The rain that night fell as if the heavens had split apart. It wasnt the gentle, misty rain that soothes the countryside or the light showers children splash init was the relentless, drenching kind that floods drains, churns earth into thick sludge, and leaves everything chilled and sodden.
Id stayed late at the garage in Manchester. Work had piled up: a broken gearbox on an old Land Rover, a finicky fuel pump on a customers Mini, and the endless paperwork that always found its way to my desk. The storm made it worse. Every few minutes, the roof shuddered under the downpour, and the yard outside looked more like a murky lake.
Just as I was locking up, I heard ita sound that didnt belong to the storm. Not the patter of rain or the groan of the old garage door. It was faint, nearly swallowed by the thundera whimper.
I held still, listening. There it was again, coming from near the scrap heap in the yard.
Pulling on my waxed jacket, I stepped into the storm. Water sloshed over my boots, dark with oil and grime. Squinting through the rain, I followed the sound. Then I saw her.
A small dog, no bigger than a toolbox, curled into a shivering ball in the mud. Her fur clung to her bony frame, her eyes barely open. She trembled so violently I could see her ribs shake.
My chest tightened. Without thinking, I bent and scooped her up. She was frighteningly light, as if she hadnt eaten in days. She barely lifted her head, but I felt her press against me, clinging for warmth.
Inside, I grabbed an old towel from the workbench and wrapped her tight. She was too weak to shiver now. I set her on a stool near the heater and knelt beside her, unsure what to do next.
Ill sort it later, I muttered, more to calm myself than anything. But the truth was, shed already sorted it for me.
The next morning, I arrived early, half-expecting her to be gone. Maybe shed slipped away in the night, maybe she hadnt made it. But when I walked in, there she sat by the stove, head cocked, watching me as if shed been waiting.
I grinned nervously. Mornin, little lass.
When I reached for my spanner to tackle the Land Rover again, I paused. It wasnt where Id left it. Instead, the little dog trotted over, the spanner gripped gently in her teeth. She dropped it at my feet and wagged her tail.
I blinked. Well, Ill be
Thats when I named her. Maisie. Because even covered in filth, even shaking in the storm, she reminded me of something delicate yet resilientlike a flower pushing through cracked pavement.
From then
