**Diary Entry – November 30th**
The first snow fell in late November, and on that same day, a dog wandered into the factory where Emily worked. She was black, smooth-coated, medium-sized, with a shepherd-like face, a white collar around her neck, and a small white patch on her back.
No one knew where she’d come from—probably one of the nearby villages—but Andrew, one of the drivers, laid an old jumper in the corner near the warehouse for her.
«You’ll be Gerda,» he said, looking into her eyes. «You’ll live here now, understand?»
Oddly enough, Gerda settled right there, calmly taking in her surroundings. Emily worked as a storekeeper in the warehouse and brought the dog a bowl of food. Gerda sniffed it and ate everything.
«Good girl, Gerda. I’ll bring you some soup tomorrow,» Emily said, stroking her head. To everyone’s surprise, Gerda didn’t mind—she even nuzzled into her hand.
She was calm, gradually exploring the vast factory as if deciding it was now her domain to guard. The workers brought her treats—some she’d take straight from their hands, others she’d wait for them to set down.
Gerda chose Emily as her person, sticking close all day and staying with the night watchman after hours. By morning, she’d greet everyone at the entrance like a proper colleague, tail wagging as they joked, «Sleep well, Gerda?»
She was loved by all, never venturing beyond her factory. Emily cooked extra portions at home, sharing meals with her every day. They grew inseparable—when Emily stepped out, Gerda trotted beside her, never straying.
«Emily’s got herself a bodyguard!» the lads laughed.
Months passed, but trouble came when metal went missing overnight. The night watchman, known for his drinking, confessed later when questioned:
«Liam and Dave gave me a bottle of whisky—I drank it. They beat Gerda and locked her in the storeroom. I didn’t know till morning…»
The thieves were sacked, and Gerda never growled at anyone again.
When Emily’s holiday neared, she fretted. «What’ll I do with you, Gerda?» She noticed the dog’s eyes were sore—factory air, maybe. «I’ll take you home.»
On their last day, Emily brought a lead, and they walked home together. Gerda, unused to the outside after a year indoors, startled at geese in the yard, pressing close to Emily.
«Scared of geese? They’ll nip you!» Emily laughed, settling her in the old kennel left by Rex, their previous dog.
Gerda adored the river, leaping in and shaking water everywhere. «You should see her swim!» Emily told her coworkers later.
Then came the puppies—two of them, swiftly adopted by the factory lads. Gerda raised them sternly, proud as punch.
But one day, disaster struck. A woman from the next factory over threw a stick at her, and Gerda snapped. Security was called to put her down.
Emily panicked. «Andrew, help—we’ve got to get her out!» They smuggled Gerda home in his van.
From then on, she lived in Emily’s garden, guarding the chickens, greeting family with joyful barks. She and the cat, Whiskers, became unlikely friends, baffling neighbours. «Cat and dog, living in peace!»
When Emily and her husband, James, had their son, Tommy, Gerda watched over him, barking if he stirred in his pram.
One winter night, she saved them—waking James by tugging the blankets as Whiskers pounced on his chest. The wiring was melting; a fire barely avoided.
Years passed. Gerda grew old, her hind legs failing. One evening, Emily returned to find Whiskers leading her to Gerda’s still form under the apple tree. Tears rolled from the dog’s eyes as Emily knelt beside her.
By morning, she was gone. Whiskers sat by her, mourning.
**Lesson:** Loyalty isn’t measured in years, but in moments—like a dog who chooses you, guards you, and leaves paw prints on your heart long after she’s gone.