“What on earth, Mum? Adopting a rescue dog?”
“Mum, what have you done?” Emily almost shouted down the phone. “A rescue dog, for heavens sake? And old and poorly at that! Have you lost your mind? Couldnt you just take up dancing again?”
Margaret Whitmore stood by the window, watching snowflakes whirl and settle on rooftops and tree branches. It had become a habit lately. Before, she used to wait for her husband to return late, exhausted, his voice hoarse. The kitchen would be bathed in soft light, supper on the table, their conversations drifting over cups of tea…
Gradually, the things they talked about ran dry. He came home later still, avoided her gaze, gave clipped answers. Then one day
“Margaret, I need to tell you… Ive met someone else. Were in love. I want a divorce.”
“What? Divorce… and what about me? What am I supposed to do?” A sharp pain flared beneath her shoulder blade.
“Margaret, were adults. The kids are grown, living their own lives. Weve been married nearly thirty years. But were still young. Look at youlook at me! Weve only just turned fifty. I want something new, something fresh.”
“So Im the past, then. Obsolete,” she whispered, lost.
“Dont exaggerate. Youre not old. But you must understandI feel like Im thirty again. Forgive me, I just want to be happy.” He kissed the top of her head and left for the bathroom.
He scrubbed away the memories of their marriage while Margaret felt the weight of the world settle on her shoulders.
Betrayal. Was there anything more bitter?
Time slipped by unseenthe divorce, her husband gone to start anew. Margaret fell into a grey routine. She had lived for her children, for him. Their worries were hers, their joys her victories. And now?
She spent hours at the window. Sometimes, shed peer into a small hand mirror, an heirloom from her grandmother. A sad gaze looked back, a stray tear caught among faint wrinkles, a few grey hairs at her temples.
She was afraid to look in the full-length mirror.
“Mum, you ought to find a hobby,” her daughter said briskly, her voice edged with impatience.
“What do you mean, love?” Margarets voice was dull, fading down the line.
“I dont know. Reading, dance classes for the over-fifties, gallery visits.”
“Yes, yes, for the over-fifties. As if I need reminding.” She couldnt rally herself.
“Oh, Mum, sorryIve got to go.”
Oddly, her son, James, understood better. “Mum, Im really sorry about everything. Isabelle and I want to visitmaybe for New Years. Itll do you good.”
Margaret adored her children but saw how different they were.
*****
One evening, scrolling online, she spotted an ad:
“Open day at the dogs home! Bring family and friendsour animals cant wait to meet you! Find us at…”
It mentioned donations of blankets, bedding, and towels were welcome.
Margaret reread it several times.
“Blankets, old linens, towels… Ive plenty to sort through. I could spare some,” she murmured into the night.
At the window, she wondered what more she could afford on her tight budget.
Ten days later, she stood at the shelters door, laden with bags. The taxi driver helped unload bundles of blankets and rags. One rolled-up rug, then another.
Volunteers bustled about, guiding visitors inside with armfuls of bedding and dog treats. Later, groups were led around the kennels, hearing each residents sorry tale.
Margaret returned home exhausted, her legs leaden.
“Rightshower, supper, sofa. Ill think about it all later.”
But “later” never came. The images spun in her headthe people, the cages, the dogs.
And their eyes.
Eyes shed seen in her little mirror. Eyes full of sorrow, distrusting happiness.
One dog stood outan elderly, grey-muzzled lady, curled silently in a corner.
“This is Duchess. Shes a Japanese Chin. Her owner abandoned her in her old age. Duchess is twelvea senior lady, poorly, and sad. No one wants her,” the volunteer sighed before moving on.
Margaret lingered. Duchess didnt stir, lying on a worn blanket like a lifeless toy.
All week at work, Margaret thought of her. Then, unexpected energy surged through her.
“Duchess is my reflection. Im not that old. But Im alone. My kids are gone, my husband tossed me aside like an old rug. But Im not worthless!”
Suddenly resolved, she rang the shelter.
“Hello! I visited your open day. You told me about Duchess, the old Chin. Remember?”
“Yes, of course! You were the only one who stopped by her pen.”
“May I see her again?”
“Duchess? Really? Absolutelycome this weekend!”
That evening, Margaret stood at the window, but without her usual sadness. She watched a man in the yard play with a big dog, tossing a ball, ruffling its fur affectionately.
The weekend arrived.
“Hello, Duchess.” Margaret crouched, but the dog didnt move. She sat on the floor in old jeans, brought just for this.
After a while, she began to talkabout her life, her children, the empty flat.
An hour passed. She gently stroked Duchesss head. The dog sighed, resting her chin on Margarets hand. A bond formed.
Leaving, Margaret met the dogs brown eyes, hopeful yet wary.
“Wait for me,” she whispered, latching the pen before approaching the volunteer.
“So? How was it?”
“I… I want to adopt her.” Her voice quivered.
“Just like that?”
“Yes. You said dogs like her dont get many chances. I want to give her one.”
“Margaret, I must warn youDuchess is poorly. Shell need care, time, money.”
“I know. I raised two children. I can manage. Lets try.”
“Alright. Ill prepare the paperwork. We do discreet check-insyou understand.”
“Of course. Photos, vet updates, whatever you need.”
Hours later, Margaret carried Duchess into her flat, bundled in a towel. She set her down.
“Well, Duchess. This is home now. Lets learn how to live here.”
She took time off for vet visits, tests, grooming, even tooth extractions. Duchess was well-behaved. Margaret laid down puppy pads, and they walked at odd hours to avoid neighbours.
*****
“Mum, what have you done? Are you ill?” Emily near-shouted.
“No, Im fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Mum, a rescue dog? And old and sick? Youre mad! Why not take up dancing?”
“Darling, Im young. Fifty-three, healthy, independent. Didnt I raise you better?”
“But”
“No buts. You have your life, James is abroad, and your father left me for a girl barely out of school. Respect my choices.”
She hung up, sighed, and headed for the kettle.
“Mum, youre amazing! Id never have guessed! Adopting a rescue is brilliantbut are you sure you can handle it?” James asked, stunned.
“James, I raised you and your sister. Ill manage. The shelters promised support.”
She didnt mention the man shed met on their late walksWilliam, divorced, his wife remarried abroad. Hed also adopted a rescueBuddy, a big stray found roaming, unclaimed despite his microchip.
*****
“Mum, can Isabelle and I visit? I want you to meet her sooner. Shes as mad as you!”
Margaret laughed. “Come anytime. Well be waiting.”
On New Years Eve, the doorbell rang. Two dogs pricked up their earsWilliam and Buddy had come too.
James, seeing the happy chaos, blurted: “Mum, I wont waitthis is Isabelle. I love her, and soon youll be a grandma.”
“And… we want to adopt a rescue. Maybe a small onewhat with the baby coming.”
That night, no window looked sad. Cheers, music, and laughter filled the air.
Even back at the shelter, the dogs and cats who hadnt found homes seemed to wait a little brighter.
Heres to happiness!
And to you, dear friendswarmest wishes from my beloved Scamp. May he never remember the shelter, only the joy and love hes found.
Wishing you all the same.
