Mum, what on earth have you done? Emilys voice crackled through the phone. A rescue dog, for goodness sake? And an old, poorly one at that? Have you lost your mind? Couldnt you have taken up ballroom dancing instead?
Margaret Whitmore stood at the window, watching snowflakes swirl and settle on rooftops and tree branches. It had become a habit lately. Before, shed wait for her husband to return late, exhausted, his voice rough. The kitchen would be bathed in soft light, dinner on the table, their conversations laced with cups of tea
Gradually, the topics ran dry. He came home even later, avoiding her gaze, his answers clipped. Then one evening
Margaret, I need to tell you Ive met someone else. Were in love, and I want a divorce.
What? Divorce and what about me? What happens to *me*? A sharp pain flared beneath her shoulder blade.
Were adults, Margaret. The kids are grown, living their own lives. Weve been together nearly thirty years, but were still young. Look at usjust past fifty! I want something fresh, something new.
So Im the past, then. Obsolete, she murmured, lost.
Dont be dramatic. Youre not old but *there*, I feel thirty again. Forgive me. I just want to be happy. He kissed the top of her head and left for the shower, washing away the memories of their marriage while Margaret bore the weight of endless melancholy.
Betrayal. Was there anything more bitter?
Time blurreddivorce papers, her husband gone. Margaret settled into a grey routine. Shed lived for her children, for him. Their struggles were hers; their joys, her victories. Now?
She spent hours at the window, sometimes peering into her grandmothers old hand mirror. A sad gaze stared back, a stray tear nestled among new wrinkles, silver strands at her temples.
She avoided the full-length mirror.
Mum, you ought to find a hobby, her daughter said briskly, clearly in a hurry.
What, love? Margarets voice faded into the phone line.
I dont knowreading, dancing for the over-fifties, gallery visits.
Yes, for the over-fifties. Im already *over* Margaret trailed off.
Oh, Mum, sorrygot to dash.
Oddly, her son, Oliver, understood better:
Mum, Im really sorry about everything. Charlotte and I want to visitmaybe for New Years? Itll cheer you up.
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, friendsour furry residents cant wait to meet you! Find us at
It mentioned donations: blankets, old bedding, towels
Margaret read it twice.
Blankets, quilts, spare linens Ive plenty to sort through. I could help, she murmured into the quiet night.
At the window, she calculated what else she could afford.
Ten days later, she arrived at the shelter, arms full of donations. The taxi driver helped unload bags stuffed with blankets and towels, even a rolled-up rug. Volunteers buzzed about, guiding visitors inside.
Later, groups toured the kennels, hearing each dogs story.
Margaret returned home exhausted, legs aching.
Rightshower, dinner, sofa. Ill think about it all later.
But later never came. The images lingered: the people, the cages, the dogs.
Their eyesjust like hers in that little mirror. Eyes full of sorrow, wary of joy.
One dog stood outDaisy, a grey-muzzled Cavalier King Charles spaniel, curled silently in a corner.
This is Daisy. Shes twelveabandoned by her owner in her old age. With care, they can live to fifteen, but shes poorly and sad. No one wants her, the volunteer sighed before moving on.
Margaret lingered. Daisy didnt stir, lying on a tatty blanket like a discarded toy.
All week at work, Margaret thought of her. Unexpected energy surged through her.
Daisys my reflection. Im not *that* old. But alone. The kids are gone, my husband tossed me aside like an old rug. But Im *not* an old rug!
Determined, she rang the shelter.
Hello! I visited last weekendyou told me about Daisy, the older spaniel? Remember?
Of course! You were the only one who stopped by her.
Could I see her again?
Daisy? Really? Come this weekend!
That evening, Margaret stood at the windowno longer dwelling on the past. Outside, a man played fetch with a boisterous Labrador. The dog sprinted in circles, returning the ball eagerly for affectionate pats.
Saturday arrived.
Hello, Daisy. Margaret crouched, but the dog didnt move. She sat on the floor in old jeans and began to talkabout her life, her children, the empty house.
An hour passed. Gently, she stroked Daisys head. The spaniel sighed, resting her chin on Margarets hand.
Leaving, Margaret met Daisys brown eyesquestioning: *Was this goodbye?*
Wait for me, she whispered, shutting the kennel.
Howd it go? the volunteer asked brightly.
I I want to adopt her.
Just like that?
Yes. You said old dogs like her have little hope. I want to give her a chance.
Margaret, Daisy needs ongoing caretime, energy, money.
I raised two children. I can manage this.
Hours later, Margaret carried Daisy home, wrapped in a towel.
Here we are, Daisy. Your new home.
She took leave for vet visitscheck-ups, meds, nail trims, tooth extractions. Daisy was impeccably trained. Margaret laid out puppy pads for accidents.
They walked early mornings and late evenings, avoiding neighbours until Daisy felt safe.
*****
Mum, what have you *done*? Are you ill? Emily near-shouted.
Perfectly healthy, thank you.
A *rescue* dog? Old and sick? Youre mad! Why not take up salsa?
Darling, Im fifty-threehealthy, independent, and *not* obsolete. Didnt I teach you better?
But
No buts. You have your life; Olivers abroad. Your father left me for a girl barely out of school. Respect my choices.
Oliver, though, was thrilled:
Mum, youre brilliant! Never saw this coming! But are you *sure* youve the patience?
Oliver, I raised you and your sister. Daisys easier.
She didnt mention meeting James during their twilight walksa divorced man with Max, a rescued German shepherd.
*****
Mum, can Charlotte and I visit? I want you to meet her properly!
Margaret laughed. Come anytime. Well be waiting.
On New Years Eve, the doorbell rang. Two dogs barkedJames and Max had joined Margaret and Daisy.
Oliver gaped at the cheerful chaos. Mum, no waydidnt want to wait till midnight. This is Charlotte. Were engaged, and youll be a grandma soon!
He grinned. Ohand were adopting a rescue pup. Maybe small, though. What with the baby coming
That night, no window looked sadmusic, laughter, and well-wishes filled the air. Even back at the shelter, the dogs and cats seemed to wait a little brighter.
Heres to happinessand cheers from my dear Scamp, whos forgotten his shelter days and basks in love. May your lives be just as joyful!
