The Thunderbolt Chronicles

Emma sits on the doorstep of her modest house on the outskirts of Manchester, watching a filthy dog that has made the gate its permanent perch. She first spots it on a Monday morning as she steps out to her car. The animal is huge, shaggy, and so grimy that its breed is impossible to tell. Its eyes lock onto hers, and in those dark orbs Emma sees a whole sagapain, hope, and something else, as if the creature knows a secret it cannot voice.

Off you go! Emma waves a hand, hurrying to the office. Get lost! The dog doesnt move, only tilting its head slightly, as if apologising for simply existing.

That evening it is still there.

James, Emma tells her husband over dinner, theres a dog sitting by the gate.

What now? James replies without looking up from his phone.

I dont know. Its just

Anna, dont start! We agreedno pets. Work is endless, we have no time. Animals only cause trouble. Emma stays silent, but the image of those eyes haunts her through the night.

The next morning the dog returns, curled into a ball. Rain drizzles a bleak autumn chill, soaking the animals coat through. Emma sighs, placing a bowl of water and the leftovers of last nights soup near the gate. Go home, she mutters. You must have a house somewhere.

The dog lifts its head, looks grateful, yet doesnt touch the food. It simply watches her walk away. This repeats every day for a weekEmma with the bowl, the dog at the gate, James muttering that she attracts stray dogs but never taking real action. He assumes the animal will leave on its own.

It doesnt. Instead it starts standing up whenever Emma steps out, meeting her gaze like a silent guard. Their eightyearold daughter Lucy spots the dog one afternoon. Can I pet it? she asks.

No! Emma snaps. Its a stray, dirty, could be sick. Yet a thought flickers in her mind: what if it isnt?

Two weeks pass and Emma grows accustomed to feeding the creature. Maybe we should stop, James suggests, peering out the window. Its settled in. Soon itll start asking to come inside.

It isnt asking, Emma protests. It just sits.

The neighbours are already asking if its ours. Mrs. Patel mentioned that it might be vaccinated. Emma rolls her eyes. Mrs. Patel, the local gossip, always has an opinion on everyones business. Let her mind her own cat, Emma retorts.

Seriously, Emma. Lets get rid of it or take it to a shelter.

Which shelter? James asks.

Friday arrives and Emma stays late at work, battling quarterly reports and a frazzled boss. She finally drives home past midnight, exhausted, only wanting to collapse onto her bed. She parks the car beside the gate as usual, grabs her keys, and fumbles with the lock in the dark.

A soft voice whispers, Money, jewellery, phone. Emma whirls around. A man in a dark coat stands there, his face hidden beneath a hood, a glint of metal in his hand.

Hands up! Hand over the wallet! he hisses.

Emmas hands shake. Her handbag drops, spilling its contents onto the pavement.

What? she stammers.

Dont play dumb! the robber snarls, stepping closer. Give it all back!

Suddenly the dog leaps from the shadows. It doesnt bark or growl; it simply pounces on the attacker. The man crashes to the ground, a knife clattering away. The dog pins him down, its weight crushing the robber until a low, guttural growl rises.

Your mother! the thief snarls, trying to scramble free. Get this beast off me!

Emma stands frozen, her ears ringing. Help! Somebody, help! Im being robbed! she screams at the top of her lungs.

Lights flicker on in the neighbouring houses. The dog holds the robber tight, refusing to release him. Whats happening? James bursts out of the house in just his underpants and slippers, Lucy trailing behind in a nightgown.

Call the police! Emma shouts. Quickly!

The police arrive within ten minutes, cuffing the bewildered robber, who turns out to be a repeat offender in the area. An officer kneels, patting the dogs head. Lucky you, he says. If it werent for this handsome lad Hes a shepherd mix, welltrained. Knows commands.

Is he really a stray? Emma asks.

Hard to say. He could have run away or been abandoned. These days people get a puppy, then dump it when it grows up.

The officers leave. The family lingers in the courtyard, the dog sitting calmly beside them. Lucy leans in, whispering, Can I pet him? He saved you.

Emma looks at James, then at the dog, and nods softly. Lucy reaches out; the dog sniffs her fingers and gently licks her palm. She giggles. Hes sweet! Hes warm! Can we keep him? Please, Mum, he protects us!

James hesitates, then scratches his chin. Maybe its not a bad idea. A bit of security never hurts.

Exactly, Emma agrees, eyes bright. Did you see how he reacted? No bark, no panicjust a true guard.

So we keep him? James asks.

Emma sits crosslegged in front of the dog, who watches her patiently. Do you want to stay? she murmurs.

The dog rests its head on her knee, heavy and warm, and lets out a soft whine for the first time in three weeks.

Alright, you can stay, Emma decides. Tomorrow well give you a proper name.

The dog sighs, as if understanding every word.

Morning comes and Emma wakes feeling the world has shifted just a little. In the yard, a bowl clatters as their new resident munches. Storm, Lucy declares, peering out the kitchen window. Lets call him Storm!

Why Storm? James asks, pulling on his shirt.

Because he appeared like thunder on a clear day, and he knocked the robber down like a bolt of lightning! Lucy exclaims.

Emma smiles at her daughters logic. Storm it is.

Storm behaves impeccably indoors: he doesnt barge into rooms uninvited, never jumps on the table, and sleeps on an old rug in the hallway, one eye halfopen, ever watchful. Lucy sits beside him one afternoon. He looks sad, she says, look at those mournful eyes.

Indeed, there is a hint of nostalgia in Storms brown gaze, as if he misses a life he once knew, yet accepts that theres no turning back.

Emma worries secretly. What if he runs off? What if he looks for his old owners?

The first night Storm spends in the hallway, Emma checks repeatedly to make sure hes still there. He lies still, but he doesnt seem to be sleepingmore a vigilant waiting. The second night repeats the pattern. By the third night, Emma cant stand it any longer.

Storm, she calls softly. Come here.

The dog lifts his head, ears perked. Come on, Emma says, patting the rug beside the bed. Storm shuffles over, sniffs the spot, then settles down with a sigh of relief, as if a hundred years of burden finally lift.

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

Storm gives a low whine in response.

Later that morning, Lucy screams, Storms gone! She runs into the kitchen, eyes wide. Emmas heart drops. Gone? Where?

Hes nowhere! I looked in the yard, in the housenothing! Lucy cries.

Emma darts outside. The gate is shut, the fence too high to jump. No sign of Storm. Storm! Where are you? she calls, voice shaking. No answer.

James suggests, Maybe hes under the porch? In the shed? They search every nook, but find nothing.

Just as Emma is about to give up, she hears a faint whimper from beneath the floorboards. It must be the cellar! she thinks, recalling the small cellar they keep for winter supplies, its door usually left ajar for ventilation.

She climbs down the steps and freezes. In a corner, on an old blanket, lies Storm, surrounded by five tiny, blind puppies.

Oh my! Lucy gasps. Its a mother! Shes had puppies!

Emma kneels, stunned, unable to believe her eyes. But how? We thought Storm was a male.

James mutters, We never noticed.

Emma recalls the shaggy coat, the low bellysigns they missed. Shes a she, then, she concludes. She needed a safe place for her litter, and she chose our cellar.

Lucy adds, Thats why she never left our gardenshe was waiting for the right spot.

James nods, She was looking for us, just as we were looking for her.

The mother dog lifts her head, eyes soft yet full of relief. Emma gently strokes her. Youre brilliant, she whispers, extending a hand. The dog licks her fingers, then nudges her pups, nursing them as they nuzzle into her woolly coat.

Mom, will we have a whole family now? Lucy asks quietly.

Emma looks at James, who shrugs with a smile. A big, happy family, she agrees.

Three years pass. Emma stands at the kitchen window, watching the yard. Lucy, now eleven, darts around the grass with two grownup dogs that were once the puppies. Storm lies in the shade of an apple tree, dignified, watching his offspring play. The other puppies have found good homes, while Rex and Dina stay with the family.

What do you think, isnt it a lot of dogs? James asks, wrapping an arm around Emmas shoulders.

Do you regret it? Emma replies.

Not a drop, James grins.

Three years ago I would have smashed my head against the wall if anyone said wed end up with a pack. Emma leans into James, recalling that rainy evening when everything began. She saved us, she murmurs. Not just from the robber, but she saved our family.

How? James asks.

Think about it. Lucy is more responsible now, taking the dogs for walks. I stop staying late at work because I know theyre waiting for me. Ive learned what unconditional love feels like.

Storm lifts his head, ears perked, eyes bright with quiet wisdom, no longer haunted by longing.

The strangest thing, Emma continues, is that she still greets us at the gate every evening, just like three weeks ago.

Do you think she was sent to us? James wonders.

Emma turns to him. What do you think? A stray sits at a strangers gate for three weeks, then saves his owner from a thief, and a month later brings a litter into the basement?

James chuckles, Sounds like a fairy tale.

Exactly, Emma says. A little miracle that appears for those ready to welcome it.