Lassie

In bleak, she sat by my gate, I know not from when, but completely soaked to the bone. The torrent merged with waves of fog sweeping as the fury of the wind hustled. Poor Lassie sat shivering, looking haggard and howled as thunder rolled. My sliding gate, though strong to withstand the tempest, pitied not this dog – a stranger, but not one to me. As strengthened the surging cyclone, I walked down the cold steps for a cup of coffee, when her cry reached me. Through the curtains did I see her quivering, unable to neither fight the storm nor conceal hunger.

 

Guilt jeered at me as I opened the gate and let in Lassie. Like a crippled, she lurched in looking famished. My last saved bread and meat she loved was sufficient to wipe her cries. I spread a soft mat that always waited for the touch of Lassie to release cold and beckon warmth. Wild wind harassed the poor dog, but sleep caressed her and off she twirled to slumber. Two hours drifted by when she awoke and her eyes spoke, asking for a bite. My snacks were hers – anything to nourish and cheer Lassie. Slowly, the deluge diminished and scattered. Putting her head on my lap with endearment, Lassie’s eyes gestured that she had to leave. I slid the gate once again and off went she, but whereto, I know not.

 

But I know she’ll be back again because the love I’ve shown during the past few months has convinced her that my roof is her asylum.