Once upon a time, a kindly old lady named Edith decided to take in a puppyan English Mastiff, no less. The little fellow grew quickly, and soon enough he was guarding the entire cottage. He could polish off a whole washing-up bowl of food in a flash, and would scratch his back so hard along the garden fence that it bowed beneath his weight. He even tried, at least once, to drag poor Edith off her feet as she happened to pass by his lead. Puppies, after all, must find their fun from time to time.
But, as the years drifted by, Edith passed awaynot because of the dog, mind you, but simply because she didn’t quite manage to reach her ninetieth year. In the days after her passing, her children and grandchildren came down to her old country home. There in the garden sat the dog, chained up and watching with an expression that could only be described as hopeful. After all, its not every day the place is filled with eager visitors bringing so many tempting treats and curious new scents.
A family conference began about what to do with the great beast. It seemed a mercy not to put him down, but truthfully, living close by made most of them nervous, and sending him out into the wild was hardly Christian. The world hadnt done anything to deserve such a burden. And so, it was decidedthey would find him a good home, even if they had to offer a few extra pounds to sweeten the deal. After all, anyone willing to take in such a shaggy, larger-than-life creature deserved the familys gratitude.
They soon found a chap named Bernard who had always dreamed of feeding enormous dogs from dustbins and scratching behind their ears with a garden rake. Heaven knows what peculiar tastes people develop! The family called the village vet.
The plan was set: they would give the dog a gentle sedative and move him quickly to Bernards home, making sure to cross themselves and light a candle for their own peace of mindand perhaps to wish Bernard luck, for one never knows how these things might turn out.
At the appointed hour, the vet arrived, bold as brass, with his tranquiliser gun. He loaded it with a special dart, took aim, and with one well-timed shot soon had the dog sleeping the sleep of dreams. They unclipped the chain, rolled him onto a tarpaulin, and heaved him to the back of Bernards estate car, which was half boot, half back seat.
The vet claimed the passenger seat for himselfafter all, a professional should travel in comfortand Bernard took the wheel. In the back, the whole of Ediths family squeezed themselves in, and off they went, chatting nervously. Somewhere down the road the dog began to stir.
He lifted his head and peered around with curiosity. Strangers, all crammed together, looked back at him with wide, uneasy eyes.
The vets face was a picture of astonishment, and Bernards wasnt much different; not once did he look at the road as he drove. He no longer cared a jot that he was behind the wheel.
How interesting, the dog must have thought.
Is there really an afterlife? wondered the people.
Without hesitation, the dog staggered to his feet and started climbing into the front with everyone elsewhy wait? And while Bernard fumbled with the door handle, half ready to bolt from the car, the dog set about licking everyone from head to toe. The family became as good as kin, even welcoming Bernard and, yes, the vet, in spite of the business with the dart. After all, he was just another chap doing his rather odd job.
And so it was, as they learned that the dog they had thought so fearsome was nothing but an old softie. The rest of the journey home was spent with everyone sopping wetdrenched from above with slobbery kisses, and below from the overwhelming flood of relief and laughter.
And there you have it, from the garden patch and beloved country cottage of dear Edith, a story worth remembering.
