This fence is the only place that doesnt drive me away. Sometimes I feel as though Ive grown attached
People passed bysome hurried, some slow, but hardly anyone stopped.
“Ive stopped counting the days. When every one is the same, when each begins and ends the same way, numbers lose meaning. Here, at this rusty fence, morning only differs from evening in how the light falls. The rain and wind have become as familiar as hunger and silence. And yet, I havent left. This fence is the only place that doesnt drive me away. Sometimes I feel Ive grown as attached to it as I once was to home. Though perhaps Im still waiting for what? I dont know.”
She sat on the narrow strip of ground between the wobbly fence and the pavement. Her fur was matted, her paws muddy from the rain dripping off the rusted bars. People walked pastsome in a rush, others slowbut almost no one paused. When they did glance her way, it was fleeting, their gazes tired or indifferent. To them, she was just another stray dog left on the street.
But she remembered another world. A world where mornings began with the smell of toast. A small kitchen where shed weave between legs, hoping for scraps. The warmth of the stove in winter, the laughter of her mistress when she tripped over her. The gentle hand that used to stroke her head.
Things changed slowly at first. Cold looks. Then a bowl left empty more often. Shouts, harsh words, shoves. And then, one day, she found herself on the wrong side of the threshold. No goodbye, no explanation. Just the click of the door shutting behind her.
“I thought it was a mistake. I thought theyd call me back. But the door never opened.”
Life on the street was a hard teacher, its lessons learned through kicks and scrapes. She learned to dodge sticks, avoid thrown stones, and scavenge crumbs outside shops. Sometimes she stole a crust of bread or begged a bone from a rare kind stranger. But even then, whenever she met a passerbys eyes, she hoped: *Maybe theyll be the one to say, Come home.*
That day was cold and damp. Rain had fallen since morning, the wind tearing leaves from the trees. She sat curled up, shivering, when she heard footsteps. A woman in a worn coat walked slowly, as if she wasnt sure where she was going. When she spotted her, she stopped.
“Oh, love whos done this to you?” she murmured.
*You look at me differently. Not like the others who walk past. Your eyes are warm, like hers used to be.*
The woman knelt but didnt reach out right away. Slowly, she pulled bread and sausage from her bag.
“Here, eat.”
Cautiously, the dog stepped forward, as if the ground might vanish beneath her. She took the food, chewing each bite carefully, afraid it might disappear. The woman didnt hurry her, just watched.
“Come on,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “Its warm inside. No onell hurt you again.”
*Youre calling me But can I trust it? What if the door closes again tomorrow?*
Still, she followed. The gate creaked as they stepped into a small yard. The old, peeling fence, the apple tree stripped bare. The house smelled of soup and fresh breada scent so sharp in her memory she froze on the threshold. The woman spread an old blanket, poured clean water, and set down a bowl of warm porridge.
“This is your home now,” she said, gently touching her head.
That night, she slept deeply. She lay listening to the woman moving aboutthe floorboards creaking, the clink of dishes in the kitchen. More than once, the woman checked on her, adjusting the blanket and murmuring,
“Youre home now, understand?”
*Home I was so afraid Id never hear that word again.*
The days passed differently now. She waited by the door, brought her faded old ball. She curled up beside the woman while she drank tea, listening to her voice even if she didnt understand the words. Her fur grew soft again, her eyes clear.
Sometimes, passing that old fence, shed pause. Staring at nothing, as if her former self still sat therewet, hungry, lost. The woman would lay a hand on her collar and say,
“Come on, love. Lets go home.”
*Yes now I know where it is.*
Sometimes the place we least expect becomes the one we belong. All it takes is one kind heart to turn a fence into a doorway.
