Bruno, the best dog in the world

I hobbled clumsily down the seven steps from the front door to the street; steps worn shiny by over two hundred years of feet passing up and down: tenants, tradesmen, and for the last eighteen years, our family.

I usually skipped down the steps, my mind on other, mundane, things, but today I was totally focussed, manipulating my crutches and trying to remain upright.

Once on the level, I made my way along the pavement, negotiating up and down kerbstones and across roads until, with a feeling of enormous relief, I arrived at the gates of the park and flopped down onto the nearest bench to catch my breath.

I had always been fit and well - gym, running, hiking, busy job - but for the last two weeks I had been laid up after a knee operation. Housebound. Going stir crazy.

'Enough!' I'd told the cat that morning. And after breakfast, I'd set off to kickstart my recovery, making my way to the local park with a plan to do a lap. How hard could it be? Well it turned out to be very hard, much harder than I had expected, and by the time I was half way round I was looking for the next bench.

As I huffed and puffed, eyes fixed on the bench a hundred metres away, I became aware of the 'click click' of claws on tarmac, and looked down to find an Alsatian trotting along beside me. I stopped and scratched his head, "Hello boy." He stopped with me and nosed my hand until I continued walking, occasionally looking up encouragingly, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. He was wearing a collar, green with an emerald-green tag, and I looked around for his owner but couldn't see anyone obvious. Reaching the bench, I turned to sit. The dog trotted away back down the path and disappeared around the corner. I thought no more of it, and after catching my breath, made my way back home.

My morning walk around the park became part of my rehab. I came to know fellow walkers by sight, greeting them as we passed, and every day I was joined on the uphill stretch by the Alsatian, chaperoning me gently to the park gates before we parted ways.

But one morning, two days after I had finally said goodbye to the dreaded crutches, he was notably absent. Considering he had been a silent companion, I missed him, and for the next few days scanned the familiar paths hoping to catch sight of him, with no luck.

One Friday, a glorious early spring day, I sat on a bench for a while, not wanting to hurry home. An elderly man approached, eyeing the space next to me, uncertainly.

"Please, be my guest." I offered and we chatted for a few moments before I rose to leave.

We became friends over the days and weeks, and Arthur told me all about his family, including his wife, Mary, who had sadly passed away the previous summer. His eyes misted over as he reminisced, telling me all about their daily walks around the park together when they were first married.

"We walked the paths of this park for fifty years," he recalled, "as a young couple, with kiddies in the pram, and then just her and Bruno."

"Bruno?" I asked curiously.

"Aye," he said, "best dog in the world was Bruno."

He proceeded to tell me about the touching relationship between his late wife and her dog.

"Never left her side," he recalled proudly, "and even those last few months, he would walk patiently next to her whilst she walked round the park. Never rushed her, just licked her hand if she stopped - kind of encouraged her, she said."

It must be a coincidence, I thought before prompting him, "Tell me more about Bruno."

Happy to oblige, he sat back in the sunshine, recounting stories spanning twelve years, before finishing with, "He died the very next day. Must have lost the will after Mary went. The vet said it was old age, but I know he died of a broken heart."

Arthur pulled out his wallet and took out a photograph, holding it for me to see. I took it from him, taking in the image; Mary sat in an armchair with Bruno sitting beside her, his head on her lap. And around his neck, an emerald-green tag dangled from a green collar.

"Yes," I agreed, "best dog in the world."