**Diary Entry October 12th**
“He bought a new sound system,” Lena murmured, her posture rigid. “Cost a fortune. Meanwhile, Ive been saving from my wages for a washing machine because ours howls like a banshee. He said, ‘You dont appreciate investing in art.’ In *art*, Vera Can you believe it?”
The tea in the pot had gone cold, leaving behind a bitter, dark sludge. The baguette slices on the plate had hardened, the cheese forming a waxy crust, and Vera struggled to console her friend. Lena had arrived after yet another row with her husband, cried herself out, and now sat hugging her knees, staring blankly at the wall.
They hadnt met much these past three yearsLenas husband never let her go anywhere alone, and he disliked her friends. But this time, hed raised his hand to her, and his usual restrictions didnt hold.
To distract her, Vera offered, “Len, want to hear an old love story? I once witnessed true devotion.”
Lena gave a lifeless nod. “Go on. Just no saccharine fairy tales about princes. Ive had enough.”
Vera stood, moved to the stove, and lit the hob under the kettle. The quiet hiss of gas filled the pause.
“No princes, love. This happened right before my eyes,” Vera smiled. “And it wasnt even about people. Years ago, I worked at a warehouse in an industrial estate. You know the sortguard dogs are a must. A couple of strays always hung about. One day, someone dumped two puppies there: a plump black bear of a lad named Barney and a ginger girl, Flick. They grew up inseparable. Barney was a rowdy scrapper; Flick was quiet, clever, with eyes like an old woman whod seen everything. Everyone doted on them.”
Vera paused. Seeing Lenas gaze shift to her, albeit distantly, she continued.
“Then disaster struck. Flick got hit by a lorrydriver didnt see her. We thought she wouldnt make it, but mutts are tough. Only she never walked right again, dragging her hind legs. Clever as she was, she understood. Broke your heart to watch.”
“Poor thing” Lena exhaled.
“But heres the thing,” Vera grinned. “She didnt give up. Became our chief lookout! Stranger on-site? Shed bark the alarm, and Barney and the rest would charge where she pointed. Proper team, they were.”
Veras face turned solemn.
“Then Flick grew up. First heat came, and every stray for miles descended. A pack of rough, hungry mongrels. They hounded hershe couldnt run, couldnt fight. Just whimpered, crawled, hid by our legs. We shooed them off, but they kept coming.”
Lena froze, listening.
“Barney? Where was Barney?”
“Barney” Vera sighed. “At first, he was lost. Barked, circled, but wouldnt take on the pack. Instincts, smells it muddled him. Then they vanished. Returned three days later. Barney was different. He walked ahead, hackles raised, a low growl in his throat. Flick trailed behind. If another dog came near her, Barney turned hurricane. Hed fly at them like hed tear the world apart. He *understood*. Knew she needed protecting.”
Lena clenched her fists, fresh tears wellingdifferent this time.
“We thought that was it. But a month later, Flick swelled with pups. And Barney? Never left her side. Brought her the best scraps, licked her clean, slept curled against her. Such tenderness We all fed her extra, fretted. The women especially.”
Vera turned away, voice wavering.
“The birth started on a sweltering day. We didnt notice. Barney raised the alarm. Not howlingthis awful, frantic whine, tugging our trousers toward the old porch where Flick had hidden. But it was too late She was already gone. Couldnt deliver.”
The wall clocks ticking grew deafening.
“We wrapped her in an old coat buried her behind the garage. Had to lock Barney in the storeroom. He scratched the door, howled That sound still haunts me. When we let him out, he tore around the yard, sniffing every corner searching. By nightfall he was gone. Never came back.”
Vera wiped her eyes. Lena sat motionless, palms pressed together.
“Christ” she whispered. “Thats love. And me and Mark were just two strangers sharing a flat. Barely notice each other unless were rowing. Otherwise, were just coexisting.”
“Maybe its a rough patch? You were mad for him once.”
“There was never anything good, Vera. We bickered from day one. I wanted the wedding so badly, dragged him to the registry office. Didnt think Id be carrying everything after. Now Im paying for it. Right, Id best go. Ta.”
***
After that evening, they barely spoke for months. Work, life. Theyd grown used to sparse meet-ups. Occasionally, a message: “You alright?” “Yeah. You?” “Same.”
Then, on a drizzly autumn night, Lena texted: “Fancy tea? Ill bring cake.” Two hours later, she stood on the doorstep. Behind her, a tall man with a quiet, kind face.
“Vera, this is Stephen,” Lena said, eyes brighter than Vera had ever seen. “Were getting married.”
Stunned, Vera let them in. Over tea, Stephen won her over with his calm, steady warmth. He didnt posturejust passed Lena her cup, watched her in a way that said everything.
When he stepped onto the balcony, Vera gaped.
“Whered you find him? What about Mark?”
Lena smiled, radiant.
“After I left yours, I cried all the way home. Not over Mark. Over Barney and Flick. Saw the plain truth about my so-called marriageno love, just space-sharing. I realised I deserved better. Loyalty. Care. If dogs can manage it Anyway, next morning, I packed and left.”
“And Mark?”
“Took him days to notice. Probably relieved. We both knew it was dead. Didnt look for anyoneplanned to stay single a while. Met Stephen outside the courthouse. Literally bumped into him. I was a wreck, nearly in tears. He asked, You alright? Turned out hed just got his freedom too. We talked went for coffee. And well.” Lena rested a hand on her stomach. “Babys due soon.”
“Fast work, mum,” Vera smirked.
“Didnt expect it. But Vera with him, its *right*. Like Im part of something whole. Protected. Loved. You see it, dont you?”
Vera nodded, smiling through tears.
**Lesson:** Love isnt about grand gestures or stubborn endurance. Its in the quiet, daily choosingthe way a man looks at you when he thinks no ones watching. And sometimes, it takes a stray dogs devotion to remind us what were worth.
