Come Along with Me!

“Come with me! My yards got no dog right now. Youll make a good guardI wont let you down!” Old George climbed onto his bicycle and pedaled toward the village. More than once, he glanced back but no one followed.

She was what folks called “untamed”just like people who keep to themselves. She was no different.

Years ago, deep in the woods where George had gone to gather hazelnuts, hed found a half-grown pup. Only God knew how the little thing ended up in that lonely forest. She wandered silently, untethereda small, rain-soaked creature. George frowned and stepped closer.

Clumsy, not much to look at but then those brown eyes met his. Not a pups eyes. The eyes of a wise beast. George hesitated.

“Come with me! My yards got no dog. Youll guard it wellI promise!”

He rode home, glancing back again and again but no one followed. Soon, George forgot about the encounter.

His farm kept him busy: three pigs, a sow with ten piglets, a dairy cow named Buttercup, a dozen chickens, six ducks with their brood, and a tomcat named Shadow.

George rolled a cigarette, pushed open the gate, and settled on the bench outside his cottage. Then he froze.

Those brown eyes stared at himso intent, so strange, he didnt know what to do.

“Fancy comin in, then?” After a long pause, the pup backed away and vanished into the dark.

This went on for days. Every evening, those eyes watched him, judging, searching for kinship.

Then, one night as George sat smoking, she approached. She sniffed him and lay at his feet.

George wasnt a sentimental man. Livestock was livestockhed slaughtered his share of pigs, cows, and chickens. Dogs were for guarding, cats for catching mice. He couldnt even recall how many dogs had come and gone under his care. Poisoned, sickened, gone. The kennel stood empty now.

At summers start, his old dog, Thunder, had passedtaken by ticks, the vet said. No one mourned much. George was a stern man, sparing with tears. His wife, Margaret, was tougher still. The village still whispered of the time shed felled a calf with one punch for butting her at the trough.

George exhaled smoke and looked down. Those brown eyes watched him.

“Right, then. Stay if you like. Listen closeyoull eat twice a day, whatevers spare. No cruelty. Kennels warm. Nights, Ill let you loose a few hours. Guard the yard. No strangers pass without a scare. Agreed? Come on, then.”

And so her new life began. George named her Stella. Where hed heard such a fine name, no one knew. She had a warm kennel now, a farm to watch and a chain.

Time passed. The clumsy pup became a magnificent, powerful hound the whole village feared. Some swore she had wolf bloodso striking, so unlike other dogs. No tail-wagging, no licking hands. When George or his family neared, Stella simply watched with those shrewd eyes.

But strangers? Shed tear them apart. She rarely barkedjust growled, a sound to freeze the blood. By day, she stayed chained near the garden so folk dared approach the gate.

Yet at night, George sometimes freed her with a warning: “Three hours. Be back. The milkmaids fear youleave em be!”

She never harmed a soul. Perhaps she had other business. But when George returned, shed always be waiting. He respected that. Or no. He wasnt one for such thoughts yet.

Stella bore litters regularly, and though villagers feared her, her pups vanished like hotcakes. Buyers came from neighboring villages, drawn by her legend. Feared, yesbut respected. She killed only for cause.

One summer afternoon, Stella dozed by her kennel, one eye on little Emily playing in the sandbox under the old oak, the other on Granny Margaret tending her cabbages.

Stella knew the drillGranny tied Emily to the tree to keep her close while she worked. Emily, just three, visited on weekends. And every time, the toddler ran straight to Stella, arms wide: “Teh-la! Teh-la!”

That day, Stella drowsed until claws scraped her nose. She blinked. Shadow the tomcat hissed in her face: “Do something! Emilys drowning!”

Stella looked past the fence. No Emilynot in the sandbox, not on the swing. She turned to Shadow.

“By the pond! Her bonnets in the watershes gone after it! Move!”

Stella barkedlouder than ever in her life. She leapt, strained, nearly tore free of her chain.

Granny Margaret straightened, scowling. “You daft creature” She turned back to her cabbages.

Then Stella howled. Not just a howla wolfs cry, raw and terrible, echoing over the village. So piercing, it turned blood to ice.

Granny Margaret froze. Then, understanding, she ran.

Neighbors spilled from their homes. They found Emily just in time, dragged her from the pond. Chaos followedambulances, weeping parents, shock.

That evening, a delegation came: Emilys father, Thomas, his wife, and George. Thomas knelt before Stella.

“You saved my girl. Ill never forget it. Come live with usa big yard in the city. The best food, long walks”

Stella studied him with those brown eyes then laid her head on his shoulder, just for a moment.

Then she walked to George and lay at his feet.

He stood stiff, unsure what to do with such affection until a traitorous tear escaped.

Sometimes, loyalty isnt bought. Its earnedand it chooses where to stay.