In a small town full of corner grocery stores, fruit stands, and ice cream kiosks, there stood a lonely boutique that sold all kinds of footwear. The shopkeeper loved his work. Every morning he happily unlocked the door with an old, worn key, breathed in the smell of the newly delivered merchandise, arranged it on the shelves, and packed into boxes the footwear that had not sold all year.
Among those shoes, which nobody had bought for many years, lived a lonely felt boot. No matter how hard the shopkeeper tried to summon the strength to throw it out, he never managed to do it.
The boot was old, a little worn, and, on top of that, there was only one of it. The shopkeeper could not remember where the other had gone. But there was something familiar, warm, and cozy about this boot, and his hand would not bring itself to toss it in the trash.
The boot felt lonely and sad. He could not imagine what it was like to be pulled onto someone's foot to keep it warm on cold winter days. The little felt boot stood farthest of all on the shelf, behind a pile of other shoes, beautiful and comfortable ones. In all those years, no one had even tried him on.
At night, after the kind shopkeeper put on his jacket, finished his strong, fragrant tea, and locked up the boutique, the boot suffered the most. The stylish pairs displayed in the window began to tease him.
Look at you, old, dusty, and plain, said the comfy sandals that had only been put on the shelf today.
Oh yes, lonely and needed by no one, agreed the loafers with a flower-shaped buckle that shimmered in the sun.
We don't understand why the owner keeps you here! Moths will eat you away any day now, and we could all be harmed, protested the sneakers with bright yellow laces.
The boot had no reply. He himself did not understand why the owner kept him on the shelf. He silently gazed out the window, where the moon shone dimly, dreaming that someday he would become needed by someone.
Weeks passed, and night followed day. The warm summer days ended, and autumn arrived. New footwear was delivered and found its place among the few shelves in the boutique. More customers came. People arrived in whole families, choosing shoes for fall and winter, and buying summer styles during the seasonal sale.
A boy in an equally bright yellow jacket took home a pair of the sneakers with bright yellow laces. After him, a young mom bought comfy sandals for her little son, who was starting kindergarten for the first time this year.
A few weeks later, a stern-looking dad with a thick beard bought his daughter those very loafers with the flower-shaped buckle that shimmered in the sun.
Only our boot, standing alone on the far shelf, watched sadly as the shoes were quickly and skillfully taken from the displays. In all this time, not one person had glanced his way.
One late, wintry, cold evening, the shopkeeper, pulling an old parka over his blue sweater that his wife had given him this New Year, searched for his keys to lock the door. Suddenly, amid the howling snowstorm, someone knocked on the window. A moment later, an elderly grandfather in a snow-covered wool coat entered the door. His nose was as red as a tomato. Rubbing his hands together to warm them, he addressed the shopkeeper:
Hello, sonny. What a frost today, it's making my eyes sting. The weather has really gone wild. I need to buy some footwear from you, and I need it urgently. I'm in trouble.
The kind shopkeeper, who was already getting ready to go home, did not refuse the grandfather:
Of course, I'll help you. I have everything here. Different strokes for different folks, as they say. What happened, grandpa?
The grandfather, smiling with his toothless grin and looking over the boots, began to explain:
Well, it was my yard dog, Lucy. You won't believe it, sonny, she chewed up my left boot. Maybe she was hungry, or maybe that's just how she likes to play. But there's a big hole in it now. About the size of my fist. And those felt boots were so comfortable and warm. In them, I wasn't afraid to walk through snowdrifts or shovel snow off the roof. I need new ones to keep my old feet warm.
The shopkeeper immediately began offering the old man various felt boots. Long ones and shorter ones. Some made of felt, others of sheep's wool. The grandfather looked at everything for a long time, tried them on, turned them over in his hands, and even sniffed some of them. In the end, he settled on long knee-high felt boots made of camel wool. The shopkeeper named the price. The boots were very good, but they were beyond the grandfather's means. Far too expensive.
Disappointed, the grandfather decided not to keep the kind shopkeeper any longer and to head home quickly, planning to look for cheaper boots tomorrow. As he put on his hat and turned toward the door, the shopkeeper suddenly had an idea. He remembered the very same boot that had been gathering dust on his shelves for several years.
Wait! I know how I can help you!
The old man froze in place. A hope flickered in his eyes, mixed with clear bewilderment at the kind shopkeeper's sudden shout. The grandfather turned around, but the shopkeeper was no longer behind the counter. The kind owner, standing on a wooden chair with trembling knees, rummaged through the shelves, blowing off the dust.
He tried to reach the very lonely boot from the far corner. Stretching out his hand, he grabbed it by the top and nimbly hopped down from the chair. He took a dry cloth, wiped the boot, turned it over in his hands several times to make sure it was still intact, and handed it to the grandfather.
Here you go! It's been gathering dust for several years. I don't remember where the other one went, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it out. I thought it might come in handy, and now the chance has come.
The old man examined the boot carefully. His face lit up with joy. It was exactly the same kind of boot that his dog Lucy had chewed up. The grandfather, with a trembling, wrinkled hand, offered the shopkeeper some coins, but the shopkeeper shook his head:
No, sorry. I won't take any money from you for it.
But the old man insisted. This boot, though it was worth not a penny, touched the grandfather's heart from the very first second.
For the first time in many years of loneliness, the little boot found himself in warm, caring hands. Our boot's soul rejoiced. He had become needed and dear to someone's heart. This is what true happiness is: being needed by someone.
