THE FAITHFUL HOUND OF A TRAITOR
That autumn, motorists passing along the country lane began noticing a dog standing motionless by the roadside near the turnoff to a cottage village. Day after day, it remained in the same spot. At first, it stood; after a week, it sat; then, weakened by hunger, it lay down, watching every passing car with weary eyes.
The locals soon took pity, stopping to feed the creature. From afar, the stray resembled a sheepdog, save for its bushy tail curled playfully over its back like a ring. Though it greeted its benefactors with gentle eyes, it never let them too closeyet it devoured every scrap of food left for it, only leaving its post when necessity demanded.
Among them all, young Timothy from the village took the hounds plight most to heart. Each day, he came to comfort the creaturea male, as he discoveredand named him Faithful. He reasoned that something must have happened to the dogs owner, who would never return, and gently urged the animal to come home with him instead.
The poor thing would tilt its head, listening with distrust, refusing companionship. But in time, a friendship blossomed, and soon they sat together by the roadside, watching the cars rush by.
Autumn faded, and winter crept in with biting frosts. At Timothys pleading, his father built a snug wooden kennel by the lane, complete with a covered platform to shield the food bowls from rain and snow. Faithful took to his new shelter, yet still, when warmed, he would return to his vigil by the road.
Soon, blizzards howled, burying the lane, the nearby fields, and even the dogs refuge. One night, a fresh snowfall swallowed the kennel whole, blending it into the landscape. After each storm, Timothy and his father would dig out the entrance, leaving Faithfuls home a snow-cave with a trench leading back to the road. And still, after eating, the dog would trot to the empty lane, standing for hours, staring into the distance.
But all winters must end, and so did this one. The snow melted, the earth dried, birds sang, and butterflies flitted about. The lane grew lively again as cottagers returned to the countryside.
One such day, Timothy came as usual to visit Faithful. They played, even chased each other a little before tiring. Sitting on the edge of the wooden platform, they basked in the warmth of the sun, squinting at its brightness.
Suddenly, the dog stiffened, leapt up, and dashed toward a dark car turning onto the lane.
The Honda skidded to a halt, its rear wheels sinking. A stout man in his early thirties burst out, cursing, and raised a hand to strike the dogbut Faithful yelped and jumped, trying to lick his face. Failing, he pranced joyfully around the man, then planted his paws against the strangers chest.
The man shoved him away in shock, then suddenly bellowed, “Mandy, lookits Hunter! Blimey, I thought hed kicked the bucket ages ago. Tough little blighter, aint he?”
“Mister, is this your dog?” Timothy asked, hurrying over.
“Was mine. Bought him as a sheepdog, turned out a mongrel with a curly tail. If Id brought this mutt home, me mates wouldve had a right laugh. So I left him here last autumn when I drove off. He chased the car till this very spot, then fell behind.”
“But hes been waiting here six monthsnever left.”
“Well, Ill be. Didnt think dogs did that,” the man muttered, ruffling the dogs scruff. Faithful whined, paws kneading eagerly as he pressed closer. “Got a proper pedigree East European sheepdog now, thoughwanna see?” He darted to the car, hauling out a leggy pup, proudly displaying it. “Look at these pawssoon big as me fist. Proper brute, this one!”
Faithfuls ears drooped. He backed away, sat down, and gazed sorrowfully at his old master, sighing.
“Sorry, lad. Cant keep two,” the man mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “Youve managed fine without me, aint you?” He hurriedly shoved the pup back inside, climbed in, and revved the engine. The car roared away.
The forsaken dog gave chase, but after a few strides, he halted, watching the taillights vanish. Then, head low, he trudged back toward the kennel.
Timothy followed, tears unchecked.
“Faithful, dont you cry! He aint worth it. Not all folk are like thatjust your rotten luck, is all,” he murmured, hugging the dog, stroking his muzzle. “Why fret over him? Youve got me! Were pals, aint we? Let me be your master now. Ill never leave youpromise. Come home with me, eh?”
The boy rose and walked toward his house, beckoning. The dog hesitated, trailing after him, pausing often in uncertainty. His eyes seemed to ask, “You wont betray me too?”
“Come on, dont be scared. Youll be happy with us,” Timothy assured him.
At last, Faithful found his courage. He bounded after the boy, and together they entered the yard. After showing him his new home and filling his bowl, Timothy sat with him on the porch.
The grateful hound licked his hands as the boy whispered, “Youre the best dog there ever washandsome and clever! Dont believe that traitor. Youre no mongrel. He just didnt know your breed. Its the finest one of all, and its called… a faithful friend.”
