“Gran, Oh Gran!” shouted Matthew. “Who gave you permission to keep a wolf in the village?”

Gran! Gran, who said you could keep a wolf in the village? bellowed Matthew as he strode up the cracked cobbled lane.

Ellen Thompson let out a broken sob as she gazed at her ruined fence. How many times had she propped it up with battered planks, patched the mossy, crumbling posts, all the while hoping her tiny pension would stretch far enough to cover a proper repair? It was never to be the fence had finally collapsed.

For ten years Ellen had managed the old homestead by herself ever since her dearly beloved husband, Peter, had passed away. Peter had been a marvel with his hands. Nothing ever bothered Ellen while he lived; her world was safe, strong, and dependable. Peter was the villages craftsmancarpenter, odd-job man, everyones friend.

He built and fixed everything himself. People respected him for his kindness and industry. Theyd shared forty happy years together, only just missing their ruby anniversary by a day. The neat house, the yielding vegetable plot, the tidy flock in the meadow all a testament to a lifes shared labour.

They had a single son, Edward, her pride and joy. Eddie, even as a boy, never needed asking to help always stacking logs, fetching water, lighting the range, tending to the sheep before his weary mother trudged back from the dairy.

Peter, returning home in the dusk, would splash his face and step out onto the porch for his smoke while Ellen cooked supper. Evenings united the family. They ate together, exchanged stories, filled the house with laughter. They were content.

But time is a thief, stealing away everything except memories. Edward grew, left for London, earned his degree, and married a city girl named Grace. They settled in the capital. At first, Edward came to visit for holidays, but it didnt last soon, Grace insisted on trips abroad, and each year the visits grew fewer. Peter was hurt and bewildered by his sons new life.

Whats worn our Eddie out so? Must be that Graceshe’s got his head in the clouds. Why bother with all those foreign getaways?

Grief gnawed at Peter. Ellen mourned in silence. What could they do but live on, hoping for the odd letter or call? Then one fateful spring, an illness took Peter. He grew weaker by the day, refusing fooddoctors prescribed this and that, but at last sent him home to see out his days among the daffodils while the nightingale sang in the woods. Peter slipped softly away.

Edward came down for the funeral, tears running down his face, blaming himself for missing his fathers last moments. He spent a week at the family home, then returned to London. In ten years, only three letters reached his mother. Ellen was left to rattle around alone. She sold the sheep and the brown cow next door.

What point in keeping animals now? The cow stood forlorn at the hedge, listening to Ellens lonely weeping. She hid herself away in the back parlour, plugged her ears, and wept.

Without a man about, the place fell into disrepair. Slates slid from the roof, floorboards rotted on the porch, the cellar flooded. Ellen did all she could, setting aside bits from her pension to pay a tradesman, and sometimes handled small jobs herselfshe was a countrywoman, after all.

She struggled: every penny was a worry. Calamity struck again when her eyesight deteriorated badly, though shed always had sharp vision. At the village shop, she struggled to make out the prices, and within months could barely see the sign over the door.

A district nurse came and pleaded, Mrs Thompson, do you want to go blind? An operation will fix your sight!

But Ellen recoiled from the idea of surgery, refusing point blank to go. Within a year, darkness sealed her world. She wasnt too troubled.

Whats the need for light? I only listen to the wireless now. The newsreader tells me all I need to know, and everything else I do by memory.

Still, unease sometimes crept in. There were more unsavoury folk about nowadays; thieves prowled, ransacked empty cottages, took what they liked. Ellen wished for a good dogone to bark and scare off rogues.

She asked Simon, the local gamekeeper, Any pups, Simon? Even a scraggly one Im not fussed. Ill raise him myself.

Simon eyed her in amusement. Gran Ellen, what do you want with a lurcher pup? Those are for the woods. I could fetch you a proper sheepdog from town.

I expect they cost a pretty penny

Not more than moneys worth, Gran.

Well, go on then.

Ellen counted her savings, reckoning it enough for a decent dog. But Simon unreliable at best kept putting her off. Ellen scolded him for empty promises, though in truth she pitied him: a lonely man, a heavy drinker, nearest thing to a friend left in the village. Simon had never left; the city was too confining for him. Hunting was his great lovehed vanish into the woods for days each season.

After the hunting ended, he took odd jobsdigging gardens, fixing machinery, planing wood. What he earned from widows vanished down the village pub.

Following a bender, Simon would stagger into the forest, haggard, remorseful. Days later hed return, pockets brimming with mushrooms, berries, trout, and pine cones. Hed sell the lot for a song, spend the proceeds, and repeat. He helped Ellen about the place for cash and a flask. Now, with the fence down, she had to turn to him again.

I suppose the dogll have to wait, Ellen sighed, counting her pennies. Simon needs paying for the fence, and theres not enough.

Simon arrived not empty-handed. His battered satchel squirmed with life. He grinned, calling Ellen over.

Come see what I brought, Gran! He opened the bag.

Ellen reached in and felt the plush head of a young pup.

Oh, Simon, you got me a puppy? she gasped.

None better, Gran. Purest-bred sheepdog in the county.

The pup squirmed to escape, but panic seized Ellen.

I havent enough for both the fence and this dog!

Im hardly taking him back, am I? Simon protested. You wouldnt guess how much I shelled out for this lad!

So Ellen hurried to the corner shop, where the owner reluctantly let her have five bottles of spirits on credit, jotting her name in the old ledger.

By evening, Simon had finished the fence. Ellen served him a hearty lunch and poured him a dram. Merry with drink, Simon held forth at the table, pointing at the puppy dozing by the fire.

Feed him twice a day. Buy a strong chainhell grow up stout and hearty, trust me. I know dogs.

So Taffy, as Ellen christened him, became part of the household. She doted on the pup, and Taffy returned her love, bounding up every time she stepped out to feed him, tail wagging madly. Only one thing nagged her: the dog grew and grew, as big as a calf, but never learned to bark. Ellen fretted.

Oh, Simon, you old rascal! Sold me a dog no good for guarding!

But she couldnt turn out such a docile creaturebarking or not. Frankly, he intimidated the neighbours dogs so much that none dared bark at Taffy, who quickly grew to Ellens waist.

One winters day, Matthew, the local huntsman, passed by as he stocked up for the shooting seasonsalt, matches, tins. Glancing at Ellens home, he froze at the sight of the beast lazing in the sun.

Gran Ellen! Who gave you permission to keep a wolf here?

Ellen clutched at her chest, alarmed.

Oh, heavens above! Ive been tricked! That scoundrel Simon swore he was a purebred sheepdog

Matthew spoke grimly, Youll need to let him go, Gran. It could end badly otherwise.

Tears spilled from Ellens old eyes. Her heart ached to part with Taffythe gentle soul, though a wolf after all. Hed become restless, straining at his chain, yearning for freedom. The villagers eyed him with dread. She had no choice.

Matthew took the wolf into the forest. Taffy wagged his tail once, slinking off among the oaks, never to be seen again.

Ellen grieved for her darling, cursing Simons trickery. Yet Simon himself was filled with regret; hed meant well. Once, out in the forest, Simon had found bear tracks, followed by whining cries. Drawn closer, he found a den, and therea dead she-wolf and her pups, slain by a bear. Only one cub remained, cowering deep inside. Simon, his heart moved, rescued the orphan, thinking Ellen could care for it. He suspected the wolf would escape to the wild when grown, and hed bring Ellen a real dog then. But Matthew had spoiled it all.

Simon lingered by her gate for days, unable to face her. Outside, winter raged. Ellen stoked the hearth to stave off the chill.

Then came a sudden knock. Ellen shuffled to the door, squinting.

Good evening, deary. Might I come in out of the cold? Lost my way to the next village.

Whats your name, love? My eyes arent as sharp.

Boris.

Ellen frowned. Weve no Boris in these parts

Ive just bought a cottage nearby, Gran. Got lost in this blizzard after the car broke down.

You bought old Mr Daniels place?

He nodded. Thats the one, yes.

Ellen welcomed the stranger, set the kettle to boil. She didnt see how his eyes raked over the old glass-fronted cupboardthe usual spot for villagers to hide their cash and valuables.

While she bustled at the stove, her guest rummaged through the cupboard. Ellen heard the telltale creak of wood.

What are you doing in there, Boris?

Oh, you know, after the bank notes changed. Just helping you sort out your old money.

A chill crept through Ellen. Nonsense. Theres been no changeover. Who are you?

The man suddenly brandished a knife, pressing it to her chin.

Be quiet, old bat. Hand over your cash, jewels, and food!

Fear froze Ellen to the spot. She knewthis was a dangerous man, perhaps on the run. Her fate was sealed.

Suddenly, the door flew off its latch. A massive wolf burst in, flung itself at the intruder. He cried out, saved only by a woollen scarf from the wolfs jaws. The robber struck Taffys shoulder with the knife, and as the wolf recoiled, the thief bolted out into the night.

At that very moment, Simon was making his way to Ellens cottage to apologise, when he saw the man fleeing, cursing the world, blood streaking his sleeve. Simon rushed inside; there, on the floor, was wounded Taffy, blood pooling. Piecing it together, Simon sprinted to fetch the constable.

The thief was caught, jailed for another stretch.

Taffy became a local legendthe hero of the village. Folks left him scraps and patted his head in thanks. No more chains for him; he roamed wild, but always returned to Ellen, each time with Simon after their forest forays.

One afternoon, they saw a sleek black Range Rover parked beside Ellens gate. In the yard, a man was neatly chopping logsit was Eddie, her son. Seeing Simon, he opened his arms wide.

That night, all three sat round the old table; Ellen beamed with unexpected happiness. Eddie persuaded her to come to London for the operation to restore her sight.

If you think its best she sighed. Perhaps in summer, when my grandson visitsId love to see him. Simon, will you mind the house, and Taffy?

Simon nodded solemnly. By the fireside, Taffy settled his head against his pawsat home, surrounded by friends.

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