Every morning, an elderly woman stepped out into the courtyard of our block. She was about eighty, always neat and welldressed. I moved into the building at the end of autumn. Each day on my way to work I passed hersometimes perched on a bench beneath a towering lime tree, other times shuffling slowly with a cane.
After a while we began to exchange greetings. I would pause briefly to ask after Mrs. Margaret Browns health and wish her a pleasant day. She always returned a warm smile and a polite thankyou.
At the end of December a new resident appeared in the yard: a dog. It was small and looked young, but nobody knew where it had come from.
The creature was scruffy and dirty, its coat tangled, with no clear breed. The moment Margaret tossed it a piece of sausage, its fate was sealed; from that day forward it stayed in the courtyard. It probably would not have survived elsewhere, given its miserable appearance.
Most of the flatmates were not thrilled by its presence. Many tried to chase it away, shouting, Go on, get lost! whenever it approached, pleading silently with its big, hopeful eyes for food.
Nevertheless it sometimes managed to get a morsela neighbour would fling a slice of bread, another a small bone. Margaret also gave it stale biscuits or crusts, speaking softly while patting its head, calling it Paws.
In early spring, when the snow had almost melted away, I met Margaret in the courtyard. She told me she would be leaving that evening with her granddaughter for the countryside and would stay there until autumn.
Possibly even until the end of autumn, she added. They have a woodburning stove there, and it stays warm by it even on the coldest nights.
She asked me to promise a visit.
At the end of August I finally made the trip to see her. After buying a small present with a few pounds, I caught the bus to the village where she was staying.
When I arrived, I found her sitting on the veranda, peeling large red apples. Beside her, stretched out on a wooden step, the dog rested peacefully.
Paws, come and greet our guest! she called.
The dog leapt up, wagging its fluffy tail, and bounded toward me.
It was a beautiful animal now, its coat glossy and wavy, shimmering in the sunlight.
Mrs. Margaret, is this really the same scruffy Paws from our courtyard? I asked, surprised.
Yes, thats him! Hes turned into a real beauty, she replied with a grin. Come in, have a cup of tea. Tell me everything about the town!
We lingered at the table for a long time, sipping cherryinfused tea and chatting. After his porridge, Paws curled up by the hot stove, sighing softly in his sleepperhaps dreaming of something.
Outside, a gentle breeze made the apple tree branches sway, and ripe red apples drifted slowly onto the grass.
The old womans kindness, the dogs transformation, and the simple acts of strangers reminded me that compassion, no matter how small, can turn neglect into renewal. In the end, it is the gentle care we give that reshapes lives, both human and animal.
