This Young Adult/Adult inspiration is led by Snowball, the self-appointed grand dame of my apartment complex. And A West Highland Terrier (Westie).
She wasn’t given the job –she claimed it.
She watches. Listens. And knows more than most.
This story is for anyone who’s had their life shaped in the best way by a furry heart on four legs.
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Weston. Where waves breathed softly, seagulls conversed in low tones, and animals knew more than they should.
In Weston, dogs had instincts sharper than fishooks. Snowball the West Highland White Terrier was the town’s proactive guardian–she was a Westie who sniffed out more than good bacon.
She usually couldn’t resist the lure of the ones that her owner, Michelle, usually fried up fresh. But that day, she hung back.
For a silent shadow, clinging ominously to Weston’s only lighthouse keeper.
She only barked when it mattered. This day, it did.
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Because Old Dan, Weston’s only lighthouse keeper, had started wandering, leaving the lighthouse completely unattended.
Flummoxed Westoners worried that the old stalwart had started to lose his mind.
Snowball’s nose twitched. Old Dan may have lost his mind…and something else.
The little Scottish canine gumshoe followed him…to nothing.
Her neighbour, Pockets the Cat, provided a little wit –and back alley wisdom.
“Why don’t we sneak into his house? He has a doggy door.” She purred. “Besides, he may drop one of his smelly herrings.”
Now, Snowball knew how to find herring – and ghosts of the heart. Some truths didn’t bark loudly –they whispered their aches.
She and her feline sidekick sneaked into Dan’s terrace house on an
afternoon when work at the lighthouse kept him rooted to his post.
The animal gumshoes sneaked in.
Everything was as uncluttered –Dan was a Marie Kondo fanboy.
The Westie poked her nose into each dust-free corner. No unusual scents.
Until she got to the bedroom closet.
Her busy nostrils tracked an old coat –belonging to Dan’s late wife.
Then, sobs. Hollow, sniffling echoes filled the room. Truth had the scent of old memories –and gentle perfume.
Snowball hadn’t just sniffed out a coat –she had smelt a secret.
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Dan wasn’t the host to a ghost –he was the lighthouse keeper of grief.
The little Westie grabbed the coat with her mouth and brought it to the white cliffs of Weston, Pockets in tow.
And yes, she blended in with the scenery. Dan didn’t see her.
He stared out at the sea.
Hoping. For a return.
Snowall dropped the coat in front of him with a nudge of her nose.
Not all ghosts rattle chains –Dan’s wife stayed in his closet.
Waiting.
To comfort.
Pockets purred, her long, grey tail wrapping around Dan’s ankle.
The pets hadn’t banished ghosts –they reminded them that they once loved.
Are loved.
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Old Dan returned to his lighthouse post and remained the Weston’s sea security.
His neighbours learned to love silence -not muted calm. Quiet, with small things making a difference.
Snowball’s reward? A doggy treat from Michelle and a huge cuddle. And a job as the lighthouse’s animal sentinel.
The little West Highland Terrier and Pockets sat beside Dan, the wind carrying his love for his wife out to sea.
They hadn’t chased her away –they’d made her stay.
But quietly. Like a pawstep. With gentle sighs, like purrs.
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