On Saturday morning Cutie was sitting on the sofa on the back deck. As soon as she saw me she sat up, unsure whether to run away or to stay to see what happened.

On Thursday evening I’d left some dog biscuits and raw chicken outside on the table, for ease of access in case she returned. The weather had been so cold, the meat had stayed fresh. But the empty container lay on the deck. She’d managed to remove the lid and had scoffed the lot.

I gave her an egg whisked into milk and while she drank, I stroked her back. By the time she’d finished, she was allowing me to stroke her head, giving no indication that she enjoyed it.

Leaving Cutie standing on the deck, we drove into town for provisions. On our return she was waiting for us on the top step, tentatively wagging her tail. She backed away, though, when we tried to stroke her.

Rather than phone Fred, her owner, straight away, we decided to adopt my partner’s plan to keep Cutie until she’d settled down. Once she’d stopped shivering with fear, and had eaten a few square meals to fill out her scrawny frame, we’d call him.

By Saturday afternoon, after more food, she was sitting in my lap and even rolling over to have her tummy stroked, which she loved. Her B.O. was horrendous, and she kept scratching at fleas, but we didn’t want to shatter her fragile trust with a bath.

After sleeping in a box padded with a pillow and some warm towels, on Sunday morning she arose looking perky and relaxed. We served her three small meals and, again, she wolfed them down.

On a walk around the property with us, she ran ahead, her head and tail erect, her eyes shining. Occasionally she’d report back to us and then run on.

It was a remarkable transformation from the cowering, neurotic little creature who’d first arrived on Thursday morning. The temptation to keep her was becoming worryingly strong.

Over lunch, my partner and I discussed the best course of action. Cutie was not our dog. When Fred had called around to collect her on Thursday evening, he told us that he wanted a small dog to replace another who had died. While he was unsure about keeping this particular small dog, we felt sure that he’d change his mind once we told him about how friendly she’d become.

Extreme hunger, it seems, was the cause of her neurotic behaviour. And who wouldn’t be deeply anxious after scavenging for food for days while lost and far from home?

If Fred still had reservations about keeping Cutie, perhaps we’d think about adopting her. But really, we weren’t set up for owning a dog. Where the property boundary fences had been breached by fallen trees, we’d need to have them repaired. That alone would cost more than we could afford. And then there’d be vets’ fees and food costs… not to mention the problem of snakes in Summer. We know only too well what a danger they pose to dogs, especially small ones.

And so I phoned Fred. As I suspected, on such a lovely Winter’s day he was out in the garden. I left a message to let him know that Cutie had returned. I told him that she’d settled down and was really a delightful little dog… although urgently in need of a bath and probably a course of worm tablets. I asked Fred to call with a time for his arrival.

He phoned back shortly after that. He was pleased that Cutie was safe and said that he’d be around in an hour.

With a heavy heart, I fed Cutie her last meal while I attached a piece of string to her collar. Then I tied her to the leg of the table. She whimpered a little, no doubt puzzled about why I’d do such a thing.

I placed the left-over dog biscuits, fresh meat and the chain in a bag, ready for Fred’s arrival. Then I sat on the soft with Cutie for a while, stroking her, settling her down for her short car journey home. When the car pulled up out front, I walked Cutie around to meet her owner.

Hostile is not the word for it. She was livid, barking and growling ferociously at Fred as he stood at the end of the front path. Our doubts about whether she could bark at all were dispelled. Fred joked that it was obvious she was now our dog.

I stroked her but she wouldn’t stop barking. My partner said soothing words and stroked her but still she barked. Fred tried to pat her but she snapped at him, narrowly missing his hand as he quickly pulled it away.

Above the din, I shouted to Fred that he should try feeding her some meat, to get her used to him. Cutie stopped barking for long enough to eat it out of his hand and, once she’d swallowed, continued her angry tirade.

With some careful manoeuvring, Fred attached the chain to Cutie’s collar and half-dragged her, still barking, to the car. He opened the back door and threw in the bag. Then he chased her for a while as she ran around his legs, entangling him in the chain. Once he’d extricated himself, he quickly scooped her up, dropped her onto the seat and slammed the door. She stopped barking after that.

Fred was very grateful to us for rescuing Cutie and offered to recompense us for keeping her. We declined. It had been a pleasure to have her stay and a privilege to see her return to her true nature.

Fred reckoned that Cutie had been on the road for about six weeks, trying to find her way home. We all agreed that she was one tough little dog. He promised to bring her back to visit us one day, after she’d settled down of course.

This morning I checked the sofa on the back deck to make sure she hadn’t decided to visit earlier than planned. She wasn’t there.

She’s such a resiliant little animal that I know she’ll quickly adapt to her new surroundings… just as she did with us.