Written by Lucy de Abreu
Professional photography by The LetterBox Productions
In a quaint little house with a sign on a red gate that read “All Tails Welcome”, where ivy hugged the walls, red and white roses bloomed in the garden, and the sun’s rays rested gently on the windowsills, lived a soft-hearted lady named Rose. To some people, she seemed like a stern lady, but to others she had a heart of gold, a smile that made you feel safe and a voice so gentle, even the shyest creatures felt her love. But most of all, Rose had a special place for dogs.
From the time of her very first puppy called Waffles, Rose loved animals. Waffles would sit next to Rose while she did her homework or lay in the long grass under the vines while they ate peaches fresh from the tree.
Her journey into the world of wagging tails continued with a lively little Jack Russell puppy named Decaf, who came to Rose on an aeroplane. Decaf was a whirlwind of energy, chasing butterflies, barking at leaves, and dogs bigger than her, and curling up on Rose’s lap as if she were a living cushion. They were inseparable from the first time their eyes met, when Decaf easily jumped into Rose’s arms. Where Rose went, Decaf followed. She especially loved walking on the beach and car rides, sitting in the front seat with the window rolled down, and the breeze brushing her face.
Then, one sunny afternoon, Butter arrived. A caramel-coloured dog with sad, searching eyes and a heart as soft as marshmallows. Butter didn’t have a happy home before coming to live with Rose. She was a gentle soul who was scared of loud noises and sudden movements, but she quickly learnt to adore Rose and dreamt – if dogs can dream – of becoming a chef. She’d always be in the kitchen when it was lunch or supper time, sitting near the stove, sniffing spices and watching every stir of the spoon with awe. Rose would smile and say, “Butter, you’d make a wonderful little chef.” She also loved her afternoon naps, with the sun warming her coat, on her comfy, soft bed.
A short few months later, along came Alaska, who thought she was a queen. A cross between a Dalmatian and a Pit Bull, Alaska had great black patches and a graceful air about her. She loved the sun and would bask in its warmth on her cosy cushion, nose high, as if waiting for someone to bring her treats and fan her with big leaves. And when it came to eating? Alaska wouldn’t eat a single bite unless you left the room – royalty, after all, dines in private.
Sometime later, Faith arrived. Another rescue, with a soft, thoughtful face with long eyelashes and a shy wag of the tail. Faith you could see was gentle, and the other dogs could sense she was timid, but she could also stand up for herself if needed. She was also mischievous, chewing any human or doggy toy she could get her paws on. Sometimes, she would even try and chew the legs of the dining room table. She quickly became part of the pack, curling up beside Butter and following Alaska with quiet admiration. It wasn’t long before she fit right in.
Then one day, Rose was driving along the road on the way to work when she spotted a scruffy little pup with a bent tail wandering alone, very scared of all the cars and noises around him. Without a second thought – because Rose always followed her heart – she stopped the car, scooped him up, and brought him home. She called him Yoko!
The first thing Rose did was give him a warm bath. In fact, she bathed him twice, and gave herself a bath at the same time as well. The only boy among girls, Yoko wasted no time in taking over the entire house. He quickly adored and respected Decaf and often snuggled beside her, always making sure she was comfortable, but he also teased his older sisters and claimed every toy, cushion, and bed as his own. He became fiercely loving and very protective of Rose. So close, in fact, that if he could have climbed into her skin to stay close forever, he would have.
Yoko once “spoke” to an animal communicator – yes, Rose believed in such things because she communicated with animals herself and found many a little lost soul. He asked the communicator, with genuine concern, “Am I doing a good job protecting Rose and my home?” That was Yoko: mischievous but devoted.
Last to join the family home was Rocky, a dog who belonged to a dear friend of Rose and quickly became part of the family too. Rocky was older in years but young at heart. She leapt on furniture like a pup and had a nose that could sniff out snacks, even when Rose had a midnight craving for something sweet. Open a drawer or crinkle a packet and, poof! Rocky was there, staring up at you with eyes full of hope, head bent to the side waiting and waiting. Rocky was sweet, but don’t get on her bad side, she could bark just as loud as the biggest dog you knew.
Even the dogs at animal shelters were fond of her; she spent many Sundays taking them in her car to the mountains or beach for a walk. She snuck in treats in her pockets to give them and also read them stories sometimes, sitting in their kennels with them, allowing them to rest their heads on her lap – and there was always room for one more head, or paw.
Time passed, and seasons changed. And as happens to all beloved souls, Rose grew ill, and her dogs sensed it. They stayed closer, were quieter, but very watchful.
Then came the hardest day of all, the day Rose herself crossed the Rainbow Bridge. The house grew still. But the dogs, each in their own way, carried Rose with them and they missed her very much. Her scent lingered in the blankets and on her bed. Her voice echoed in the corners of their home. And though her hands no longer gave out treats or her voice read pages of Dr Seuss books during story time, her love was stitched into every shadow and sunbeam.
Rose’s family, neighbours, people she knew, and dogs and cats alike, missed her deeply. In the mornings, the neighbourhood dogs and cats still waited near their garden gates, hoping for her kind smile and the crinkle of treat bags. She’d fed strays like royalty, brought food when others turned away, and found homes for the lost and forgotten.
To this day, her beloved dogs remain in the same house with the ivy-hugged walls and roses blooming. They’re safe, cared for, and still very much a family. And every so often, when the sun filters just right through the windows, and a pink or red rose appears, it feels as though Rose is still there – reading softly, laughing gently, and loving them all, just as she always did.
