People were astonished: the dog in the abandoned house was feeding not puppies at all
Margaret returned from the shops, arms aching from overstuffed bags, her mind drifting. Her knees throbbedold age, she thoughtand her granddaughter had promised to call but hadnt. Winter was a strange one this year: one day blustery and icy, the next bleak with cold rain and muck. Her thoughts tangled, she misstepped and nearly sprawled onto the pavement.
A flash of ginger darted between her feeta mongrel, so skinny her ribs showed through matted fur.
Oi! Watch where youre going, you daft thing! snapped Margaret, startled.
The dog paid her no heed, racing ahead as if someone was awaiting her. Clamped tightly in her teeth was something that looked suspiciously like a hunk of bread.
Bet shes got a litter tucked away, Margaret muttered. Springs coming, after all. Theyll be everywhere.
She shifted her bags and trudged on, but the odd sense of unease lingered. Something wasnt quite right.
The next day, déjà vu. The same ginger dog, the same scrap in her mouth, trotting with conviction toward the derelict house at the edge of the estate, where old Mrs. Beech had lived. Six months had passed since her death and the house stood empty, with a neglected, foreboding air.
Margaret, lookyour little friends back! her neighbour Linda called down from her balcony. Every day, like clockwork! Where does she even find food?
What food? Margaret halted.
There! In her teeth. Rummages through bins, Id guess. Feeding pups, mothers instinct.
Are you sure its puppies? Margaret asked.
Well, who else? Natures taking its course, spring and all that.
It made sense, but Margaret couldnt shake the feeling that it was more complicated.
The ginger dog squeezed through a gap in the sagging garden fence, disappearing into the overgrown yard. Margaret hesitated.
What am I like, she told herself, Ill take a peek. Everyone in the block gossips about her anyway.
Careful not to snag her coat, Margaret slipped through the same gap. The fence groaned in protest, but held. Inside, nettles rose waist-high, broken glass glittered underfoot, and rusted pots littered the ground.
A faint, pitiful whimper drifted from deeper within.
Margaret followed the sound, rounding a dilapidated shedand stopped dead.
The ginger mongrel sat beside an old dog kennel. Before her lay a large black dog, muzzle streaked with grey, chained short to a postblind.
A milky film covered her eyes, her body gaunt, fur thick with mats. She lay on her side, shallow breaths barely lifting her chest.
Gently, the ginger laid the bread in front of her, nudged it with her nose, and waited.
The black dog shifted, nosed the bread, and gnawed it hungrily. The ginger mongrel simply watched, no wag of tail, only silent vigil.
When the bread was gone, the ginger dog tenderly licked the black dogs face and curled up beside her.
Margaret stood, rooted in place as her eyes began to sting.
My Godshes feeding herevery day. Giving away what little she finds.
She wasnt sure how long she stood there. The ginger dog eventually raised her head and fixed Margaret with an unwavering gazeWell? Stand there or help.
Just a moment, Margaret whispered.
She spun round and hurried towards the flats faster than she had in twenty years. Her knees protested, her chest ached, but she didnt stop.
At home, she swept together anything remotely edible: boiled chicken, porridge, a bit of sausage, poured water into a bowl, and hurried back.
The scene was unchanged: ginger and black side by side.
Here, Margaret gasped, kneeling. Take this.
She set the chicken in front of the ginger mongrel, but the dog didnt move, eyes tracing only the black dog.
You silly thing, you need it too! Just look at youskin and bone.
Margaret understood. She gently moved the meat closer to the blind dogs nose. Suddenly more alert, the black dog found the food and devoured it.
The ginger dog swallowed hard but didnt touch a crumb. She simply waited.
Only once the black dog finished did the ginger gingerly take what was left.
Thats it then, Margaret whispered.
Both dogs lapped at the water as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
Whyre you crying, love? called Linda, creeping through the broken fence, eyes wide at the scene.
Thats who shes feeding, Margaret said softly. Not pups.
Linda fell silent, then sniffed hard.
Who leaves a dog like that?
Mrs. Beech, I reckon. Chained her up, then passed away. The dogs been forgotten all these months.
Six months since…
Six months shes waited here, alone. Only this little one had the heart to find her. Fed her, every single day.
Linda crouched down, stroking the ginger mongrel. Good girl youre a good girl.
By evening, nearly everyone from the building had gathered. Someone brought tins of food; another a pile of old blankets. The men attempted to break the chain, but it was too thick.
Well need a bolt cutter, decided Mr. Harris. Ill bring one round tomorrow.
The next morning, he arrived tool in hand. The crowd gathered with bated breath.
Careful, Harris! Linda warned. Dont frighten her.
The cutter shrieked, sparks flew. The black dog flinched, tried in vain to rise.
The chain snapped.
All done. Shes free, Harris panted, wiping his brow.
Margaret slowly knelt by the newly freed dog, gently stroking her matted fur.
How about it, old girl? Want to come home with me? Ill feed you, keep you warm. And you, too, Ginger. Both of you.
The black dogs tail gave a faint, grateful wag.
Margaret tried to lift her but found she was too heavy.
Ill get her, Harris said, scooping the dog into his arms. Where to?
Number twenty-one, third floor.
Crossing the square, neighbours parted silently as the little procession passed. Ginger skipped alongside, ears flattened, tail tucked low, never straying.
Dont fret, love, Margaret whispered. Im taking you both.
The usual contingent of gossipy grannies waited by the entryway bench.
Margaret, whats this? one asked disapprovingly. Youre bringing dogs into your flat?
I am, Margaret replied curtly.
Theyll be filthy! Full of fleas! Smell the place out.
Ill wash them.
And whatll the neighbours say?
And what if they do! Margarets voice rang out, trembling with emotion. Six months that dogs sat chained and blind, starving, and not one of us noticed! Only this little ginger thing cared. And the rest of us? Walked by each day!
The grandmothers averted their eyes. One whispered, Didnt know. Mrs. Beech died, no one said a thing about the dog.
Thats rightnobody said a word! Margaret wiped her face. Nobody cared.
She marched inside. Harris carried the black dog, Ginger never leaving her side.
At home, Margaret spread a blanket on the floor and Harris gently laid the black dog down.
There you go, he said. Need anything else?
No, thank you. Ill manage.
Once the door closed behind him, Margaret slumped back. Ginger sat beside the black dog, watching her with such unmistakable gratitude it squeezed Margarets heart.
Well then, Margaret breathed. Lets get acquainted. Im Margaret. What about you two?
Ginger barked softly.
Youll be Ginger, thats simple enough. And you she paused, glancing at the older dog, lets call you Jet. Sound all right?
She fetched a bowl of porridge and meat, laying it before Jet. The old dog hesitated, wary of the new setting.
Go on, Margaret coaxed, offering a small piece by hand.
Jet carefully took it from her palm.
Good girl, Margaret whispered. Eat up.
She fed her little by little, patient as could be. Ginger watched, then quietly laid her head on Margarets lap. In that moment, Margaret knewthis was trust, this was thanks.
That evening, the phone rangLinda, naturally.
How are they? she asked.
Alive, Margaret answered wearily. Both asleep now.
And youre not?
Cant sleep. My minds racing.
What about?
Margaret paused.
About how sometimes, people are worse than animals. That dog never forgot about her friend. And peoplewe just walk on by. Every single day. Blind to suffering.
Dont beat yourself up, Linda said quietly.
But I am! How could I not be ashamed? Ashamed in front of that dog.
She ended the call, slumped down beside her two charges, wrapped her arms around her knees, and cried silent, hot tears.
A week passed. Jet slowly regained her strength. At first, she scarcely moved, but then she began shakily getting to her feet, always with Ginger at her side, like a diligent little guide dog.
Youve got your own guide, Jet, Margaret would say. Couldnt ask for better.
Word quickly spreadLinda saw to that. The old ladies gossiped endlessly.
Did you hear about Margaret? Shes taken in two dogs!
One of them was blind, chained up for half a year, poor thing.
And the other looked after her, would you believe?
Really?
Im telling youLinda saw it all!
When Margaret walked the dogs, people stopped. Some smiled, others shook their heads.
Margaret, youve done something good, Harris said one day. A real act of kindness.
Oh, Im just an ordinary woman, she waved him off. Ginger heres the real hero. I just didnt walk by for once.
One evening, there came a knock. At the door stood a young woman.
Hello, are you Margaret?
I am. And you are?
My names Charlotte. I heard about your dogs, how you rescued them. I wondered could I help? Im a vet. I could take a look at Jet. No charge.
Margaret blinked, surprised. Free?
Yes. I just want to help, if youll let me?
Of course, come in.
Charlotte checked Jet over patiently. Shes old, she said softly. Cant restore her sight, but shell live. With proper care.
How do I care for her?
Charlotte produced medicines. Thesevitamins. For joints. Cream for her paws. Ill write instructions.
And what do I owe you?
Nothing, Charlotte smiled. A small giftfrom me, and from all of us whove heard your story.
Margarets eyes filled with tears again.
Thank you.
Thank you, Charlotte replied, stroking Ginger.
As the door closed behind Charlotte, Margaret sank onto the sofa. Jet settled at her feet, Ginger at her side. And for the first time in years, Margaret felt truly needed.
And that was happiness.
