**Rover**
“Rover, come here, boy!” James leapt from the car and rushed toward the dog lying by the roadside. But Rover didn’t stir or wag his tail. The awful truth struck James like a blow—the dog was dead. “What will I tell Mum now?” he thought, kneeling beside Rover’s lifeless body as tears fell onto the old dog’s grizzled muzzle.
***
Margaret’s old dog had taken an instant dislike to her daughter-in-law, Charlotte. From their very first meeting, he’d growled low in his throat whenever she passed, his tail thumping nervously against the porch boards. Charlotte feared him—and quietly despised him.
“Useless beast. If it were up to me, he’d have been put down ages ago,” she muttered under her breath.
“Lottie, don’t say such things! Maybe he doesn’t like your perfume or the sound of your heels. He’s an old dog—they get set in their ways,” James soothed.
Margaret only watched disapprovingly. If only this overdressed girl knew what Rover had really meant to their family. He’d done more good in his life than Charlotte ever would.
***
Margaret had never interfered in her son’s life—not even when he introduced Charlotte as his fiancée. Though something about the girl felt artificial, like a smile without warmth. When James asked, “Mum, what do you think of Lottie? She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Margaret only replied, “You’re the one marrying her. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.” Then she hugged him tightly, pressing a mother’s kiss to his cheek.
After the wedding, the couple settled in Charlotte’s inherited London flat. Visits to the countryside grew rare, though James missed it dearly. Charlotte preferred city comforts, and he hated arguing. But that summer, she announced a sudden desire for eco-tourism.
“I read it’s brilliant for stress—so much healthier than city life! And it’s so trendy. But it’s dreadfully expensive. That’s when I thought of your mum’s cottage,” Charlotte said, packing her designer wellies.
James was thrilled. If playing the eco-tourist meant going home, he’d happily oblige.
Margaret welcomed them warmly. “Finally! You’ll have a proper rest here—none of those crowded holiday resorts.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Charlotte drawled. “Margaret, do you keep animals? Authentic rural life is part of the experience.”
Baffled, Margaret answered, “Just Rover and a few hens. Had a goat once, bless her, but she passed last year.”
Charlotte curled her lip at the old dog sunning himself on the porch. “I meant useful animals. Not that decrepit mutt. Surprised he’s even alive.”
Margaret bristled. “The garden needs work. Feel free to ‘engage with rural life’ as much as you like.”
“We’ll start tomorrow,” James cut in. “I’ll chop wood, fix the fence—whatever you need.”
As they carried their bags inside, Rover lifted his head and growled. Charlotte shrieked and hid behind James, who ruffled the dog’s ears. “Don’t take it personally, mate. She doesn’t mean it.”
Rover wagged his tail, overjoyed to see his boy again.
***
The next morning, Margaret showed Charlotte the garden.
“Here’s the chicken coop, the apple trees… and this is the vegetable patch. Needs weeding.”
Charlotte struggled. Every green shoot looked the same.
“That’s a carrot. This is a weed—pull it! Good grief, haven’t you seen a dandelion before?” Margaret chided.
“I’ve seen dandelions! Not your other weeds! I’m not a botanist!” Charlotte snapped, sweating in her ruined designer outfit. Within an hour, her back ached, and her manicure was ruined.
“Enough! This isn’t eco-tourism—it’s slave labour!”
Margaret sighed. “I was going to introduce you to the hens next.”
“Tomorrow!” Charlotte hobbled inside, only to find Rover blocking the porch. He bared his teeth. She sidestepped him, shuddering.
“That dog hates me! What if he bites?” she whinged to James that evening.
“Rover’s never bitten anyone! You offended him, that’s all.”
“Should I apologise to the fleabag?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes.
Later, Margaret suggested, “Try petting him. He’ll warm to you.”
“Why on earth would I care?” Charlotte sneered.
Margaret sighed. Rover had always sensed what people hid—and he knew Charlotte’s heart was cold.
***
One night, Charlotte stepped outside to admire the stars. Suddenly, a growl came from the bushes. She bolted—straight into a stinging nettle ditch.
James found her thrashing in the weeds, covered in angry welts.
“What were you doing out here in the dark?”
“Your so-called gentle dog tried to kill me!”
“He was guarding the house,” James defended.
Charlotte seethed. The next day, she paid a local man to take Rover away.
“Drop him somewhere he can’t find his way back. If he survives—fine. If not… well.”
The man pocketed the cash without question. Work was scarce, and money didn’t smell.
***
“James, have you seen Rover? He never strays far.” Margaret’s voice wavered.
By evening, they’d searched the whole village. Rover was gone.
“Where could he be?” Margaret collapsed onto the porch, weeping.
“Why fuss? He was ancient,” Charlotte said. “Dogs wander off to die. Get a new one.”
Margaret wiped her tears. “Rover wasn’t just a dog. He saved James’s life. There was a fire when he was five. Rover dragged him out, but…” She choked up.
James frowned. “I thought I got these scars from falling.”
“You were hit by a beam. You forgot, but I remember.”
Charlotte scoffed and slipped inside. Overdramatic old woman.
James followed. “Did you have something to do with this?”
Under his stare, she cracked. “I paid someone to take him. It’s just a dog!”
Furious, James tracked down the man and paid him to lead the way. Hours later, he spotted Rover by the roadside—motionless.
“He made it farther than I expected,” the man said. “Tough old boy.”
James carried Rover’s body home. Margaret’s wail pierced the air when she saw him. They buried Rover under the apple tree, where he’d loved to rest.
Charlotte left soon after. “It’s just a dog!” she repeated, baffled.
James packed her bags and drove her to the station.
“You’re making me go alone?”
He said nothing.
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know. Or if I will.”
***
By summer’s end, James filed for divorce. He returned to the countryside for good, stopping first at a shelter.
“You’re sure about this pup? He’ll be big—not a flat dog,” the attendant said.
James cradled the squirming bundle. “He’ll have a huge garden, a cosy home, and a sunny porch to nap on. And the best family.” He smiled as the puppy licked his face. “Right, Rover?”
The lesson? Loyalty outlasts fashion, and love—whether from a dog or a person—should never be taken for granted.
