Dear Diary,
It has been years now that I have lived alone in a modest cottage on the outskirts of Littleford, a tiny hamlet tucked away in the English countryside. When people remark that Im solitary, I cant help but smile and retort, Oh, Im certainly not alonemy family is huge! The neighbours in the village nod politely, while behind my back they roll their eyes, whispering that Im a lonely old woman with no husband, no children, only a menagerie of animals.
That menagerie, I call my family. I pay them no heed, despite the locals belief that if one keeps livestock, it should be a cow, a chicken, perhaps a single dog for guard duty and a cat to chase mice. I have five cats and four dogs, all of which, mind you, live inside the house rather than out in the yard as the neighbours expect. They chatter among themselves, knowing theres little point trying to reason with me; I simply laugh and say, Enough of the street talkour home is just fine for everyone.
Five years ago tragedy struck: my husband and son were killed in a single day when a lorry on the motorway collided headon with a fishladen van. Recovering from that shock, I realised I could no longer stay in the flat that still echoed with their voices, nor could I walk the same lanes and shop at the same stores without being haunted by sympathetic glances from neighbours. Six months later I sold the flat and, with my cat Misty in tow, moved to Littleford, buying a small house on the edge of the village. Summer found me tending the garden; when winter arrived I took a job in the community centres kitchen.
One by one I brought my animals over from the centresome had begged at the station, others had wandered in looking for scraps. Thus my solitary existence blossomed into a sizeable family of kindred souls, each once lonely and bruised, now soothed by my gentle heart. Love and warmth were never in short supply, though food was sometimes scarce. I reminded myself that I could not keep rescuing creatures forever, and I sworeuntil the next timethat I would have enough.
Then March came, bright and warm, only for Februarys fierce snow to return, coating the hedgerows with a prickly white blanket and howling icy winds through the night. I hurried onto the last evening coacha sevenhour rideto Littleford. With two days off ahead, I stopped at the shop after work, bought provisions for myself and my furry family, and carried a few extra parcels from the kitchen, my arms heavy with bags.
Holding fast to my promise, I tried not to look around, focusing instead on the animals waiting at home. Yet, as the old saying goes, the heart sees what the eyes miss, and it made me stop just ten metres short of the coach. Beneath a bench lay a dog, its stare vacant, almost glassy, its body halfburied under the fresh snow. Passersby hurried past, wrapped in scarves and hoods, oblivious to the creatures plight.
My heart clenched painfully; the coach and my vows faded from my mind. I dropped my bags, ran to the bench, and reached for the dog. Its eyelid flickered slowly.
Thank heavens youre still breathing, I whispered, Come on, dear, get up, follow me.
The dog did not move, but it offered no resistance as I lifted it from under the bench. It seemed almost resigned, as if it were about to abandon this cruel world.
I cant recall how I managed to haul the heavy bags and the shivering animal to the coach station, but once inside I settled in the farcorner of the waiting room, gently cradling the frail creature, warming its frostbitten paws in my palms.
Come on, love, pull yourself together. We still have a way home. Youll be our fifth dog, just to keep the numbers even, I cooed.
From my bag I pulled out a small meat patty and offered it. At first the dog hesitated, but after a moment of warming, its nose twitched, its eyes sparked, and it ate.
An hour later, the coach had long since departed, leaving us stranded on the road. I fashioned a makeshift leash from my belt, though the dognow named Mollywas already trotting close to my feet, pressed against me.
After another ten minutes, against all odds, a minibus pulled over and the driver invited us aboard.
Thank you! Ill sit the dog on my lap, it wont make a mess, I stammered.
No worries, the driver replied, Let her sit on the seat; shes not a little pup.
Molly, still trembling, squeezed onto my lap, and miraculously fit.
Its just warmer that way, I smiled.
He gave a quiet nod, glanced at the makeshift collar around Mollys neck, and turned up the heater. We rode in silence, me holding the shivering dog, watching the snowflakes flash by the headlights like tiny lanterns.
The driver stole occasional glances at my profile, noting the rescued animal pressed to my chest. He guessed correctly that Id found her and was taking her home. Though a hint of fatigue crossed my face, there was a calm happiness there.
He dropped us off at my front gate and helped with the bags. The snow had piled so high that the old iron gate had warped and finally collapsed under his push.
Dont mind the gate, I sighed, Its overdue for repair.
From inside came a chorus of barks and meows. I hurried to the doorway, flung it open, and my whole family poured out onto the garden.
Well, youve found me after all! Ive come homewhere else could I be? Meet the newest addition, I announced, gesturing to Molly, who peeked shyly from behind my legs. My other dogs wagged their tails, nosing the bags the driver still held.
Come in, if youre not frightened by our large clan. Care for a cuppa? I offered.
The driver placed the bags down but declined to enter.
Too late for me now, I must be off. You feed the lot; theyve been waiting for you, he said, and left.
The next afternoon, a muffled knock sounded from the yard. I slipped on my coat and stepped out to find the driver from yesterday, hammering fresh hinges onto the broken gate, his toolbox spread around him.
Good afternoon! I broke the gate yesterday, so Im here to fix it. Im Nigel, and you are? he asked.
Ethel, I replied.
My tailwagging family sniffed him curiously as he crouched, patting each animal.
Ethel, dont linger, get inside. Ill be done soon, and I wont turn down a cup of tea. Theres even a cake in the car, plus a few treats for your big family, he called back, smiling.
And so another chapter began, with new friends, fresh repairs, and the evergrowing, everloving household that I now call my true family.
