…And I crowned thee… And gave thee to none… And in my own way, I brought thee joy… And kissed thee… Kissed thee… Kissed thee… Kissed thee…” William soared on wings of love, riding his faithful “swallow” home to his beloved Emily after three long months away. The crisp notes in his jacket pocket warmed his heart, and his soul sang as it raced toward home. Springs scent hung in the air, a tender breeze brushing his face. “And I crowned thee…”
As he crossed a narrow bridge, the corner of his eye caught a dog struggling beneath the ice, its strength nearly spent, limbs flailing weakly. “And kissed thee… Kissed thee… Kissed thee…”his favourite track still hummed, calling him to his wife. “Poor little mutt,” William thought, driving on.
Emilys face, springs promise, loves warmthand that wretched dog trapped in the frozen river. Bloody hell. He cursed under his breath and turned the car around.
Parking by the bridge, he stripped off his coat and waded into the icy water, breaking the thin surface with his bare hands, his skin splitting under the jagged edges. But he reached the animala massive, trembling beastand pushed it toward the bank. The dog was too large, the ice too frail. It never stood a chance alone.
Blood seeped from his cuts as he shivered violently, dressing quickly before finally looking at his rescue. A gaunt, sandy-coated Labrador stared back, trembling, refusing to leave. “Oi, mate! Youre a proper pedigree! Whatre you doing out here? Wheres your owner?” The dog only blinked, quivering.
William opened the car door. “Hop in, then. Youre coming home.” The Lab leapt onto the backseat and curled up, as if hed always belonged there.
Dusk settled as they neared town, traffic snarling aheada lorry and two cars tangled in a wreck, flashing blue lights, paramedics rushing. A cold unease prickled Williams neck. He glanced back. The dog snored softly, paws twitching in sleep, nearly dry now. “If not for him…” The thought slithered through his mind.
“Emily, love!” He swept his wife into his arms at the doorstep, kissing her breathless. The dog sat quietly, grinning. A home. A new life. He already adored this delicate woman in her floral dressing gown, the smell of beef stew and roast chicken. And William? Hed claimed his loyalty the moment those frozen waters gave way.
“Oh! Whos this?” Emily finally noticed their guest, eyes wide. “Our angel. Archie, he is. Family now.” She knelt, offering her hand. The dog sniffed, licked her fingers, thenovercomeslurped her entire face.
So began their life with Archiealso known as The Menace (chewed my new slippers, the wretch), The Slobbering Fiend (drenched the neighbours cat), and Their Treasure, their love, their angel.
William and Emily lived in a sturdy brick house, inherited from his parents, right in the city centre. They built Archie a spacious kennel with a heated bed, though winters often found him sprawled on his mat by the hearth.
Life rolled on. William took shifts up northwork in their sleepy town paid pennieswhile Emily stayed, now with Archie. And not just him. The gentle curve of her belly hinted at news shed yet to share.
One stifling summer evening, Emily leashed Archie for a stroll through the wooded park. The air hung thick, crickets droning. Somewhere nearby, laughter and blaring music set Archies ears twitching.
“Oi! Look what weve got!” Two lads stumbled from the shadows, reeking of lager. “Fancy a bit of company, love?” One grabbed her wrist, his breath sour.
Archie strained against his muzzleuseless, she realised too late. Hed never bitten a soul. Bloody rules. As the lad yanked her, she dropped the lead.
The knife flashed. Archie lunged. They stabbed. Again. Again. Blood pooled on the path as Emily screamed, begging, until Archie collapsed. The lads fled, their mates in tow. Silence.
Williams phone rang as he turned onto their street. “Vetsnow! Archieshes dying!”
He burst into the clinic. Archie looked so small on the table, tubes snaking from him. The vet murmured, injecting something. William choked back a sob. “Archie… lad, dont leave us.” He pressed a kiss to the dogs feverish nose.
A flicker. Archies eyes openedjust a slitbut it was enough.
He fought. For five more years, he played with their son, little Henry, showered them in slobbery devotion, and died old, loved, nestled in his blanket. They buried him under the oak, all three weeping.
That night, Henry wiped his tears and declared, “We need a new Archie. I cant not have one.”
Love works miracles. And perhapsjust perhapsthat scruffy beast you save from the ice? He might save you right back.
