Lucy was sitting outside the block of flats. All the neighbours knew that the family from No. 22 had gone away for ages, so now there was a dog in the courtyard, set on waiting for their return…
This was in the early 90s, in a small English town. One bright June morning, outside the doors of the local bookshop, there was a sudden screech of brakes. The sound had the shop assistants dashing out, but when they arrived, the street was eerily empty. Well, almost.
By the kerb lay a dog, whimpering pitifully, struggling to get up, but her back legs just werent working at all.
Bravest of the bunch was Claire, who went straight to the animal. She spoke softly to her, gently running her hands over her head and spine, trying to work out what had happened.
So, whats going on, Claire? asked Sarah and the manager, Mrs Catherine Evans, hanging back, nervous about seeing something grim, though there were no visible wounds. The way those back legs dragged lifelessly behind really did spell trouble.
Girls, lets carry her through to the storeroom, suggested Claire. Maybe shell recover we cant leave her out here. Sarah gave Mrs Evans a questioning look; after a pause, the manager nodded. Alright, Ill find something for bedding… You sure you can manage? I can, Claire replied, figuring out the best way to lift her.
The dog was a medium-sized mongrel, with more than a hint of collie, skinny, covered in muck, no collar almost certainly a stray.
She spent the day stretched out in the storeroom, and by evening, a little calmer, she drank some water and managed to eat a bit all without moving from her spot. She just couldnt walk.
Next day, Claire talked her dad into picking her up during his lunch break and taking her to the vet.
There was only one tiny surgery in town, basic as you like, no x-ray, so the vet really couldnt say much for certain.
She might get by… Shes young and strong. With proper care, shell live, he told them gravely. But walking… Thats not likely at all.
They didnt speak on the way back. Claire sat in the back, arms round the dog, while her dad kept glancing at her through the rear-view mirror with a sigh. Over dinner, he said, Claire, dont get too attached, love. And try not to let her get used to you either. Were moving this autumn. I know, Dad, Claire replied quietly.
They called the dog Julia. She stayed in the storeroom of the bookshop, almost never getting up those first couple of weeks. Later, she began dragging herself out to the courtyard, back legs trailing uselessly.
What do we do with her? Shell not last out on the street, and nobodyll take her home… the assistants debated. Thank goodness Mrs Evans lets her stay here.
Julia herself didn’t seem too troubled by her condition. Shed nose round the yard, sniffing everything, did her business, then went back to her place.
At weekends, the girls took Julia home in turns. Only Claire refused, knowing shed move to the other end of the country in a few months her dad had a job out in the North East, and the whole family was going with him. He was right: getting attached would hurt more.
But the thing was, Claire already was. Ever since shed first looked into Julia’s eyes out on the road. Julia looked at her so warmly, so loyally.
Eventually, Claire did have to take Julia one weekend the others couldnt manage. Just the once! she insisted to her dads stern look. The rest are away, off at barbecues or out picnicking… We were meant to be at the allotment ourselves, called her mum from the kitchen.
Julia padded in straight away, as if she knew it was mum she had to win over. Those limp legs already tugged at the heartstrings, but Julia added her tragic, longing look and in seconds, mum was fussing: Poor thing… Are you hungry? Claire, do you feed her at the shop? Never mind, well take you to the allotment. Dad’s firing up the barbecue, you’ll love it…”
Claire exchanged a look with her dad, who just shook his head.
At the allotment, Julia lit up barbecued chicken, and the neighbours dog, Patch, who took to her at once. When they got back to the flat, Julia flopped down by Claires bed as if shed lived there forever.
But the morning return to the shop was a real shock to the poor dog. She fretted all day in the storeroom, and after being let out at lunchtime, just disappeared.
The shop girls called and searched, but Julia didnt come back by closing time.
Claire was beside herself. She walked home, calling at every step: Julia! Julia, where are you? Come on now
And there she was waiting outside Claires block, barely alive. It was clear the journey had taken everything out of her. But she lit up at the sight of Claire, wriggling and licking her hands with such force it looked like her tail might spring to life.
Taking her back to the shop after all that made no sense she knew the way home now, and Claire didnt have it in her to lock her up again.
So, what now? her dad asked, watching Julia at Claires feet.
Im going to look after her, Dad. Hope youll help me, she replied.
Next week, Claires holiday started, and then she planned to leave her job. The two and a bit months left before the move, she was dedicating to Julia.
Her dad drove them into the nearest city a few times, to a proper vet with x-rays. The doctors didnt make promises but agreed to operate, which meant there was a chance.
Claire and Julia moved to the allotment. She nursed Julia every minute: medicines, massages, exercise for her legs. The dog was learning to walk all over again.
At first, it seemed hopeless. Yet her parents, who came to visit, noticed small improvements: Julias legs were starting to move, no longer trailing dead weight.
Within a month, Julia was racing after Patch in a wobbly sort of run; another month on and only a faint limp remained.
Claire was overjoyed, but a knot tightened in her chest their goodbye was getting closer. The days were melting away.
Neighbour Mrs Higgins, Patchs owner, offered, Leave her with me. Theyll keep each other company, and the place is familiar for Julia. Shell pine less
The day of the move, Claire brought Julia round to Mrs Higgins for a visit with Patch. That evening, her own family was already on the train to London, followed by a flight up to Newcastle, and then off to Durham.
Once they settled in and unpacked, Claire phoned Mrs Higgins, only to hear what shed dreaded most.
Julia had sensed trouble and spent all night digging. In the morning, Mrs Higgins found only Patch in the garden. Knowing what was coming, she went over to Claires old block of flats.
There, by the entrance, she saw Julia. The dog recognised her but let out a warning growl, making it clear she wasn’t leaving. Neighbours gathered, everyone knew No. 22’s family were away for ages now. Julia had decided shed wait. As long as necessary.
From then on, Claire kept in touch with another neighbour Mrs Margaret Brown from No. 23. She always gave updates: That Julia of yours is still outside, keeping guard! Wont let anyone come near. Ive tried tempting her, even with sausages no luck at all!
Claire tried sending Mrs Brown some money for Julias food, but she flat-out refused: Claire, dont be daft the whole blocks feeding her! No need for money.
Winter came. The residents, Mrs Brown included, often let Julia inside to warm up. Julia would head straight for the third floor, where No. 22 was, settling on the floormat by the closed door, as if perfectly aware her family wasnt there. But after warming up, shed nip back outside to continue her silent vigil.
Claire chatted with the other shop girls too. Theyd drop by her old building just to check on Julia. Shed greet them with delight, accept treats gratefully, but refused to go with anyone.
Claires heart ached. She wanted nothing more than to drop everything and rush home, but circumstances especially money kept her up North. In the early 90s, things were tough, and everyone had to make do.
She managed to return only in June. As she walked towards the block, she spotted Julia sitting alert, ears pricked up, trembling slightly. You could tell shed recognised her owner, but was scared to believe in luck too soon.
What came next was all hugs, tears, and sheer joy. Claire felt as if her own heart might leap out, and Julia well, she seemed to feel the same.
Summer raced by in a heartbeat. In August, Claires parents arrived for Dads month-long holiday, but in September, another posting was looming, for a whole year. Claire begged them to take Julia along. Mum looked at Dad, who just frowned quietly and sighed. The road ahead would be tough, even for people, let alone a dog who knew little of travel or crowded places.
Things felt tense. Julia sensed the mood too, sticking close to Claire. Then, one morning, Dad told her to pack for Julia as well:
Come on, lets get her paperwork sorted. No vaccinations, no train or plane they just wont let her travel.
The local vet whipped up paperwork and gave Julia all the jabs she needed, for a few jars of pickle from their allotment. Time for official procedures simply wasnt there.
That evening, Dad stitched Julia a makeshift muzzle decent pet gear was almost impossible to buy back then. Julia, whod never worn a thing in her life, stood perfectly still at every fitting, as if she grasped how important it was grinning with pride.
All sorted, Julia youre coming with us, Dad said, after the last stitch. Just, dont let us down…
Julia didnt, not once. The family never regretted taking her. They travelled by train, then airports and transfers galore. Julia crossed England with them by military transport planes, even visited Scotland and the Isle of Wight. After a year, they returned home.
Julia stayed by their side for thirteen wonderful, loving years as loyal as ever, going wherever Claire did, without fail.
