In Which Man's Best Friends Meet

Old dogs, like old shoes, are comfortable. They might be a bit out of shape and a little worn around the edges, but they fit well.

~Bonnie Wilcox


Mrs. Hudson loves her dogs.

Mrs. Hudson will argue with you day in and day out that she has the best and most amiable dogs in England. She lives in a tiny home in Sussex and cares for her dogs as if they were her children.

Her first was the tiny, bulldoggish Watson. Watson was given to her by a kind doctor after he could no longer care for him. Watson was hurt in his leg by a hunter, she was told, and now had a pronounced limp in his hind left leg. Watson was sweet and protected her fiercely, but Mrs. Hudson knew the bulldog was lonely and immediately procured another dog in need of a home.

Holmes came next. Holmes, like Watson, had a history as well—but instead of getting shot; the greyhound had been used in police investigations at London with a startling degree of success, and had been retired from the force after an incredible location of a German spy. The constable that had given Holmes to Mrs. Hudson told her of the dog's strange ways, but there was no denying that Holmes was an incredibly intelligent canine. He was a beautiful dog as well, colored by a peculiar shade of dark grey with transparent, silver eyes. He exerted himself with astounding energy when the fits came upon him, but mostly opted to laze (sulk) by the fire with Mrs. Hudson.

Holmes and Watson lived a happy life together for many years, but Watson got ill and didn't recover some years after Holmes and Watson were introduced. Mrs. Hudson had never seen a dog mourn before, but Holmes seemed to have taken his companion's death to heart and rarely left the cottage, and when he did it was to only lay by the spot where Mrs. Hudson's son had buried the bulldog under a spindly tree.

Mrs. Hudson felt incredibly sorry for the greyhound. She wasn't sure whether it would be best to let the dog alone and allow him to continue in his ways, or introduce another pup or dog to him as to take his mind from his friend. Eventually, when a friend came to Mrs. Hudson with a tale of a fire where an entire litter of pups and the two parents had been killed except for one lone survivor, she made her decision and brought the little puppy home.

The puppy was a rare (and dying out) breed, an English white terrier, with burn scars on her shoulder and arm. The puppy was the runt of the litter and had only survived because she had wandered off from her brothers before the fire had started and had found refuge in a tiny hole in the basement foundation. Russell, the pup's rescuer had named her. Little Miracle Russell.

Mrs. Hudson introduced Holmes and Russell that night, where the tiny puppy wandered (limped) over to the greyhound and promptly bit on his ear. Holmes looked startled to Mrs. Hudson, and lifted his head from the floor to nudge the puppy rather roughly away with his nose. The terrier responded with equal force and managed to shift Holmes's spindly leg over so she could lie comfortably between his paws. Mrs. Hudson had to keep from giggling when she saw the look of near human resignation and shock on the older dog's face.

Holmes was rather weary of Russell at first, but the tiny pup would not let the elder out of her sight and eventually he accepted her presence. The greyhound seemed to teach the puppy the ways of his world, and Mrs. Hudson, on more than one occasion, saw him nudging the puppy to direct her attention to something that made the pup squirm with delight or surprise. She particularly liked the bees when Holmes showed her the hives Mrs. Hudson's neighbor kept, and wouldn't leave Holmes's side when he showed her Watson's grave. (Mrs. Hudson had a feeling that was when Holmes truly accepted Russell, because he wouldn't allow someone he didn't like or approve of to his beloved companion's gravesite.)

Eventually, Holmes wouldn't allow Russell out of his sight. The pup grew into a strong, healthy white terrier (one of the last in England) and always managed to keep the older greyhound on his toes. Mrs. Hudson had some inkling that the two got into more trouble than they let on, and once Mrs. Hudson had to retrieve the two from the local police station from when she had received a call that her two dogs had found and protected a missing child.

Mrs. Hudson peeked over her mending to see the puppy (now five years old) and the greyhound (now a startling thirteen, seeing as greyhounds had a life expectancy of ten) dozing together by the fireplace. The terrier had her head on one of Holmes's paws while his head lay across her back. Mrs. Hudson smiled indulgently to herself and directed her attention once more to her sewing.

Oh yes, Mrs. Hudson loved her dogs.