“Come with me! Ive got a yard without a dog right now. Youll make a good guardI wont complain!” He climbed onto his bicycle and pedaled toward the village. Along the way, old man Frederick glanced back more than once but no one followed.
She was “unapproachable,” as they say of people who keep to themselves and so was she.
Long ago, many years past, old Frederick had gone into the woods to gather hazelnuts when he found a puphalf-grown. Only God knew how the creature had ended up in that lonely forest.
She wandered silently among the trees. Not even tied up just a small, rain-soaked thing. Frederick frowned and stepped closer.
Clumsy, not particularly handsome and yet A pair of brown eyes met his. Not the eyes of a pup but of a wise beast. Frederick hesitated.
“Come with me! Ive got a yard without a dog now. Youll guard it wellno complaints!”
He mounted his bicycle and rode home. More than once, he looked back but no one followed. Soon, Frederick forgot about the woodland encounter altogether.
His farm kept him busy. It was no small operation: three piglets, a sow with ten young, a cow named Buttercup, a dozen chickens, six ducks with their ducklings, and a tomcat named Pluto
Frederick rolled a cigarette. He never cared for shop-bought ones. Pushing open the gate, he finally settled onto the bench outside his cottage to relaxonly to freeze.
Brown eyes watched him so intently so strangely that he didnt know what to do.
“Well? Coming in?” After a long pause, the pup backed away and vanished into the dark.
This went on for days. Every evening, those brown eyes judged him, as if searching for kinship in his soul.
Then, one night, as Frederick sat smoking, “she” approached. Sniffed him. Then lay at his feet.
Frederick wasnt a tender man. Livestock was livestockhed slaughtered pigs, cows, chickens beyond counting. Dogs guarded, cats hunted mice He couldnt even remember how many dogs had come and gone in his time. Poisoned. Sickened. The kennel stood empty since Thunder had died last summervet said it was ticks. No one mourned much. Frederick was a hard man, sparing with tears.
His wife, Margaret, was even tougherwhat a temper she had! The whole village still talked about the time she felled a calf with one punch between the eyes for butting her at the trough.
Frederick exhaled smoke and looked at the pup curled by his boots. Those brown eyes watched him.
“Well, beast, decided to stay, have you? Listen close. Youll eat twice a daywhatevers to hand. But I wont mistreat you. The kennels warm. Ill let you roam some nights, a few hours at a time. Your jobs to guard this yard! No stranger passes without fear! Agreed? Then come along!”
And so began her new life. Frederick named her Stella. Where hed heard such a fine name, no one knew. Now she had a warm kennel, a busy farm, and a chain.
Time turned the clumsy pup into a magnificent, fearsome hound the whole village dreaded. Some whispered there must be wolf in her blood.
She was terrifyingly beautiful and utterly unlike other dogs. No eager tail-wagging, no licking hands. When Frederick, his wife, or their kin approached, Stella simply watched with those knowing eyes.
But strangers? Shed have torn them apart. She rarely barkedjust growled, a sound to chill the bone. Only by day, though. So they moved her kennel from the yard to the garden, lest neighbors fear knocking.
Yet at night, Frederick sometimes unchained her with a warning:
“Three hours, then Im back. Be here! The milkmaids are scared to pass you at dawndont trouble them! Three hours!”
She never harmed a soul. Perhaps her interests lay elsewhere. But always, without fail, Frederick found her waitingearning his respect. Or perhaps not yet.
Stella bore litters regularly, as nature intended. Strangely, though the village feared her, her pups vanished like hotcakes. Folk came from other villages for thembecause while they feared Stella, they respected her. She didnt kill without cause.
It was an ordinary summer day. After breakfast, Stella drowsed by her kennel, one eye on little Mary playing in the sandbox under the old oak, the other on Granny Margaret weeding her plot.
Stella knew why Margaret tied the girl to the treethree years old, visiting on weekends, always running straight to her with outstretched arms:
“Teh-lla! Teh-lla!”
And the dogs heart clenched with joy for this human child.
That fateful day, Stella watched them both then dozed.
She woke to claws scraping her nose. Pluto crouched before her, rasping:
“Do something! Marys drowning!”
Stella looked past the fence. No Mary in the sandbox. No Mary on the swing. She turned to the cat.
“By the pond! Her bonnets in the watershes going after it! Move!”
And Stella barkedlouder than ever in her life. She leaped, strained, nearly wrenching free of her chain.
Granny Margaret straightened, glaring.
“Mad creature,” she muttered, returning to her cabbages.
Then Stella howled. Not just a howla wolfs cry, shuddering through the village, raising hairs on every neck.
And she howled on, a sound of such anguish it defied words.
Only then did Margaret understand. She ran, neighbors pouring from their homes.
They found Mary just in time, dragged her from the pond. The village eruptedambulances came, parents wept with relief.
That evening, a delegation approached Stella: Marys father, William, his wife, and old Frederick.
William knelt before her.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For saving my girl. Ill never forget. Come live with usweve a house in London, a big kennel. Youll eat like a queen, walk with me every day.”
Stella watched him with brown eyes silent. Then she laid her head on his shoulderbriefly.
And walked back to Frederick settling at his feet. He stood frozen, unsure how to react to such “affection.” Only traitorous tears betrayed him.
