Chapter 5 - The Timberland Cottage
A week later, the autumn leaves were at their peak—a blazing canopy of red, gold, and orange.
I drove up the winding dirt road to the ridge on the 40-acre plot. Ranger sat proudly in the passenger seat, his nose pressed against the cracked window, taking in the mountain scents.
At the end of the trail stood a charming stone-and-timber cottage overlooking a shimmering blue lake. It was surrounded by wild berry bushes and ancient oak trees. Inside, the cottage was fully furnished with Grandpa’s earlier hand-carved furniture, a massive stone fireplace, and a workshop filled with high-end leatherworking tools.
This was Grandpa’s secret sanctuary—the place he had dreamed of retiring to.
I opened the back doors leading to a wide wooden porch. Ranger trotted out, his joints noticeably looser in the crisp mountain air. He walked to the edge of the deck, sat down, and looked out over the water.
There was no bedpan to empty, no medication chart to track, and no cruel relatives lurking at the door. There was only the wind in the pines, the smell of woodsmoke, and the peaceful silence we had earned.
I sat beside Ranger on the porch floor, leaning my back against the warm stone chimney.
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"What do you think, boy?" I asked him, scratching behind his graying ears. "Should we open a small leather and craft shop in town? Teach people how to stitch collars like Grandpa did?"
Ranger turned his head, leaned his heavy body against my shoulder, and gave my hand a warm, slow lick.
