Lightning Bolt: A Tale of Speed and Courage

A dirty dog sits by the gate three weeks later Emma realises why fate sent him.

Emma spots him on a Monday morning as she walks to her car. Hes chained to the gate, huge, shaggy and so filthy you cant tell his breed. He watches her with eyes that seem to hold an entire story pain, hope and something else, as if he knows a secret he cant speak.

Move! Emma waves a hand, hurrying to work. Get out of here! The dog doesnt budge, only lowers his head a little, as if apologising for simply existing.

Hes there again that evening.

Mark, Emma tells her husband over dinner, theres a dog thats taken up residence by the gate.

What now? Mark mumbles into his phone. We agreed no animals. Were swamped, no time. Pets just bring trouble.

Emma keeps quiet, but the dogs eyes haunt her through the night.

The next morning the dog lies on the gate, curled into a ball. A dreary autumn rain soaks his fur through. Emma sighs, puts a bowl of water and the leftover soup from last night by the gate. Go home, she says. You must have a house somewhere.

The dog lifts his head, looks grateful, but doesnt touch the food. He waits for her to leave.

This repeats every day for a week. Each morning the scene is the same: dog at the gate, Emma with food. Mark mutters that shes attracting stray dogs but says nothing, assuming the animal will go away on its own.

It doesnt. Instead, the dog starts to rise when Emma steps out, meeting her gaze and standing watch like a sentinel.

Can I pet him? eightyearold Mabel asks one afternoon, spotting the dog.

No! Emma snaps. Hes a stray, filthy, could be sick. Yet a part of her wonders what if

Two weeks pass and Emma has grown accustomed to leaving food for the dog. She cant bear to ignore a hungry creature.

Maybe we should stop feeding him, Mark says, glancing out the window. Hes getting comfortable. Hell soon start asking to come inside.

He doesnt ask, Emma replies. He just sits.

Neighbors are already asking if hes ours. Mrs. Patel hinted he might need a vaccine. Emma rolls her eyes. Mrs. Patel is the nosy neighbour who judges everyones garden.

Let her worry about her own mutt, Emma retorts.

Seriously, Mark presses, lets get rid of him or take him to a shelter.

What shelter? Emma asks.

Friday arrives and Emma stays late at the office quarterly report, deadline, the boss on her case. She gets home around midnight, exhausted, only thinking about getting to the bed. She parks the car by the gate as usual, grabs the keys, fumbles for the lock in the dark.

Money, jewellery, phone, a hushed voice whispers behind her.

Emma spins. A man in a dark coat, face hidden under a hood, holds something that glints.

Quick! Hand over your wallet! he snarls.

Emmas hands shake. Her purse slips to the pavement, spilling its contents onto the pavement.

What?

Dont play dumb! the man steps closer. I said hand it over!

From the shadows the dog leaps. He doesnt bark or growl; he simply pounces on the attacker. The man falls, a knife clatters away. The dog pins him to the ground, then snarls low and menacing.

Your mother! the robber curses, trying to break free. Take this animal off me!

Emma stands frozen, her ears ringing.

Help! Someone help! Im being robbed! she shouts at the top of her lungs.

Lights flicker on in the neighbouring houses. The dog holds the robber in a deathgrip.

Whats happening? Mark bursts out of the house in his trousers and slippers, followed by Mabel in her nightdress.

Call the police! Emma yells. Now!

The police arrive within ten minutes, cuff the robber it turns out hes been wanted for a string of local burglaries, one victim even ended up in hospital.

Lucky you, the officer says, patting the dog. If it wasnt for this handsome lad Hes a good mix, probably a shepherdtype, welltrained.

Is he not a stray then? Emma asks.

Hard to say. Maybe he got lost, maybe someone abandoned him. These days people get a puppy and dump it when it grows up.

The officers leave. The family stays in the yard, the dog sitting beside them, eyes keen.

Mum, can I pet him? He saved you, Mabel whispers.

Emma looks at her husband, then at the dog.

Okay, she says softly.

Mabel reaches out. The dog sniffs her fingers and gently licks her hand. She giggles.

Hes sweet and warm! Please, can we keep him? He protected us!

Mark rubs his chin. Maybe its for the best. He could be our guard. Hes clever.

Yes, Emma agrees. You saw how he reacted? No bark, no noise. Just like a real guard dog.

So were keeping him? Mark asks.

Emma sits crosslegged in front of the dog. He watches her calmly, his gaze still full of that old wisdom, now mixed with a hint of question.

You want to stay? she whispers.

He rests his head on her knees, heavy and warm, and lets out a soft whine, the first sound hes made in three weeks.

Youre staying, Emma decides. Tomorrow well give you a proper name.

The dog sighs, relieved, as if he understands every word.

Morning comes and Emma wakes feeling the world has shifted, though not dramatically just a little nudge off its usual track. In the yard, a bowl clatters as their new resident eats.

Thunder, Mabel announces, looking out the window. Lets call him Thunder!

Why Thunder? Mark asks, buttoning his shirt.

Because he appeared like a bolt from the blue and struck the robber like thunder! Mabel explains.

Emma smiles at the childs logic.

Thunder it is, she agrees.

At home, Thunder behaves politely. He doesnt barge into rooms uninvited, doesnt chew things, and never begs at the table. He lies on the old hallway rug, one eye halfopen, keeping watch.

Mum, he looks sad, Mabel says, sitting beside him. Look at his mournful eyes.

Indeed, theres a nostalgic glint in Thunders brown eyes, as if he mourns a past life but knows theres no road back.

He just needs time to settle in, Emma says. To get used to us, to his new home.

She worries, though. What if he runs away? What if he looks for his old owners?

The first night Thunder spends in the hallway. Emma checks on him several times, finding him still there, motionless, not sleeping but waiting, alert.

The second night is the same.

On the third night Emma cant stand it any longer.

Thunder, come here, she calls softly.

He lifts his head, eyes questioning.

Come on, she coaxes, patting the rug beside the bed.

Thunder steps forward hesitantly, sniffs the spot, looks at Emma for permission.

Lie down, she says.

He collapses with the ease of someone whos carried a heavy burden for a hundred years and finally sets it down.

You understand were yours now, right? Emma whispers in the dark. We wont abandon you.

Thunder sighs quietly.

The next morning Mabel screams, Thunders gone! She rushes into the kitchen, panic in her voice.

Emmas heart drops. Gone? Where?

Its not here! I looked in the yard, in the house nowhere! Mabel sobs.

Emma bolts outside. The gate is locked, the fence too high to climb. Yet the dog is nowhere to be seen.

Thunder! Where are you? she cries, her voice echoing against the walls.

No answer, Mark suggests. Maybe under the porch? In the shed?

They scour every corner, the garden, the shed, but find nothing.

Just as Emma is about to give up, she hears a faint whimper from below the floorboards. Its the cellar! she guesses.

They descend the narrow stairs and freeze. In a dusty corner on an old blanket lies Thunder, surrounded by tiny, blind puppies five of them, shivering.

Oh my! Mabel gasps. Its a mother! Shes had litters!

Emma kneels, tears streaming, unable to believe her eyes. But how? This is our Thunder, not a shedog

Mark frowns, We never noticed.

Emma recalls, Shes got that thick coat, always sat low, never stood tall. Her belly never looked big enough for a big dog.

Mabel adds, She must have needed a safe place for her pups. She sensed the right moment and found it.

She was looking for us, Mark says quietly. She found us.

Thunder lifts her head, eyes tired yet content, looking at them with gratitude. The family feels a wave of relief and love.

Smart girl, Emma whispers, gently stroking her. Youre brilliant.

The mother licks Emmas fingers and cuddles her puppies, who nuzzle into her fur, searching for milk.

Mum, does this mean well have a whole family now? Mabel asks softly.

Emma looks at Mark, who spreads his arms as if to embrace the whole situation.

A family, she replies. A big, happy family.

Three years later Emma stands by the kitchen window, watching the yard. The scene is one shell never forget.

Mabel, now eleven, darts across the grass with two grownup dogs, their offspring at her heels. Thunder lies in the shade of the apple tree, regal, watching his grandchildren play. The other puppies have found loving homes, while Rex and Dina stay with the Clarkes.

Dont you think we have too many dogs? Mark jokes, looping his arm around Emmas shoulders.

Do you regret it? Emma asks.

Not a drop, he smiles.

Three years ago Id have killed myself if anyone had told me wed end up with a pack.

Emma leans into him, recalling that rainy evening when everything began. She saved us, she says quietly. Not just from the robber, but she saved our family.

How so? Mark asks.

Think about it. Mabels become responsible, caring for the dogs. Ive stopped pulling allnighters at work because I know someones waiting for me at home. Ive learned what unconditional love really is.

Thunder lifts his head, eyes bright, as if he understands. Theres no sorrow there, only calm confidence about tomorrow.

The amazing thing, Emma continues, is she still meets me at the gate every evening, just like three weeks ago.

Do you think she was really sent to us? Mark wonders.

Emma turns to him. What do you think? A stray dog sits by a strangers gate for three weeks, then saves his owner from a robber, and a month later brings a litter to their basement.

When you put it like that, it sounds like a fairytale, Mark replies.

Yes, Emma says, smiling. Exactly that a little miracle for those willing to accept it.