Granddad, look! I heard Ethels voice as she pressed her nose to the kitchen window. A dog!
A scruffy mongrel darted past the gate, black and filthy, its ribs jutting out.
Not that varmint again, I muttered, pulling my woollen boots onto the rug. Its been prowling for three days now. Get out of here! I jabbed a wooden stick toward it. The dog jumped back but didnt bolt. It settled a few yards away and simply stared.
Dont shoo it, Grandfather, Ethel begged, tugging my sleeve. It must be hungry and cold.
Ive enough worries of my own! I snapped. Itll bring fleas and disease. Off you go!
The dog tucked its tail and trotted off, but as soon as I disappeared behind the door it turned back.
Ethel had been living with me for half a year, ever since her parents perished in a mountaineering accident. Though Id never been a man of children, Id taken her in, preferring the quiet of my routine. Suddenly I had a little girl who sobbed at night, forever asking, Granddad, when will Mum and Dad come back? I could barely muster a reply. It was a hard life for both of us, but there was nowhere else to go.
After lunch, while I dozed in front of the telly, Ethel slipped out into the yard, a bowl of leftover soup in her hands.
Come here, Bessie, she whispered. Ive named you that. Its a pretty name, isnt it?
The dog crept forward, lapped the bowl clean, then lay down, head resting on its paws, watching me with a loyal gaze.
Youre a good girl, Ethel cooed, rubbing its ears. Very good.
From that day on Bessie never left the cottage gate. She guarded the entrance, saw Ethel off to school and welcomed her back. Whenever I stepped outside, Id shout, There you are again! How many times must I hear this?
Bessie, however, seemed to understand that my bark was harmless.
Our neighbour, Seth Nichols, smoking by his fence, watched the scene and said, Youre being hard on her, George.
Hard on her? I need a dog like a toothache! I grunted.
Perhaps, Seth lingered, God sent her to you for a reason.
I just snorted.
A week passed and Bessie kept her post in rain, sleet, and snow. Ethel still smuggled food to her, and I pretended not to notice.
Granddad, can Bessie stay in the pantry? Itll be warmer there, Ethel pleaded at dinner.
Never! I slammed my fist on the table. No animals in the house!
But she
No buts! I barked. Enough of your whims!
Ethel pouted, then fell silent. That night I lay awake, the house creaking in the wind. In the morning I glanced out and saw Bessie curled up on the snow outside. Shell die soon, I thought, a sourness rising in my throat.
On Saturday Ethel went skating on the village pond, Bessie trailing behind as usual. Ethel laughed, twirled on the ice, while the dog sat on the bank, watching.
Watch me! she shouted and skated toward the centre.
The ice gave a thin crack, then a loud snap, and Ethel slipped through.
The water was black and icy. She was pulled under, flailing, shouting, her cries swallowed by the splash.
Bessie froze for a heartbeat, then bolted toward the house.
I was chopping firewood when I heard a desperate bark. I turned to see the dog racing across the yard, lunging at my trousers, pulling me toward the gate.
Whats the matter, you mad thing? I muttered, bewildered.
Bessie kept yapping, gnawing at my coat, eyes wild with panic.
Ethel! I shouted, sprinting after her.
The dog sprinted ahead, looking back as if checking whether Id keep up, then forged ahead toward the pond. I spotted the black ice and heard weak splashes.
Hold on! I roared, grabbing a long pole. Hold on, my girl!
I scrambled over the cracking ice, it groaning beneath my boots, and clutched Ethels coat, pulling her toward the shore. Bessie stayed close, barking encouragement.
When we hauled her out she was bluegray from the cold. I patted her with snow, fanned her face, and prayed to every saint I could think of.
Granddad, Ethel whispered, eyes wide, Bessie, wheres Bessie?
The dog sat shivering beside us, trembling from the chill or perhaps the terror.
Shes here, I croaked, patting the snowcovered ground. Shes right here.
After that, something shifted. I stopped shouting at Bessie, though I still kept her out of the house.
Granddad, why? Ethel asked, eyes brimming. She saved my life!
Saved her, saved her. But theres still no room for her in here.
Why not?
Because thats how I run things! I barked, angered at myself for the stubbornness.
Seth stopped by for tea later, cigarette in hand, and leaned on the kitchen table.
Heard about the pond, he said cautiously.
Yes, I muttered.
Shes a good dog, clever.
Sometimes, I grunted. Shell need looking after.
Seth shook his head. Youre strange, George. You saved a childs life and now you turn her away. Thats ungrateful.
I owe that mutt nothing! I snapped. Feed her, dont beat her, and thats it!
Its not about owing, he replied. Its about treating people, not mongrels.
He fell silent, realizing the futility of arguing.
February was brutal. Snow drifts piled up as if winter itself were staking a claim. I spent my days clearing paths, only to wake to ankledeep snow each morning. Through it all Bessie kept her vigil at the gate, her coat ragged, eyes dim, but she never left.
Granddad, Ethel tugged at my sleeve, look at her. Shes barely alive.
She chose to sit there, I shrugged. No one forced her.
But she
Enough! I snapped. How many times must I hear the same thing? Im fed up with this dog!
Ethels cheeks flushed with hurt, and she fell silent. Later, as I read the paper, she whispered, Bessies gone missing today.
So what? I said without looking up.
All day shes not been seen. Maybe shes ill?
Maybe shes finally gone where she belongs.
Granddad! How can you say that?
Yes, what else can I do? I set the paper down, staring at her. Shes not ours. Shes a stray. We owe her nothing.
She saved me, Ethel murmured. And we didnt even give her a warm spot.
No spot! This is not a zoo! I hammered the table.
She burst into tears and fled to her room, while I remained at the table, the newspaper suddenly uninteresting.
That night a gale rattled the cottage, the wind howling through the chimney, windows rattling, snow pelting the panes. I tossed and turned, unable to find sleep.
Dog weather, I muttered, cursing myself. What does it matter to me?
But it did matter, and I knew it.
By dawn the storm had died. I slipped on a sweater, brewed a pot of tea, and looked out. The yard was buried to the eaves; the garden path vanished, the old bench stood alone. Near the gate something dark protruded from the drifts.
Probably rubbish, I thought, but my heart lurched. I pulled on my coat, slipped my boots on, and trudged out. The snow was soft, kneedeep. I reached the gate and froze.
There, halfburied, was Bessie, motionless. Snow covered her up to the ears and the tip of her tail.
Dead, I whispered, a hollow feeling settling in my gut. Then, as I brushed the snow away, I saw a faint rise and fall of her chest. She was barely breathing, a wheeze escaping her.
Blast you, I muttered. Why didnt you run?
She shivered at my voice, trying to lift her head. I felt a flicker of something I hadnt felt in years. Alright, you stubborn thing, I said, gently scooping her up. She was light, just bone and fur, but still warm.
Hold on, I mumbled, carrying her back. I set her down on the old rug by the stove and wrapped her in a blanket.
Granddad? Ethel appeared in her nightgown, eyes wide. Whats happened?
Its Bessie, I stammered. She was frozen out there. Shell warm up now.
She darted to the dog, eyes bright. Shes alive? Is she alive?
Yes, alive. Get some milk.
Ethel hurried to the stove. I knelt beside Bessie, stroking her head, thinking, What kind of man have I become? I nearly let her die, yet she stays.
Bessie opened her eyes a little, looking at me with a grateful shine. My throat tightened.
Milks ready, Ethel announced, placing a shallow bowl near the dog.
Bessie lapped at it feebly, then again, and again. Ethel and I sat nearby, watching as she drank, feeling as if a miracle were unfolding.
By lunch she was sitting up, and by evening she shuffled around the kitchen on trembling legs. I kept muttering, Its only temporary. Shell get stronger, then back outside!
Ethel just smiled, seeing me slip her extra bits of meat and pull a warmer blanket over her when I thought no one was looking. She wont be chased away, she whispered. She wont be.
The next morning I rose early. Bessie lay on a rug by the stove, eyes studying me.
Well, youre alive yet, I grumbled, pulling my trousers up. There you go.
She wagged a thin tail, as if testing whether Id still turn her away.
After breakfast I put on my coat and stepped into the yard, walking the fence line, lighting a cigarette, and glancing at the old doghouse by the shed. It had been empty for years.
Ethel! I called into the house. Come here!
She burst out, Bessie trotting close behind, but the dog kept its distance from me.
Look, I said, tapping the doghouse. The roofs rotted, the walls are mouldy. We ought to fix it.
Why, Granddad? Ethel asked.
How else? I muttered. Its a waste of space otherwise.
I hauled planks, a hammer, and nails from the shed and set to work, cursing each splinter and mismatched board. Bessie watched from a short distance, ears perked, seeming to understand I was doing it for her.
By lunchtime the doghouse had a fresh roof. I spread an old blanket inside, set out water and food bowls.
There, I said, wiping sweat from my brow. All done.
Granddad, Ethel whispered, is that for Bessie?
For who else? I growled. She has no place inside, but she needs a proper shelter out there. Thats as human as it gets for a dog.
She threw her arms around me. Thank you, Granddad! Thank you!
I waved her off. Dont get soft now. Remember, its only temporary until we find her a proper owner.
Deep down I knew no one would claim her; shed become ours, odd as it was.
Seth strolled over, eyeing the refurbished doghouse, the dog, and the relieved smile on Ethels face. He smirked.
Told you, George, God sent her for a reason.
Leave your God out of it, I snapped. Its just a pity, thats all.
Definitely a pity, Seth agreed. Your hearts good; you just keep it hidden.
I wanted to argue, but I just watched Bessie sniff her new home, Ethel patting her head, and felt a quiet peace settle over the little cottage.
Alright, Bessie, I said softly. This is now your home too.
She stared at me for a long moment, then settled beside the doghouse, keeping an eye on the door where we lived.
