“Mum, what on earth have you done?” The daughters voice crackled through the phone. “A rescue dog, for pitys sake? And an old, poorly one at that! Have you lost the plot? Couldnt you have just taken up line dancing instead?”
Emily Whitmore stood by the window, watching snowflakes swirl and settle on rooftops and bare branches. It had become a habit lately. Once, shed waited there for her husband, stumbling home late, voice hoarse from exhaustion. The kitchen would glow softly, dinner on the table, their conversations punctuated by sips of tea…
Gradually, the conversations dried up. He came home later, avoided her gaze, his replies clipped. Then, one day
“Emily, Ive got to tell you… Ive met someone else. Im in love. I want a divorce.”
“What? Divorce? And what about me?” A sharp pain jabbed beneath Emilys shoulder blade.
“Emily, were adults. The kids are grown. Weve had thirty years. But were still youngjust past fifty! I want something fresh.”
“So Im the past, am I? Obsolete,” she murmured, dazed.
“Dont be dramatic. But yes, I feel like Im thirty again. Forgive meI just want to be happy.” He kissed the top of her head and disappeared into the shower, washing away their marriage while Emily felt the weight of the worlds melancholy settle on her shoulders.
Betrayal. Was there anything crueller?
Time blurreddivorce papers, her husband off to his new life. Emily drifted through grey routines. Shed lived for her children, for him. Their worries were hers; their joys, her victories. Now?
She spent hours at the window. Sometimes, shed peek into her grandmothers hand mirrorsad eyes, a stray tear in the crows feet, a few silver threads at her temples.
The full-length mirror stayed ignored.
“Mum, you need a hobby,” her daughter chirped, voice hurried.
“Like what, love?” Emilys tone faded down the line.
“Dunno. Book club? Aqua aerobics for the mature lady? Gallery visits?”
“Ah yes, for the mature lady. Which I very much am,” Emily sighed.
“Oh, Mum, sorrygot to dash!”
Oddly, her son, Oliver, understood better.
“Mum, Im gutted about all this. Isabelle and Ill visit at Christmascheer you up.”
Emily adored her children but marvelled at how different they were.
*****
One evening, scrolling online, she spotted an ad:
“OPEN DAY at Greyfriars Dog Rescue! Bring family, friendsour dogs cant wait to meet you! Donations welcome: old blankets, towels, bedding…”
Emily read it twice.
“Blankets, towels… Ive a cupboard full. Might as well help,” she muttered into the quiet.
Ten days later, she arrived at the rescue with armfuls of donations. A taxi driver helped unload bags of linens while volunteers buzzed about, thanking visitors.
Later, guided past kennels, Emily heard each dogs story. She left exhausted, legs aching.
“Rightshower, dinner, sofa. Ill process this later.”
But later never came. The images spun in her mindthe dogs, their eyes.
Eyes just like hers in that little mirror. Wary, resigned to joylessness.
One dog stuck with her: Lady, a greying, twelve-year-old Cavalier King Charles. Abandoned by her owner, too old, too ill for most adopters.
“Shes a sweetheart, but… well, no one wants the elderly ones,” the volunteer sighed.
Lady lay motionless on a tatty blanket, like a discarded toy.
All week at work, Emily thought of her. Thena spark.
“Ladys me. Im not ancient. But alone. The kids are gone. My husband tossed me aside like yesterdays newspaper. But Im not rubbish!”
Suddenly decisive, Emily called the rescue.
“Hello! I visited last weekLady, the older Cavalier? Could I see her again?”
“Lady? Blimey! Of coursecome Saturday.”
That evening, Emily watched a neighbour play fetch with his Labrador, laughing as it bounded through the snow.
Saturday arrived.
“Hello, Lady.” Emily crouched, but the dog didnt stir. Undeterred, she sat cross-legged in old jeans and talked.
She spoke of her empty house, her children, her loneliness. An hour passed. Tentatively, she stroked Ladys head. The dog sighed, leaning into her hand.
Leaving, Emily met Ladys brown gaze: hopeful, questioning.
“Wait for me,” she whispered.
To the volunteer, she blurted: “Ill take her.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes. Everyone deserves a chance.”
“Emily, shell need vet visits, medsits costly.”
“I raised two kids. Ill manage.”
Hours later, Emily carried Lady home, wrapped in a towel.
“Here we are, girl. Our fresh start.”
She took time off for vet tripsteeth extracted, claws trimmed, meds sorted. Lady, impeccably trained, adapted quickly. They walked at dawn and dusk, avoiding prying neighbours.
*****
“Mum, are you insane?” Her daughter screeched down the phone. “A geriatric rescue dog? Why not take up salsa?”
“Darling, Im fifty-three, fit, and fabulous. Isnt that what I taught you?” Emily countered.
“But”
“No buts. Your father left me for a woman half his age. Respect my choices.”
Hanging up, she chuckled as Oliver rang, gobsmacked.
“Mum, you legend! A rescue dog? Brilliant! But… patience-wise, dyou reckon?”
“Oliver, I raised you and your sister. Ill cope.”
She didnt mention the man shed met on their evening walksPhilip, divorced, his ex off to Spain with a new bloke. Hed adopted a dog too…
Guess where from?
Exactly. Philips lumbering Labrador, Duke, had been a rescuefound roaming, unclaimed despite his microchip. Now, he and Philip were inseparable.
*****
“Mum, can Isabelle and I visit New Years Eve? Shes as bonkers as you!”
Emily laughed. “Come along, then.”
When the doorbell rang, two dogs barkedPhilip and Duke had joined the party.
Oliver gaped at the merry chaos. “Right, no midnight revealthis is Isabelle. Were having a baby. Also… we fancy rescuing a dog. Maybe a pup? What with the little one coming…”
That night, no window seemed lonelylaughter, music, and Auld Lang Syne filled the air.
Even back at Greyfriars, the unadopted dogs wagged their tails, as if sensing hopeful times ahead.
Heres to happiness! And from my scruffy, beloved Scamp (whos blissfully forgotten his kennel days), warmest wishes to you all. May your lives be as filled with joy as his is with belly rubs and stolen biscuits!
