Blythe Bennett stared, heart hammering, as her fiancé James Whitaker, his face twisted with fury, snapped at Muffin, the little dachshund who had clumsily stepped a muddy paw onto his pristine white trainers. Bullet, the wiry terrier, sprang to the pups defence, only to be struck hard across the snout by a heavy leather leash. In that instant Blythe understood why every cat and dog in the house seemed to despise James.
She sat at the window of her London flat, the street lamps flickering on as night settled over the city. Light or dark mattered little; the world outside was a blur while her mind churned. She had a decent flat, a stable job as an ambulance paramedic, a life that seemed respectable, yet love slipped through her fingers. While all her school friends were married with children, she was still alone, wondering if she was doomed to remain the perpetual spinster.
Her thoughts turned to her loyal fourlegged companions, who gathered around her like a soft, furlined audience. Her parents had both died young, leaving her in the care of her grandmother, who had always insisted Blythe become a doctor. After school, Blythe applied to medical school, failed to secure a place, and instead enrolled in a nursing college, eventually landing a grueling shift schedule with the emergency services. Her grandmother, now living in a suburban cottage, hoped Blythe would eventually find a partner, but nothing seemed to click.
As a child Blythe had yearned for a cat and a dog, but her mother suffered from severe wool allergy. The truth revealed itself the day her eyes sparkled with joy as she brought home a teenage kitten; within minutes her mothers asthma flared and the poor kitten was whisked away to Grandmas house.
When her parents passed, a stray kitten named Whiskers appeared near a rubbish bin, and Blythes longing for a dog was met with her grandmothers refusalshe feared the responsibility. Over time, the house filled with five steadfast friends. Bullet had been rescued as a gaunt, flearidden pup shivering beside a supermarket door. He tried to slip into the warm interior, only to be chased away by security. Blythe slipped him into her bag and hurried home. His boundless energy earned him the nickname Bullet, and he instantly bonded with Whiskers.
Soon a small dachshund, Muffin, arrived. Her former owners, moving to a new flat, abandoned her in the courtyard, claiming she would ruin their newly fitted floors and furniture. Left alone in the cold, the clever little dog prowled the entrance for a week, whining, until local doglovers told Blythe her story. She took Muffin in, tended her chilled ears, and discovered a perfect house petcalm, sensible, and domestic as any mature lady.
Muffins ears often got cold, so Blythe fashioned a warm scarf for her. The dachshund wore the fluffy wrap with comic dignity, trotting the hallway like a tiny, stern matron. One early morning, hurrying to her night shift, Blythe stepped out of the lift and was met by a snowcovered, shivering cat that tumbled at her feet. She scooped the feline into the buildings lobby, fed it two cheese and ham sandwiches, and left a note on the wall: Please do not evict this cat! Ill collect it after my shift Blythe, Flat 15. She named the newcomer Lady, after her own middle name, and the cat, with a regal bearing, quickly assumed command of the household, enforcing strict cleanliness and patrolling the rooms even in the dead of night.
Later, Blythe found a timid kitten in the park, rescued from two crows. She named him Milo. As he grew, Milo remained gentle and unassertive, never fighting, always content to follow the lead of the others. The five former strays lived in harmony, careful not to upset their human.
Blythe never pretended to be without a dowry, knowing that not every potential suitor would appreciate her menagerie. Her grandmother warned her, My dear, you have two dogs and three cats not everyone will like that, especially modern lads who fancy a tidy home.
Then hes not the one for me, Blythe replied.
She met James at the start of her paramedic career; they dated for six months, but the young man could not tolerate animals. The breakup left her relatively unbothered. Then came Max Harper a charismatic, jovial swimmer, regional champion, who courted her earnestly and even walked Bullet and Muffin. Their relationship edged toward marriage, until the pets began to avoid him. Bullet snarled at Max, Muffin hid behind Blythe and barked, the cats kept their distance, and Lady hissed at any touch from him.
One night, while Blythe was cooking, she stepped onto the balcony and saw Max, face twisted with anger, stomp on Muffin after she had accidentally soiled his shoes with a muddy paw. Bullet lunged to defend the little dachshund, only to be struck across the snout by Maxs leather leash. Blythe rushed to the courtyard, snatched the leashes from the smug fiancé, and, without a word, snapped the leash hard across his wrists.
Blythe, what are you doing? That hurts! he protested.
She glared, You think its just me who feels pain? How dare you hit my animals? If you think you can hurt me, youll have to try harder. Max stammered, I was just teaching them not to trample on my shoes. Blythe shouted, Leave now and never return! Max laughed cruelly, What a pity youre stuck in this zoo, feeding freeloaders!
The words echoed in Blythes mind for weeks. She had built her hopes of a future with Max, never truly seeing the darkness behind his cheerful façade.
A year later, Blythe, almost resigned to solitude, fell truly in love. It happened by chance: Dr. Andrew Whitmore, a trauma surgeon, was on night duty when they both arrived at the emergency ward with a crash victim. Their eyes met, and Blythe felt a jolt of electricity. She had dismissed love at first sight as a cinematic myth, but now she was a believer.
Andrew, using his position, secured Blythes phone number and called the next evening. They began dating, and his quiet, serious demeanor convinced Blythe he was sincere. She decided to keep her animals a secret, fearing they would ruin the chance of marriage.
Six months later, Andrew introduced Blythe to his sister Sophie and her husband, and they drove to his parents countryside home, where Blythe met her grandmother. She visited Andrews tidy onebed flat frequently, but his unexplained relative visits and sudden flu outbreaks no longer covered the truth. She realized she had to choose: reveal the menagerie or continue the deception.
She gathered all five pets and, with a box of their belongings, took them to her grandmothers cottage. You cant do this, the grandmother scolded. Andrew Whitmore is respectable; youre starting this relationship with lies. Blythe pleaded, I cant live without them, Grandmamma. I have no other way. The old woman sighed, Fine, but you must visit every day when youre not at work. This wont end well.
Each day Blythe visited her furry brigade, and Andrews suspicions faded. He eventually proposed, presenting a heartshaped amethyst ring, and Blythe laughed, I have no dowry, but Im rich in love. They filed the paperwork, wedding plans swirled, and the hectic days blurred into a frantic race for dresses, menus, and a venue.
After a shift, Blythe called her grandmother, promising to return by evening to buy a wedding dress and pick a restaurant. Exhausted, the couple arrived home after lunch, still needing to finalise guest lists and banquet choices. Over tea and cake, they counted guests, aware that the next day required a proper rest before the wedding.
Andrew reached for a trash bin, only to find it overflowing with pet food packets. Whats this? he asked. Blythe brushed it off, Never mind, Ill explain later. She quickly changed the subject.
Meanwhile, the grandmother let Bullet and Muffin out to play in the freshly fallen snow. A pensioner delivering the mail hurried her inside. As she shut the gate, Lady, Whiskers, and Milo slipped out, while Biscuit stayed indoors. The animals formed a small parade, Bullet leading, Lady keeping formation, ensuring none lagged behind. Passersby stared at the odd procession across the crosswalk, amused by the disciplined pack.
Hearing the scramble at her door, Andrew opened it, stunned to see the dachshund draped in a knitted scarf, followed by a larger dog, then a troop of cats, all dusted with snow and bristling with energy. What on earth is this? he exclaimed.
Blythe burst into the hallway, hid her face in her hands, sank onto the shoe rack, and sobbed silently. Andrew, theyre yours? All of them? she whispered. They were at Grandmas. Bullet and Muffin immediately began nipping at him, while Lady hissed threateningly. Andrew muttered, You said thered be no dowry. He donned his coat, got into his car, and drove off. Blythe called her grandmother, soothing her, refusing to let the truth crush the day.
She thought the wedding was over, hugging her trembling companions, feeling the hollow ache of her own deceit. Hours later, a knock sounded. Andrew stood there, bags of premium dog and cat food in hand, smiling. Sorry for the drama, he said, placing the sacks down. He returned a moment later, leading in a dachshund wearing a bright red jumpsuit. This is Nika. And this is Marry, he lifted a ginger cat hidden under his jacket. Will you let them join your pack?
Years later, Blythe Bennett and Dr. Andrew Whitmore still chuckle over that chaotic night, wondering how differently their lives might have turned out without the dowry of fur and paws.
