People were astonished: in the abandoned house, the dog was feeding someone quite unexpected
Edith Palmer was making her way back from the shops, arms aching with heavy carrier bags, lost in her own thoughts. Her knees were giving her grief again, her granddaughter had promised a call but hadnt ringed yet, and this winter it was strange: one minute snow, then slush and grey drizzle. Her worries circled in her mind, when suddenly she stumbled and nearly sprawled face-first onto the pavement.
She spun round a ginger mongrel darted between her feet. So skinny you could count her ribs, her coat matted in untidy tufts.
“Watch it, you little nuisance!” Edith snapped.
The dog didnt slow in the slightest. She was racing as if someone desperately needed her. In her jaws, she clamped what looked like a crust of bread.
“She must have pups hidden somewhere,” Edith muttered. “Springs nearly here; theyre all at it.”
She adjusted her bags and kept walking, but something niggled at her. It didnt quite sit right, that picture.
The next day, it was the same scene. The ginger ghost in the courtyard, the same crust in her mouth, heading toward the derelict house at the blocks end the one old Mrs. Seraphina had called home. Shed passed away half a year ago, and the house had stood empty and miserable ever since.
“Edith, look your friends at it again!” yelled Lucy, her neighbour, from her flats balcony. “Every day! Where does she even find the food?”
“What food?” Edith paused, curious.
“Right there carrying it! Been scavenging on the bins, I reckon. Feeding her pups, motherly instinct and all.”
“You sure its pups?”
“What else, love? Nearly spring thats what happens.”
Edith nodded, but the thought stuck like a thorn. Pups, yes that made sense. Still, something felt off.
Once again, the ginger dog slipped through a gap in the leaning fence and vanished into the weedy garden. Edith hesitated.
“What am I doing?” she told herself. “Might as well see for myself everyones talking about it anyway.”
She crouched and squeezed through the same gap, the fence creaking but holding. Inside, neglect reigned: nettles waist-deep, broken glass, rusted old pots.
From somewhere in the garden came a faint whimper.
Edith followed the sound, circled past a half-collapsed shed and froze.
The ginger dog sat at the door to an old kennel. Before her lay a big black dog, her muzzle frosted with grey, chained to a stake with a short, rusted lead.
Blind.
Her eyes clouded, body gaunt, her fur thick with knots. The old girl lay on her side, barely breathing.
The ginger one gently laid the bread down before her, nudged it close, and waited.
The black dog stirred weakly, found the bread and devoured it hungrily. The ginger just sat close by, not wagging, simply watching.
When the bread was gone, the ginger dog softly licked her companions muzzle and curled up beside her.
Edith stood rooted, mist welling in her eyes.
“My goodness shes feeding her. Every day. Hungry herself, but she shares anyway.”
She had no idea how long she stood there. She only snapped out of it when the ginger dog raised her head and locked eyes with her as if to say, “Well? Are you going to help or not?”
“Wait hang on,” Edith whispered.
She turned and hurried home in a way she hadnt managed in decades. Her knees protested, a stitch flared in her side, but she didnt stop.
At home, she swept up whatever food she hada cooked chicken, a bit of porridge, a heel of hamsnatched up a bowl of water and rushed back.
The scene was unchanged: ginger resting beside the blind one.
“There you go,” Edith panted, crouching. “Some grub.”
She placed the chicken before the ginger one, but the dog didnt budge, only watched the black one.
“You daft thing, you need food too look at the state of you.”
It clicked. Edith moved the chicken to the blind dogs nose. The black dog perked up, sniffed, and tucked in.
Ginger swallowed, but even then, didnt touch the food. She waited.
Only when the black dog had had her fill did the ginger dog nibble what was left.
“There you go,” Edith murmured, quietly.
Both dogs drank their fill. Edith watched, dabbing tears away.
“What are you crying for?” snapped Lucy behind her.
Lucy stood peering through the break in the fence, eyes wide at the sight.
“This is who shes feeding,” Edith said softly. “Not pups.”
Lucy said nothing for a moment, then sniffed back emotion.
“Whod leave a dog like that?”
“Seraphina, I expect. Kept her on the chain. And after she passed, no-one remembered the dog.”
“Six months already…”
“Six months, all by herself. And only this ginger one found her, kept her alive. Every day.”
Lucy knelt beside them, stroked the gingers bony back.
“Clever girl clever girl.”
By evening, almost the whole building gathered in the yard. Some brought food, others old blankets. The blokes tried to break the chain, but it was too thick.
“Well need an angle grinder,” declared Uncle Albert. “Ill fetch one tomorrow.”
He was true to his word. Next morning, people clustered in the garden again.
“Careful, Bert!” Lucy barked. “Dont frighten her!”
The grinder screeched, sparks flying. The black dog flinched, tried to get up.
The chain snapped.
“There. Shes free,” Albert sighed, mopping his brow.
Edith gently lowered herself to her knees beside the freed dog, stroking her head with care.
“How about it, girl? Come with me? Ill feed you. Its warm at mine. Ill take the ginger one too. Both of you.”
The black dogs tail moved, only just, as if she understood every word.
Edith tried to lift her, but had to admit defeatshe was too heavy.
“Let me,” said Albert quietly, gathering the dog in his arms. “Where to?”
“Third block. Flat twenty-one.”
As they crossed the courtyard, neighbours quietly parted to let them through, watching with solemn eyes. The ginger dog trotted at their heels, close, ears and tail low.
“No need to be afraid,” Edith said softly. “Ill take care of you both.”
The usual bench-bound grannies stood outside the block, tutting.
“Edith, what are you doing? Bringing dogs into your flat?”
“I am,” she replied tersely.
“Theyll bring fleas! All filthy! The smell ”
“Ill bathe them.”
“Whatll the neighbours say?”
“And what if they do?” Edith suddenly shouted, surprising even herself. “That poor dogs sat here for half a year, blind, starving! Nobody noticed! Only the ginger dog did. And us? We just turned a blind eye!”
Her voice wobbled then cracked. She drew a deep breath. The old women fell silent, eyes cast down.
“I never knew,” one mumbled. “Seraphina died, nobody said anything about a dog.”
“Exactly nobody said a word!” Edith brushed her tears away. “Nobody cared.”
She turned and went inside. Albert followed; the ginger dog stayed faithfully beside them.
At home, Edith spread an old blanket where Albert tenderly laid the black dog.
“There,” he puffed. “Need a hand with anything else?”
“No, thank you. Ill manage.”
Once the door had shut behind him, Edith leaned against it, exhausted. The ginger dog sat ever so close to the resting black dog, watching her new owner with unmistakable gratitude in her eyes.
“Alright,” sighed Edith. “Time for introductions. Im Edith. And you two, what shall I call you?”
The ginger one gave a soft bark.
“Youll be Ginger. And you” she looked at the black dog, “Ill call you Shadow. If thats alright?”
She fetched a bowl of porridge and meat, setting it before Shadow, who sniffed but seemed too timid to eat, overwhelmed by her new surroundings.
“Come on,” Edith coaxed, offering a bit by hand.
Shadow delicately took it.
“Good girl,” Edith whispered. “Eat up.”
She fed her gently, bit by bit. Ginger kept watch but soon rested her head in Ediths lap, and in that moment, Edith realised: it was trust pure, unspoken gratitude.
That evening, Lucy rang.
“Hows it going? Are they alright?”
“Theyre alive,” Edith replied, drained. “Both asleep now.”
“And you? Not asleep yourself?”
“Cant. Been thinking.”
“About what?”
Edith was quiet a moment.
“That sometimes, were worse than animals. That blind dog and the ginger one never forgot her. But we look away, every day. Pretend not to see. Choose not to see.”
“Edith, dont start”
“I cant help it!” Edith burst out. “I cant. Im ashamed! Do you hear me? Ashamed! Ashamed in front of this dog!”
She ended the call, slumped down beside the sleeping dogs, hugged her knees and cried softly.
A week passed. Shadow slowly regained her strength. At first, shed only lie quietly, eating a little, but soon, she began to rise shakily to her feettimidly, uncertain, but she managed. Ginger was always close, like a guide.
“Ginger, youre the best guide I could ask for Shadow,” Edith would say. “Couldnt wish for better.”
Their story quickly spread through the blockthanks to Lucy.
“Did you hear about Edith Palmer?” the grannies whispered. “Shes taken in two dogs!”
“Yes, they say one was left chained for months, stone blind.”
“And the other fed her! Would you believe it?”
“Surely not!”
“Im telling you! Lucy saw it herself!”
When Edith took the dogs for walks, passers-by stared. Some smiled, others just shook their heads.
“Edith, youre grand,” Albert once told her. “A real mensch.”
“Oh, dont be daft,” she waved him off. “Gingers the real good one here. I just finally paid attention.”
One evening, someone knocked on her door. On her step stood a young woman.
“Hello, is it Mrs Palmer?”
“Thats me. And you are?”
“My names Megan. I heard about your dogs how you saved them. And I thought maybe I could help? Im a vet. I could check on Shadow. Free of charge.”
Edith blinked, taken aback.
“Free?”
“Yes. I just want to help. May I?”
“Please, come in.”
Megan examined Shadow very thoroughly, then straightened up.
“Shes old. Sick. Her sights gone forever. But she can go on living if you look after her right.”
“How do I do that?”
The young woman handed over medicines.
“These are vitamins. These for her joints. Heres ointment for her paws. Ill write you a list of how and when.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” Megan smiled. “Its a gift. From me, and all of us who heard your story.”
Ediths eyes prickled with tears again.
“Thank you.”
“No thank you,” Megan said, patting Ginger.
When the door closed behind the girl, Edith sat on the sofa. Shadow curled up at her feet, Ginger by her side. And for the first time in many years, Edith Palmer felt truly needed.
And that was happiness.
