Every morning, an elderly lady strolls into the courtyard of our block of flats. Shes about eighty, always dressed neatly and with care. I moved into the building at the end of autumn, and on my way to work each day I would see her. Sometimes she sat on a bench beneath a towering lime tree, other times she ambled slowly, leaning on her cane.
After a while we began to exchange greetings. I would pause a moment to ask how Eleanor Green was feeling and wish her a pleasant day. She always returned my smile with a warm nod and a thankyou.
At the end of December a new resident appeared in the courtyard: a dog. He was small and looked young, but no one knew where he had come from. The creature was a tangled, dirty mess of fur, no breed discernible. The moment Eleanor tossed him a piece of sausage, his fate was sealedhe stayed in the courtyard from that day on. He probably wouldnt have survived elsewhere, given how forlorn he looked.
Most of the other tenants werent thrilled about his presence. Many tried to drive him away, shouting, Get out of here! whenever he approached with pleading eyes, silently begging for scraps.
Still, he sometimes managed to snag a bitea neighbour would fling a crust of bread, another a small bone. Eleanor also brought him stale biscuits or dayold bread, speaking softly while patting his head and calling him Scruffy.
When the snow had almost melted in early spring, I met Eleanor in the courtyard one morning. She told me she would be leaving that evening with her granddaughter for the country and would stay there until autumn. Possibly even until the end of autumn, she added. We have a coal stove over there, and it stays warm by night, even on the coldest evenings.
She asked me to promise a visit.
In late August I finally made the trip. After buying her a modest present, I took the bus to the village where she was staying.
When I arrived, I found her seated on the veranda, peeling large red apples. Lying on a wooden step beside her, a dog rested peacefully.
Scruffy, come welcome our guest! the old lady called.
The dog leapt up, wagging his fluffy tail, and raced toward me. He was a handsome animal now, his coat sleek and wavy, catching the sun in a brilliant sheen.
Mrs. Green, is this really the scruffy hound from our courtyard? I asked, astonished.
Yes, thats him! Hes turned out to be quite the beauty! Eleanor replied with a grin. Come in, have a cup of tea. Tell me everything about the city!
We lingered at the table for a long while, sipping cherryflavoured tea and chatting. After his porridge, Scruffy curled up by the warm stove, sighing contentedly as he drifted to sleepperhaps dreaming of his old yard.
Outside, a gentle breeze made the appletree branches sway, and ripe red apples fell softly onto the grass.
That visit reminded me that kindness, no matter how small, can change a life utterly. A simple sausage, a few biscuits, a warm smilethese gestures can turn a forgotten stray into a beloved companion and teach us that compassion never truly fades, even in the busiest of places.
