By the time she turned thirty, EmilyHarpers past read like a romantic comedy gone stale: a feverish fling with George, a dreary saga with Simon, and three brief, equally pointless dalliances with Robert, James and Ben. And then there was Harold nothing more than a footnote on the community noticeboard. She never got around to rereading any of it.
Emily sighed, thought, It isnt meant to be, and walked away from literature. She enrolled in a knitting course and headed for the local animal shelter in search of a faithful companion.
Dont know which one? a volunteer asked at the shelter. Take a look, youll know straight away if its yours or not.
She paced past every kennel and run, her heart never missing a beat.
Is nobody else here? Whos behind that crate? she asked.
Thats our Bessie, the attendant replied, but you wont take her anyway. Bessie, come here! Dont be scared!
From behind the crate emerged Bessie, a brindlegrey mutt mottled with black spots, hunchbacked, looking more like a nightmare than a dog. She stared at Emily and, tailless as she was, gave a tentative wag of her hindquarters.
Bessies a sweet soul, but you see, shes been taken before, returned two days later, told it was shameful to go out on the street, nobody wanted her, Bessieour little tragedy.
Just like me, just like me, Emily thought, then said, Come on, Bessie, well stick together! Do we have to pay anything?
A neighbour shrieked, Oh! Whos that? From the shelter? There were no human dogs here!
A boy from the flat above piped up, Auntie, is she laughing? I saw a film where they laugh at night! Mum, lets get a hyena too!
Life fell into a comfortable rhythm. In the mornings Emily walked Bessie, then headed off to work; in the evenings they lingered on long strolls. The shelter hadnt liedterrifying Bessie turned out to be a surprisingly gentle, wellbehaved creature. She simply didnt like strangers, growled at them, and kept a protective eye on Emily.
When Harold tried to patch up a broken relationship, his trousers split and he nearly tore his leg. Youre a fool, Emily, the bitten Harold roared, and your dogs a fool tooboth of you are mad!
At the knitting class the instructor said, Youve learned a lot, now show us what you can make. In a month I expect a finished pieceanything you like. If youre short on time, knit a tiny dress for a doll. At the final session well all judge each others work, and whoever you knit for should present it.
At first Emily tried to please herself, but the result was a hideous mess. She then decided to knit a sweater for Bessie, since autumn was on the horizon and the air was cooling.
Well then, the teacher said, trying not to stare at Bessie, I see youve put effort in.
Bessie, now sporting a pink jumper, became the neighbourhoods star; passersby stopped and stared, an elderly lady even crossed herself. Emily didnt mind the gawkingas long as Bessie stayed warm. She later finished a violet cardigan for the change of season.
One evening she went out for groceries, tethered Bessie at the gate, and returned to find a man eyeing the dog with interest.
Excuse me, what breed is she? the man asked.
Its a dog, alright! If you dont like it, dont look! You all care only about looks, but you couldnt care less about the soul, whether human or dog! Emily barked.
Are you complaining about appearances? the man replied. I actually like the dog. So, girl, shall we be friends? He reached out to pat Bessie.
Careful! Shell bite! She doesnt like strangers! Emily shouted.
Instead of snapping, Bessie nudged his hand with her head and purred.
Good dog, good, the man said. Looks like we can be friends with the owner too.
Literature never left Emilys side. The fifth year rolled around, and the fifth volume was finally being finished.
Natalie Wavy.
