Page 8 of Past Due

Wary of a stranger walking up to her door, she nodded.

“My name is Marley, and I was hiking on the pass. I found this puppy,” I showed her the bundle inside my jacket, “behind a boulder. The man at the café said it probably belongs to you.”

Her wariness vanished, and she rushed toward me to take the puppy. “The mother dog? Was she with the puppy?”

Surprised by her British accented English, I nevertheless nodded reluctantly. “I’m sorry. The mother dog was dead, and so were the rest of her puppies.”

Agnesa seemed heartbroken by that. “Margaritë was my favorite. I still don’t know why she ran off like that.”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, not knowing what else to say.

“Can you show me where you found them? On a map?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” She hugged the puppy close. “In the morning, I’ll go get her and bring her home.”

I couldn’t imagine dragging a dead dog back down to her farm. The weight would be difficult to handle, especially on the rocky slope, but this woman seemed like the type who could manage it.

“You should come inside.” Agnesa looked toward the darkening sky. “This storm is going to get worse.”

I hesitated. “I need to get down the mountain. I have a reservation.”

She snorted. “You’re not making that reservation. It’s too dangerous, especially in the dark with all the rain and wind.” She shook her head. “No, you’ll stay here tonight. I have a guest room, and I’m happy to have the company.” She nuzzled the puppy. “You can help me feed this little one and keep it warm.”

Certain this was the best and safest choice, I accepted her offer. “Thank you. That's very kind.”

She nodded and gestured toward the house. “Come inside and get dry.” She grinned. “You look like a drowned kitten.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled, trailing her into her home. As I stopped inside the entry and removed my muddy boots, wet jacket and backpack, I decided to see this as part of the adventure. A night in a farmhouse in the Albanian mountains? I couldn’t wait to tell Aston about this!

“I have another bitch who whelped a few days ago,” Agnesa said as she motioned for me to follow her into an adjacent room. “Let’s see if she’ll take in this tiny orphan you saved.”

“And if she doesn’t?” I asked worriedly. “Is there, like, formula for puppies?”

“There is,” she assured me, “but this is better.”

I stood back as Agnesa approached a closed-off area of the tile floored room where a female dog sat on a layer of towels. The dog looked similar to the one I had found, to Margaritë, and had seven puppies burrowed against her fluffy coat. Agnesa knelt down and carefully brought the puppy close enough for the mother dog to sniff. I held my breath as the dog investigated the puppy and made a strange sound. She bumped the puppy with her nose and then gingerly took it from Agnesa’s hand, holding the limp puppy between her jaws and placing it on the pile of puppies. She pushed aside the other puppies, freeing up space for the orphaned puppy to nurse.

“There you go!” Agnesa smiled at me. “Look at him. Right on the teat! He knows what he’s doing.”

“It’s a boy?”

She shot me a strange look. “You didn’t notice?”

“I didn’t check.” I shrugged. “I was more worried about getting it—him—down the mountain to someone who could help.”

“Well,” Agnesa rose from her crouched position, “you did a good thing saving him. Come on. Let’s get you something warm to drink. Do you like tea?”

“Yes.” I trailed her through the modest house to her surprisingly large kitchen. The smell of vinegar and spices filled the air and made my mouth water. I moved closer to the old wooden table covered with dozens of steaming hot jars. “Are you canning your produce?”

“Pickles,” she said, filling a kettle with water. “Beets, cabbage, peppers.” She waved her hand. “Whatever I had in the garden that needed to be processed or eaten in the next few days.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn to can,” I admitted, bending down to inspect the curious contents of the jars.

“It’s easy enough.” She set the kettle on the stove and fired up a burner. “I learned from my mother as a little girl, but I forgot most of it and had to reteach myself with a cookbook and lots of Googling.”

Deciding to be a bit nosy, I asked, “Did you live abroad? Is that why your English sounds British?”

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