The Tale of Edward and His Dog Chance
Oh, my dears, gather close, and I’ll tell you a story that my neighbor here at the care home shared with me. Since my family sent me here, I’ve nothing to do but listen to tales and pass them on to you. This one’s about Edward Whitmore and his loyal dog, Chance—listen well.
Edward was a sturdy man, though burdened with sorrow. He lived in Manchester, ran a business, and had once served in the army until an injury forced him out. His friend, Andrew, who’d moved to Australia, gifted him a puppy—a Bouvier des Flandres. Edward named him Chance. Oh, what a dog he was—strong, faithful, a true companion! They shared everything, joy and hardship alike. Whenever Andrew called, he always asked after the dog. For Edward, Chance wasn’t just a pet but a steadfast friend.
Life wasn’t all smooth sailing, though. His marriage to Eleanor ended quietly, without shouting. One evening, they simply realized the spark between them had faded. They agreed to live apart, and soon, the divorce was final. For the sake of their son, James, they remained amicable. The boy visited often, especially fond of Chance. But the family they once were was gone.
Then came Jane—beautiful, charming, as if fate itself had sent her. Edward thought he’d found his soulmate, proposed, and she moved in. But children, as soon as Jane took charge, everything turned upside down. The sweet woman became demanding. Everything irritated her, even Edward’s kindness to his cleaner, Mrs. Dorothy Higgins.
“Sack that lazy woman!” Jane snapped one day.
“Jane,” Edward replied sharply, “Mrs. Higgins isn’t a servant—she’s a person who helps me. Don’t you dare speak of her like that!”
Then Jane started targeting Chance: “I’m scared of him! He’s huge, terrifying, like the Hound of the Baskervilles!”
“Wait,” Edward said, frowning. “You used to hug and kiss him—now you’re afraid? He’s well-trained. And if I must choose between you and him, I’ll choose him.”
Jane apologized, blaming a bad mood, even started walking Chance. But one day, she ran home in tears: “Edward, I’m so sorry… Chance was hit by a lorry… He’s gone…”
Edward wiped his eyes, refusing to believe it. How could Chance, trained by experts, chase after a cat? The question haunted him.
Then a knock came at the door—a young woman named Victoria, an orphanage graduate. She’d taken a cleaning job with Edward while studying remotely. “May I take the leftover food? You’re throwing it out anyway,” she asked.
“Victoria, are you hungry? Do you need help?” Edward asked, surprised.
“No, thank you, I’ll manage. Just let me take it,” she replied.
He agreed, and she thanked him cheerfully before hurrying off. Over time, whispers spread—Victoria took too much food, enough to feed an army. Edward wondered: was she struggling?
One day, he saw her lugging a heavy bag and followed her to a shed behind her house. Inside—dogs, cats, a raccoon, even piglets! And among them—Chance, alive and well! Edward gasped: “Chance!”
The dog recognized him, licking his face. Victoria panicked: “Rover, back! Bad boy!”
But Chance clung to Edward. She paled: “You?! How are you here?”
“Wanted to check if you needed help,” Edward said calmly. “Instead, I found my dog.”
Victoria looked down: “His name’s Rover now. I won’t give him back. You don’t know what he’s been through! I saved him!”
“Wait,” Edward said. “Let’s feed the animals, then talk over tea.”
The shed was a sanctuary—abandoned creatures everywhere. Victoria explained: “This isn’t a zoo. It’s a home for those no one wants.”
“How do you manage?” Edward asked.
“My father was a vet—taught me a lot. He died when I was fourteen. I’m studying at the veterinary college now,” she said.
Over tea, Edward asked: “Where are your parents?”
“Died in a crash. I grew up in care. Now I live in our old house, continuing Dad’s work,” she murmured.
“How did you find Chance?”
“Tied to a cemetery fence—starving, thirsty, whimpering. People avoided him. I wrapped him in my coat; a taxi driver helped me bring him home.”
“Why didn’t you look for his owner?” she asked.
“I was told a lorry killed him,” Edward sighed. “Now I know who lied.”
He returned home with Chance, who barked joyfully. He called Jane: “I’ve a surprise. Pack your things.”
“Are we flying to Spain?” she asked eagerly.
“You’ll see,” he chuckled.
When Jane saw Chance, she froze, white as a sheet. “Recognize your ‘corpse’?” Edward said coldly. “Did you tie him there or hire someone?”
“I’m sorry… I don’t know what came over me…” she stammered.
“Leave,” he said. “There’s no room for games in my life.”
Jane packed and returned to her village—to her drinking mother, jobless husband, and gossiping neighbors. She begged forgiveness, but Edward was unmoved.
Time passed. Edward reconciled with Eleanor—a simple “I’m sorry” sufficed. Victoria graduated with honors, and Edward gifted her a clinic, naming it “Chance.”
“You didn’t just save my friend,” he said, handing her the keys. “You helped me see who’s true and who’s not.”
Victoria smiled, accepted the gift, and they moved forward—each on their own path, but with kindness in their hearts.
The lesson? True loyalty isn’t claimed—it’s earned, and those who show cruelty to the helpless reveal their own worthlessness.