He stooped down to the old sheepdog. She gazed up at him with a look of resignation and then turned her head away. Hope had long since deserted her; she knew people far too well now.
Out on the street, folks called them simply the dog pack. But Arthur, who lived on their block, always corrected them: Theyre not a gang. Just five dogs sticking together, trying to survive.
The leader was the old sheepdogevidently once someones pet. Without a doubt, she had been abandoned by her owners, left behind when they moved away without so much as a backward glance. She was the glue that held the rest together: guarding them, guiding them, never letting their fragile little street family fall apart.
Arthur fed them every single daybefore work on his way to the bus stop and again in the evening as he came home. Every time he appeared, five tails erupted into whirling propellers, some curly, others drooping low, all frantically wagging. The sheer joy in their eyes made his chest ache. They leapt, nudged his hands with damp noses, licked his fingers. Their gaze held everythinggratitude, trust, hope.
What does a dog, once thrown out onto the street to die, dare hope for? And yet they hoped. They believed, and they loved. Thats why Arthur never came to them empty-handedhe knew theyd be waiting. And they always were.
But that morning, only four ran up to greet him. Their anxious whimpers and constant looks toward the far end of the street spoke plainly. Arthurs heart sanksomething was wrong.
With a heavy sigh, he rang his office: Ill be late today.
At the far end of the long road in the quiet outskirts of Manchester, under the shadow of a hedge, the old sheepdog lay sprawled on the grass. Shed been struck by a car. There was a bend there, and drivers often sped past carelessly, barely slowing down. This time, fate had turned its back.
The four dogs circled him, whining softly, staring into Arthurs eyeshe was the only human theyd ever dared to trust.
Arthur crouched beside the sheepdog. Tears spilled from her eyes. She looked at him, desperate and beaten, then turned away. Shed forgotten how to hope. Shed learned about people the hard way. Only one worry nagged herwhat would become of the four shed always protected?
Arthur stroked her head gently. Oh, love Does it hurt? he whispered, pulling out his phone.
He arranged for emergency leave, fetched his car, and carefully carried her to the back seat. The four others hopped along, pressing close, as though trying to mumble their thanks into his hands.
At the vets, the doctor examined the sheepdog and sighed. Youd be kinder putting her to sleep. Too many fractures. Not much hope, and the treatment will cost a fortune
But is there any chance? Arthur cut in, voice tight.
Theres always a chance, the vet admitted. But shell suffer. Is that fair?
There is, Arthur replied firmly. She has a reason. Four little dogs are waiting for her. How could I ever face them if I gave up on her?
The doctor considered him quietly, then nodded. Very well. Well begin.
A week later, Arthur brought her home from the surgery. Meanwhile, outside, the four street dogs waited faithfully at his doorstep day and night. When they saw her again, the uproar of barking and happy squeals was so joyous it roused even the injured dog; she tried to wag and lick her companions in greeting.
Arthur carried her in, then stepped back outside and addressed the others. He spoke of what it meant to have a homeabout responsibility, about how the wild wanderings of street life were now behind them.
The dogs sat before him, listening intently. Suddenly, Arthur broke into a wide smile: Well now what are you waiting for? Come on in.
And he pushed the gate open wide.
The old sheepdog regained her strength at an astonishing pace. Eager to rejoin her friends, she tried often to get to her feet; Arthur, ever watchful, wouldnt let her overdo it. When at last her bones healed and she could walk without fear, he fastened around her neck a special collargilded and adorned with a small bell.
Now Arthur leaves for work a little earlier. He walks down the long, quiet street, leading five dogs on their leads: four spirited little ones with tails curled high, and one stately, elderly sheepdog, her golden collar chiming softly with every proud step.
If only you could see how they look around them. Now they have a real home. And she wears her collar. The sheepdog walks with her head held high.
You wouldnt understandunless youd ever known the feel of such a collar with a bell. But any dog knows: this is how respect looks.
So they walk onone man who couldnt just walk by, and five dogs who refuse to stop believing and loving, despite all the betrayals they have suffered at human hands.
They walk, and they rejoice. What for? Who can say? Maybe for each other. Maybe for the sunny day. Or maybe simply for lovestill alive in this world.
Looking into their eyes, you know: as long as such eyes exist, all hope is not lost.
