“Come with me! Ive got no dog in the yard right now. Youll make a good guardI wont let you down!” He climbed onto his bicycle and pedaled toward the village. Along the way, old man Albert glanced back more than once or twice but no one followed him.
She was what people might call “aloof.” Just like those who keep to themselves, she was the same.
Years ago, deep in the woods while gathering hazelnuts, Albert found a puphalf-grown, alone. Only God knew how the little thing had ended up in the middle of nowhere.
She wandered silently through the trees, not even tied up. A small, rain-soaked creature Albert frowned and stepped closer.
Clumsy, not much to look at And yet Those brown eyes met hisnot the eyes of a pup, but of a wise old beast. Albert hesitated.
“Come with me! Ive got no dog in the yard right now. Youll make a good guardI wont let you down!”
He mounted his bicycle and rode home. More than once, he looked back but no one followed. Soon, he forgot about the strange encounter.
Life on the farm kept him busy. It wasnt smallthree piglets, a sow with ten piglets, a cow named Daisy, a dozen hens, six ducks with ducklings, and a cat named Pluto
Albert rolled a cigarette. He never liked the shop-bought ones. Pushing open the gate, he settled onto the bench outside his cottage, ready to relaxuntil he froze.
Those brown eyes watched him. So intently So strangely He didnt know what to do.
“Well? Coming in?” After a long pause, the pup turned and vanished into the dark.
This went on for days. Every evening, those eyes would reappear, studying him, searching for something familiar
Then one night, as Albert sat rolling another cigarette, she approached. Sniffed him. Then lay at his feet.
Albert wasnt a sentimental man. Animals were livestock, nothing more. Hed lost count of the pigs, cows, and chickens hed slaughtered over the years.
Dogs were for guarding. Cats for catching mice. He couldnt even remember how many dogs had come and gonepoisoned, sick, or just gone. Now, the kennel stood empty.
At the start of summer, Thunder had passed. The vet said ticks. No one mourned much. Albert was a hard man, stingy with tears. His wife, Margaret, was tougher. The whole village still talked about the time she punched a calf between the eyes for butting her at the trough.
Albert took a drag and looked down at the pup. Those brown eyes watched him.
“So, beast, youve decided to stay? Listen here. Youll be fed twice a daywhatevers to hand. Wont mistreat you. Kennels warm. Some nights, Ill let you off the chain for a few hours. Your jobs to guard this yard. No stranger gets past without fear! If youre in, follow me.”
And so her new life began. Albert named her Stella. Where hed heard such a fine name, no one knew. Now she had a warm kennel, a farm to roam, and a chain.
Time passed, and the awkward pup grew into a powerful, striking dogone the whole village feared. Some even whispered she had wolf blood.
She was magnificent, but her ways were far from ordinary. No wagging tail, no licking hands. When Albert, Margaret, or the family approached, she simply lay still, watching with those knowing eyes.
Strangers, though? Shed tear them apart. She hardly ever barkedjust growled. That deep, terrifying rumble. But only by day. So they moved her kennel to the garden, where villagers wouldnt fear knocking.
At night, Albert sometimes unchained her with a warning: “Three hours. Be back. The milkmaids are scared to walk past you at dawndont touch anyone!”
She never did. Maybe she had other business. But every time, shed be waiting in the kennel when he returned. For that, he respected her.
Stella had pups regularly, as nature intended. Strange thing was, though the village feared her, the pups sold like hotcakes. People even came from other villages for them. Fear or not, they respected her. She never attacked without reason.
One summer afternoon, Stella dozed by her kennel, one eye on little Emily playing in the sandbox under the old oak, the other on Gran Margaret weeding the garden.
Stella knew Gran tied Emily to the tree so she wouldnt wander. Just three years old, the girl only visited on weekends. And every time, shed run straight to Stella, arms wide.
“Stewwa! Stewwa!”
The dogs heart swelled with joy for that tiny human. That fateful day, Stella watched them both then dozed off.
She woke to claws scraping her nose. Pluto the cat hissed in her face. “Do something! Emilys drowning!”
Stella looked beyond the fence. No Emilynot in the sandbox, not on the swing. She turned back to the cat.
“By the pond! Her bonnets in the watershes gone after it! Help her! They wont listen to me!”
Stella barkedlouder than ever in her life. She leapt, yanked at her chain, straining to break free.
Gran straightened, scowling. “Lost your mind, have you?” Then went back to her cabbages.
So Stella howled. Not just any howla bone-chilling, wolf-like cry that echoed over the village. So loud, so full of agony, it turned blood to ice.
Only then did Gran understand. She tore off, searching for Emily. Neighbors spilled from their homes.
They found the girl just in time, pulled her from the shallow pond. The village eruptedparamedics came, Emilys parents wept with relief.
That evening, a group approached Stella: Emilys father, Oliver, his wife, and Albert.
Oliver knelt before her. “Thank you. You saved my girl. Ill never forget it. Come live with usbig house in town, a proper kennel. Youll eat well, walk whenever you like.”
Stella studied him with those brown eyes then rested her head on his shoulder. Just for a moment.
Then she walked back to Albert. Lay at his feet. He stood frozen, unsure how to react to such affection as the stubborn old mans tears betrayed him.
