“Come with me! I’ve got a yard with no dog at the moment. You’ll make a fine guardI wont treat you poorly!” With that, old man Albert climbed onto his bicycle and pedalled toward the village. More than once, he glanced over his shoulder, but no one followed.
She was an “unfriendly” sort of dog The kind people call “standoffish.” And she was exactly that
Long ago, many years back, old Albert had gone into the woods to gather hazelnuts when he found a puphalf-grown. Only God knew how the creature had ended up in the heart of the forest.
She wandered silently through the trees, not even leashed. A small, rain-drenched thing Albert frowned and stepped closer.
Clumsy, not much to look at And yet Her brown eyes met hisnot the eyes of a pup, but of a wise beast. Albert hesitated.
“Come with me! Ive got a yard with no dog. Youll make a fine guardI wont treat you poorly!”
He mounted his bicycle and rode toward the village. More than once, he glanced back, but no one followed. Soon, the memory of the forest faded as he busied himself with chores.
The farm was no small affair: three pigs, a sow with ten piglets, a cow named Buttercup, a dozen hens, six ducks with ducklings, and a tomcat named Grimalkin
Albert rolled a cigarettenever cared for shop-bought onesand pushed open the gate, ready to relax on the bench outside. Then he froze.
Those brown eyes stared at him again. They watched 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. Each evening, those brown eyes assessed him, as if searching for a kindred soul.
Then, one night, as Albert sat rolling another cigarette, she approached. She sniffed him, then lay at his feet.
Albert wasnt a soft manhe saw livestock as practical things. Too many pigs, cows, and chickens had met their end by his hand. Dogs guarded, cats caught micehed lost count of how many had come and gone. Poisoned, sick, gone. Now the kennel stood empty.
At the start of summer, old Thunder had breathed his last. The vet said ticks. No one mourned much. Albert was a stern man, sparing with tears. His wife, Margaret, was even tougherwhat a temper she had! The village still talked of the time she felled a calf with one punch between the eyes for butting her at the trough.
Albert exhaled smoke and looked down at the pup. Those brown eyes watched him.
“So, beast, youve decided to stay? Listen here. Youll eat twice a daywhatevers given. But I wont mistreat you. Theres a kennel. Warm. Ill let you off the chain some nights for a few hours. Guard the yardno stranger passes without fear! If you agree, come on!”
And so began her new life. Albert 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 passed, and the awkward pup grew into a magnificent, fearsome hound the whole village feared. Some whispered she had wolfs blood.
Beautiful, unusualher habits werent doglike. No tail-wagging, no licking hands. When Albert, his wife, or kin approached, Stella simply lay still, watching with those knowing eyes.
Strangers, though? Shed tear them apart. She barely barkedshe growled, a sound to freeze the blood. But only by day. So they moved her kennel to the garden, lest villagers fear knocking.
At night, Albert sometimes unchained her with a warning: “Be back in three hours! The milkmaids wont come if theyre scared of you! Harm no one!”
She never did. Perhaps her interests lay elsewhere. But she was always back in time, earning his respect. Or maybeno, he didnt understand yet.
Stella bore pups regularly, as nature intended. Strangely, though feared, her pups sold like hotcakes. Folk came from other villages for themfear and respect went hand in hand. She only killed with cause.
One summers day, Stella dozed by her kennel, one eye on little Mary playing in the sandbox beneath the old oak, the other on Granny Margaret tending her cabbages.
Stella knew Margaret tied Mary to the tree to keep her from wandering. The girl had just turned three, visiting on weekends. Shed always run to Stella, arms wide: “Tella! Tella!”
And the dogs heart swelled with joy.
That fateful day, Stella kept watchthen dozed.
She woke to claws scraping her nose. Grimalkin stood before her, rasping: “Do something! Marys drowning!”
Stella looked past the fence. No Marynot in the sandbox, not on the swing, not by the tree. She turned to the cat.
“By the pond! Her bonnets in the watershes gone after it! Hurry!”
And Stella barkedlouder than ever in her life. She leaped, strained, nearly wrenching free of her chain.
Margaret straightened, scowling. “Mad dog,” she muttered, returning to her cabbages.
Then Stella howled. A wolfs cry, terrible and piercing, shuddering through the village.
Margaret froze. She knewsomething was wrong. Neighbors came running.
Mary was pulled from the pond just in time. The village eruptedthe ambulance came, her parents wept with relief.
That evening, a delegation came to Stella: Marys father, William, his wife, and old Albert.
William knelt before her. “Thank you. You saved my girl. Ill never forget. Come live with meIve a house in the city, a big run. Ill feed you well, walk you.”
Stella gazed at him with those brown eyes. Then she rested her head on his shoulderbrieflybefore walking back to Albert. She lay at his feet.
The old man stood stiff, unsure how to react to such affection. Only then did a few stubborn tears betray him.
