**Diary Entry**
Around four in the morning, a dog started barking behind the houses. By five, the noise grew louder. People waking for work listened with irritation to its frantic yelps. By half past, neighbours began filing out, heading to their jobs.
The first to step outside were a man and woman—likely husband and wife. Fed up, they decided to see what all the fuss was about. Just past the garages, they spotted her: a German Shepherd, barking insistently toward the houses. Behind her lay a motionless figure on the ground. The couple rushed forward, realising she was calling for help.
But the closer they got, the fiercer her growls became. She was no lapdog—this was a trained animal, protective and wary. The woman suggested ringing an ambulance.
The paramedics arrived swiftly. The couple warned them about the dog as they stepped out. Yet the moment the ambulance appeared, the Shepherd fell silent. She trotted to her owner and sat beside him, watching.
The medics edged closer. She didn’t move.
*”What’s the plan?”*
*”Seems smart enough—let’s try. Spray her if she lunges.”*
Crouching cautiously, one checked the man’s pulse—weak but there. Mid-thirties, significant blood loss, abdominal wound. Swiftly, they bandaged him and administered injections. The dog observed, unblinking.
By then, a small crowd had gathered, keeping a safe distance.
They fetched a stretcher, loaded the man carefully, but the dog couldn’t join. The ambulance rolled away, the Shepherd sprinting alongside, never faltering until they reached the hospital gates.
The driver nodded to security. *”Injured bloke inside. That’s his dog.”*
*”Right. And what am I meant to do?”* The guard scowled, shouting commands. *”Stay! Down! No further!”*
Confused, the dog halted at the barrier, sitting obediently as the ambulance disappeared. After an hour, she settled by the fence, out of the way but watchful.
Security debated:
*”What now?”*
*”Dunno. Wait, I suppose.”*
*”How long’s she gonna sit there?”*
*”Till she gives up, maybe.”*
*”She’s clever. Might not budge.”*
*”Then tough luck. Can’t have her loitering.”*
One guard, softer-hearted, slipped away to check on the man. Forty minutes later, he returned with a plastic plate of leftovers—sausage, a beef patty, water.
*”Come on, girl,”* he coaxed, placing it under a tree. She studied him, unmoving. *”Eat. Drink. Go on.”*
Slowly, she approached, lapping the water first.
—
A week passed. The man—now recovering in a ward—ached for news of his dog. They’d served together, left the military the same year. He’d trusted her cleverness to keep her safe.
Meanwhile, the Shepherd had shifted her vigil to the trees, still eyeing the entrance. The same guard, now invested, visited the ward.
*”Mr. Collins? Simon Collins?”*
*”Yes?”*
*”Hospital security. Good news—your dog’s outside. Been there the whole time.”*
Simon’s face lit up. *”Emma? She’s alright?”*
*”Right as rain. Proper loyal, that one.”*
Simon wiped his hands on a tissue, tucking it into a plastic bag. *”Take this to her. She’ll understand.”*
The guard did. Emma sniffed the scent, then curled beneath a tree, the tissue cradled in her paws.
**Lesson:** Loyalty isn’t taught—it’s earned. And sometimes, waiting is the hardest part, but love makes it worth every second. Emma knew. She waited. And when Simon finally walked out, well—that reunion didn’t need words.
