April 21
I have lived alone for several years in a modest cottage on the fringe of a little Yorkshire hamlet. Whenever someone points out my solitude, I cant help but laugh. Alone? I reply, shaking my head, Nonsense, I have a big family! The neighbours smile and nod, but behind me they exchange glances, fingers tapping their temples as if I were a harmless old spinster with no husband, no childrenjust a menagerie.
That menagerie is what I call my family. I pay no heed to the villagers notion that a proper household should consist of a single dog for security, a cat for mousing, perhaps a few chickens or a goat. I have five cats and four dogs, andaccording to the gossip they all live inside the house rather than out in the yard where they belong. I know its futile to argue with the locals; theyll just smile and say, Well, its nice having everyone together under one roof.
Five years ago I lost both my husband and my son in a single day. They were returning from a day of fishing when a lorry on the M1 veered into the opposite lane and collided with them. It took a long time for the shock to wear off, and I realised I could no longer stay in the flat that still echoed with their laughter, nor could I walk the same streets and shop at the same grocers without feeling the sting of their absence and the pity in neighbours eyes. Six months later I sold the flat, packed up my cat Daisy, and bought a small house on the edge of the hamlet.
In summer I tended the garden; when winter arrived I found work in the community centres canteen. One by one the animals Id rescued followed me homesome had been begging at the station, others had wandered into the canteen looking for scraps. Thus a scattered bunch of lonely souls, all once broken, gathered into my own ragtag family. My gentle heart seemed to mend their wounds, and they returned my kindness with the same devotion. There was always enough love and warmth, even if food was sometimes tight.
I knew I could not keep bringing stray animals into my home forever and, time and again, I promised myself no more. In March, after a spell of sunny days, Februarys bitter cold rolled back in, laying icy sheets over the lanes and howling through the night. I hurried onto the last evening coacha sevenhour ride back to the village. With two days off ahead, I stopped at the shop after work, loading bags of groceries for myself and my furry brood, and lugging a few parcels from the canteen. My arms ached under the weight, but I kept the promise in mind, trying not to look back, focusing on the pets waiting at home.
Halfway to the stop, something caught my eye. A dog lay beneath a bench, its eyes vacant, almost glassy, halfburied in fresh snow. Passersby hurried past, wrapped in scarves and hoods, oblivious. My heart clenched painfully; the promise vanished. I dropped my bags, ran to the bench and knelt. The dog blinked slowly.
Thank heaven youre alive! I whispered, reaching out. Come on, love, get up, come with me. It shivered, barely moving, as if resignation had already settled over it.
I cant recall how I managed to drag the heavy bags and the dog back to the coach station, but once inside I settled in the far corner of the waiting room, cradling the thin, frostnipped creature in my palms, rubbing its paws to coax warmth back.
Come on, dear, pull yourself together. We still have a way to go home. Youll be our fifth dog, just to keep the numbers even, I murmured. I tore a piece of sausage from my bag and offered it. At first the dog turned its nose up, but after a moment of warming, it sniffed, inhaled, and ate.
An hour later the coach had already left. I fashioned a makeshift leash from my belt, though the dognow named Milliealready trotted close, pressing against my legs. Ten minutes later, somehow, we slipped into the warm cabin of a stopped minibus.
Thank you, love, I said to the driver, Ill sit Millie on my lap; she wont make a mess.
He chuckled, No problem, let her sit on the seat. Shes not a lap dog anyway.
Millie curled up on my knees, still trembling, and miraculously fit. Its just warmer for both of us, I smiled.
The driver gave a brief nod, glanced at the makeshift collar around Millies neck, and turned up the heater. We rode in silence, me holding the shivering dog, watching the snowflakes flash past the headlights. He stole glances at my profile, noting the rescued animal pressed to my chest. He guessed Id found her en route and was now taking her home. I looked a little weary, but calm and happy.
When we finally stopped at my cottage, the driver helped carry the bags. The snowdrift had swollen so much the old gate was stuck; he gave it a hard push and the rusted hinges gave way, sending the gate tumbling sideways.
Dont mind that, I sighed, its overdue for repairs.
From inside came a chorus of barks and meows. I hurried to the door, flung it open, and my whole family spilled out into the yard.
Thought youd forgotten me? I laughed, Here I am, where else could I be! Meet the newest member of the clan Millie peered shyly from behind my legs. The other dogs wagged their tails, nosing the bags the driver still clutched.
Come in, if our sizable family doesnt scare you off. Fancy a cup of tea? I called.
The driver set the bags down but lingered at the gate.
Almost time for me to be off. You feed the lot; theyve been waiting for you, he said, and drove away.
The next day, near lunchtime, a knock sounded in the yard. I slipped on my coat and found the driver from yesterday hammering fresh hinges onto the broken gate, tools spread around him.
Good afternoon! he greeted, wiping his hands. I broke the gate yesterday, so Im here to fix it. Im Vladimir, by the way. And you are?
Olivia, I replied.
The tailwagging crowd sniffed him curiously. He crouched, petted the dogs, and chuckled.
Olive, dont dawdle, come inside. Ill be done soon, and I wont turn down a cuppa. Theres even a slice of cake left in the car, plus some treats for your big family. I smiled, feeling something warm settle in my chest, deeper than the hearths glow or the weight of a dog on my feet. Olive, I repeated softly, the name tasting new, like the first green shoot after frost. Inside, the cats wound through our legs, the kettle began to sing, and Millieno longer shiveringtrotted ahead, already knowing her way home.
