Page 14 of The Winter Bride

Annie took off her shawl and wrapped it around the little creature. ‘Even if he is he doesn’t deserve to be left here at the side of the road to die,’ she said angrily.

Knowing when he was beaten, Monty lifted the animal, whose head lolled to one side. He doubted he would live long enough to get to the vet, but he also knew Annie would never sleep again if they didn’t try to help him. With the dog in his arms, they set off for the vet in Edward Street.

Soon after arriving they were shown into the surgery. Monty explained what had happened and the vet, an elderly gentleman with gold-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose, frowned as he examined the dog.

‘Hmm, it looks to me like his injuries are mainly superficial. Nothing that a few stitches won’t sort out – that’s if there’s no internal bleeding. I think his main problem is he’s terribly undernourished and weak. Possibly the kindest thing we could do for him would be to put him to sleep.’

Annie looked horrified. ‘But surely we should give him a chance before we resort to such drastic measures,’ she said heatedly.

‘And who will be responsible for any bills incurred?’ The vet peered at her over the top of his glasses. ‘I would imagine he’s a stray.’

‘I’ll pay the bills,’ Annie told him, angry colour flaring in her cheeks.

‘And who is going to nurse him and take responsibility for him if he should recover?’

‘I shall make sure he has a good home!’

Monty swallowed. It looked like Annie had made up her mind.

‘Now would you kindly stitch him up and do whatever needs doing and then we’ll take him home with us. I can nurse him just as well there as you can here.’

Realising that this was a young woman not to be argued with, the vet shrugged and ushered them out into the waiting room while he turned back to do what he could for the little stray.

Almost an hour later Monty and Annie left with their new companion. He had stitches in the gash in his side, and the vet had warned them that the dog’s chances of survival were slim. Monty carried him gently back to the rooms above the shop.

‘Whatever have you got there?’ Susan asked as they entered the shop. She was tidying up so luckily there were no customers. She pinched her nose shut as she frowned. ‘Phew, that animal stinks!’

‘Well, he can’t help it, can he?’ Annie said defensively. She went on to tell Susan what had happened and when she was finished Susan was even more horrified.

‘You don’t mean to tell me that you’re thinking of keeping him here? What will our customers say?’

‘They don’t need to see him, he’ll be upstairs,’ Annie said stubbornly.

‘And saying you do get him better what are you going to do with him then? I know you told the vet you’d find him a home, but I doubt there’s many people who would want to take on a sickly mongrel.’

Annie hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but the words tumbled from her before she could stop them. ‘Then I shall keep him, of course!’ Seeing the stunned look on Monty’s face she grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, you did say we ought to get a guard dog, didn’t you?’

‘Guard dog!’ Monty laughed. ‘In his state what kind of guard dog would he make?’

‘As you once pointed out, as long as he can bark and warn us if there are any intruders, he’d be perfectly all right! But anyway, I don’t want to stand here arguing about it. Let’s get him upstairs and see if we can get him to eat anything.’

Once the little stray had been placed on a blanket in the corner of the lounge, Annie hurried away to make him a dish of food. There was some cold chicken left from the meal they’d had the night before and the little mongrel took one sniff at it and wolfed the lot down in seconds before vomiting it all up again.

‘You gave him too much,’ Monty warned her. ‘If he’s starved his stomach will have shrunk and he won’t be able to eat big meals. I reckon he’ll need to be fed little and often. I’m out at work all day and you’re down in the shop, so how will you manage that?’ He was still very unsure about whether they’d done the right thing in bringing him home.

‘Quite easily, I shall pop up every time the shop is quiet and see to him,’ she told Monty with her chin in the air.

Monty shrugged. He knew when he was beaten. Annie could be very determined when she set her mind to something.

Over the next week the little mongrel began to recover to the point that Annie would find him sitting waiting for her by the door with his tail wagging furiously every time she slipped upstairs to feed him or let him out into the yard. Even Monty seemed to be getting used to him and the little dog had taken to sleeping by the side of his chair each evening.

When they took him back to the vet the following week to have his stitches removed the man was shocked at the change in him.

‘Goodness me, I didn’t even think he’d survive,’ he admitted when Annie led the dog into the surgery in his new collar and lead. ‘What did you do? Wave a magic wand?’

‘Actually, all he needed was some decent food inside him and a bit of tender loving care,’ she told the vet haughtily. She still hadn’t forgiven him for suggesting that the poor soul should be put to sleep.

‘Well, whatever you’ve done I take my hat off to you,’ he said with a smile as he gently took out the stitches. ‘Perhaps the next step might be to give him a good bath so that we can see what colour he is under all this matted fur and dirt.’