She found herself sorely missing Herculeshis presence, however subtle, had always exuded safety.
Emma was almost at the crossing when a male voice rang out of a gloomy alley.
Oi, love, fancy a chat?
Of course, she thought grimly. Just when you need a hug, you get a creep. She picked up her pace, pretending not to hear, but her heart was racing like mad.
Wherere you off to, then? Cat got your tongue? He was coming after her.
Trying to speed-walk away, she was suddenly yanked by the arm, the mans grip cutting off her circulation. He wasnt relenting.
I said, Im talking to you. I dont like being ignored, he said, leaning in, his breath stinking of old lager.
Emma tried to jerk free, panic building to a crescendo. Let go, or Ill scream! Her voice wobbled but she forced it out.
The grip grew iron-tight.
Go on, then, he sneered. Youll only make it worse for yourself.
In the greying lamplight, Emma caught a flash of silver. The man was holding a knife, angled just enough for her to know he meant business. Suddenly she cursed herself for working lateif shed left on time, none of this. Now here she was, a sitting duck with no one about.
What should she do? Run? He could easily catch her, and that blade looked keen. Negotiate? Not with this soused oaf, who clearly wasnt interested in conversation about the weather. Panic fed on panic.
And thena thunderous, bone-rattling bark tore through the night. The man wheeled around, startled. Instantly, his grip slackened and disappeared. Next thing, he was lying flat on the pavement, a shaggy mass pinning him down.
Get off, you stupid mutt! the man shrieked, wriggling as Hercules clamped down on his wrist.
The knife skidded away. Emma wasted no timeshe kicked it, booting it under a bush.
Let him go, Hercules, but dont let him run off! Emma managed, voice trembling. Im calling the police now. Who knows who else hes threatened
Obedient as ever, Hercules released his grip, but stayed put. He sat a yard from the man, eyes hard, teeth blaring, letting out a growl every time the brute twitched.
Soon the police turned up, cuffed the attacker, and bundled him into the back of their van. Only then did Hercules amble over to Emma, who was sitting on the kerb, knees hugged to her chest, too dazed to stand.
He rested his massive head on her lap and let out a deep sigh. That simple gesture was so gentle, so full of warmth, that Emma finally allowed herself to relax. Tears slipped down her cheekssilent, grateful tearsas she wrapped her arms around the big dogs neck.
Thank you, she whispered, hands buried in his tangled coat. Thank you for being here.
Everything changed that night. Emma couldnt imagine her life without Hercules anymore. She welcomed him into her flat, and from then on he became part of her homeher constant companion, her silent bodyguard, her gentle colossus always ready to stand between her and the world.
And although Emma sometimes still flinched at unexpected noises, she no longer felt alone. She had proofshould she ever need remindingthat someone was there to protect her, always.
********************
Those first few days in Emmas flat were a cautious adventure for Hercules. He entered with his ears pinned back, heel-dragging his way from doorway to doorway, sniffing at the wild cocktail of cleaning spray, furniture polish, and something that might once have been roast chicken.
He wandered from room to room, nose twitching at every patch of carpet and sneaky cupboard. Sometimes he paused as if hearing things Emma couldnt: distant footsteps, appliances humming, the strange otherworldly calls of next doors cat. Emma never forced him onto his plush new bed or tried to make him sit. She simply stayed nearby, speaking in a calm, soft tone, letting him suss things out at his own pace.
Gradually, he grew less cautious. First he claimed the spot by the front door, then shifted allegiance to the sunny patch by the lounge window. There, he could keep a watchful eye on the street: passersby, parked cars, the neighbours tragic floral leggingshe took it all in, gently twitching every so often but otherwise serene.
Emma did all she could to make him comfortable. She bought him a doughnut-shaped bed, which he eyed warily at first but soon came to treat like a well-earned throne. She found a sturdy water bowl, a metal dish for kibble, and an assortment of toys: a neon tennis ball, a squeaky bone, a thoroughly British stuffed hedgehog. Hercules regarded these offerings with scepticism, but every so often hed nose at the ball or attempt a gentle gnaw at Mr. Hedgehog, while Emma covertly cheered his progress.
Bit by bit, Hercules grew more confident. Afternoons spent draped at the window became a ritual; hed wait for the sound of Emmas steps on the landing and then leap up, tail thumping floorboards, ready for her return.
Evening strolls in the local green became their favourite escape. Emma ambled along the gravel paths while Hercules plodded loyally by her side, pausing to sniff a bush or give birds his best royal wave. Somehow, Emmas fear didnt just subsideit disappeared, at least where Hercules was concerned. His presence brought her an odd certainty: she wasnt just a pet owner. Shed found a guardiana comically hairy protector who took sentry duty extremely seriously.
Sometimes, after particularly long days, Emma would drop onto the sofa and Hercules would arrange himself beside her, head flopped into her lap, gently snoring comfort. In those moments, Emma realised just how attached shed become.
One morning, though, things werent right. Hercules, usually wiggling with delight as soon as the blinds were up, barely raised his head from his bed. When he did shuffle to his dish, he only stood there, uninterested. Emmas anxiety shot up a notch. She knelt beside him; his fur looked dull and his eyes tired, his movements as sluggish as a Monday morning.
Whats up, old boy? she murmured, stroking his back, fingers trembling.
Hercules simply sighed and went back to bed. Emma, not one to faff about, was on the phone to the vets within minutes.
The vet arrived that afternoon, checked him overtemperature, pulse, the worksand delivered the verdict: Bit of a tummy bug, probably from bin diving before he found you. Nothing too ghastly. Few days on bland food and these tablets, and hell be back to his usual self.
Emma followed instructions religiously. She fed Hercules gentle mealsrice and chicken, just like the internet saysmaking sure it was the right temperature and laced with his medicine, cleverly hidden in bits of cheese. She coaxed him to drink, counted pills, and generally hovered like an over-anxious mother.
Hercules seemed to appreciate the pampering, licking her hand as if to say, Ive had worse. Gradually, his appetite returned, his energy picked up, and soon he was racing Emma to the front door again, howling a greeting the neighbours could hear three streets away.
Life, for once, slipped into a comforting rhythm. Emma took to her new canine role with prideshe knew what dogs could and couldnt eat, had walk times scheduled to the minute, and made a habit of grilling the butcher for the best marrow bones.
Eventually, Emma signed them up for obedience classes. Hercules surprised them bothquick to master sit, down, and here, you great lump. The trainer pronounced him a natural, and Emma basked in parental pride.
Weekends meant long outings to the park, where Hercules dabbled in everythingfrom epic sniffing expeditions to forming diplomatic relations with other dogs, and occasional games of chase-the-stick that inevitably ended with Emma apologising to mothers whose childrens football hed commandeered.
It came as a shock, then, when one evening her routine was interrupted by a man she didnt recognise, loitering by her building, as if in wait.
He straightened as she approached. Evening, he said, a tentative smile on his face. You must be Emma?
Emma tensed, keeping a careful eye on him.
Thats me, she replied cautiously. Can I help you?
Im Peter. I Im Hercules owner.
Emma froze. The truth hung between them awkwardly. For a moment, she just stared, trying to piece it all together.
Youre his owner? she managed. But why was he out on the street?
Peter sighed, ruffling his hair. Its a long story. I had to work up north for six monthsleft Hercules with a mate who swore hed look after him. Turns out, Hercules wasnt exactly manageable. My mate gave up and well, just set him free.
Peter looked abashed, gazing at his shoes.
When I came back, I searched everywhere. Posters, local groups, you name it. Nothing. Then one day I saw youwith him, walking down this street. He looked so settled. Like this was where he belonged.
Emma digested this, a riot of emotions tumbling about inside. She couldnt imagine just leaving Hercules behind, even temporarily. But she bit back her opinionsno use starting a custody battle in the street.
So, youve come to take him back? she asked quietly.
Peter hesitated. There was something almost apologetic in his eyes. I thought I would. But, honestly, I think hes found his place. Hes happy. Looks brilliant. I just wanted to know he was all rightand say thank you.
Emma nodded. The release of tension was almost overwhelming. Gratitude and relief tangled into a warm glow.
Thank you for telling me, she replied. Ill do my best to look after him.
Peter smiled, nodded, and left her standing by the step, reflecting on just how dramatically life had changed. Inside, Emma could already hear Herculess paws scrabbling behind the door, ready to greet her with that unshakable, shaggy devotion.
And so, Emma and Hercules made their own peculiar familyone frightened girl and one overgrown, hairy angel whod somehow found each other in the heart of London.
