Memories of Life

22. Hope.

22. Hope.

The man woke from a dream, one that had not visited him in a long time, to the sound of scratching at the door. Turning over he saw the dog sitting in front of it, gently running its claws down the wood panel by the glow of the firebox's coals. Propping himself up the man looked at the animal who paused briefly returning his gaze, before returning its attention to the door, to claw at it again. Straining the man listened for something above the sound of steady rain on the corrugated roof outside. Hearing nothing, he sat up placing his feet on the old wooden floor of the hut which felt cold as a draft funnelled between its gaps. Standing, he listened again for any sound above the rain. But the only discernable noise emanated from the dog, who faced the door producing a slow, low, grumbling growl of warning. The tone of which was familiar to the man, who padded softly on the floor to the chest at the end of the bed removing the Glock pistol. The dog remained motionless, transfixed with whatever it was outside in the dark. The man knew it was not another dog or animal. His friend was calculated in his response, with no barking or excited behaviour, this was definitely a warning.

Pulling the curtain back slightly the man looked out the window beside the door into the dark night, as the rain began to fall even heavier on the roof. Returning to the bed he slipped his boots on, then rejoined the dog at the door placing his ear against it. Hearing nothing but rain on tin, the man pressed himself up against the wall beside the door, placing his hand on the door knob. Holding the pistol up to eye level he gently turned the knob till the slightest crack opened. Pausing for a moment he peered through it before the dog pushed its snout in to open it further. The man nudged it softly with his foot to make it back away, but curiously it disobeyed him? Jamming its large head between the door and the frame, pushing past him. Silently he cursed, watching it go to the edge of the narrow veranda, and stand tail erect with stone like stillness looking out into the cold, wet darkness. Again the dog gave a low growl of warning, then promptly relaxed and sat on the edge of the veranda waiting for the man to join him. Sensing from the dogs posture the threat was not immediate, the man pulled on his leather jacket joining him on the veranda, looking out into the darkness. "Lets see what we can see boy." He murmured, rubbing the dogs head who responded with a wag of its tail.

The man changed into his clothes from the previous day, which hung warm and dry by the firebox. Placing the pistol in its holster hanging across his chest, he then secured his sheathed blade to his belt. Grabbing two pieces of smoked meat from the pantry, the man gave one to the dog waiting patiently outside, before putting his mac on. Knowing the man was ready, the dog trotted off into the darkness keeping him close behind. It was dark, but the dogs vision, and the mans own familiarity with the land ensured he knew where to step. The dog led them back to the creek and along the path travelled only a few days earlier from the hunt. The man new the dog sensed the presence of something, or someone unfamiliar on their mountain. And he trusted his perceptiveness unequivocally; like he had on the day he found him.

It had been the look in the dog's eyes, that saved him from the same fate of his brothers and sisters. The dogs mother had attacked the man in defence of her den, when he'd unwittingly strayed to close. She was a formidable beast, much larger then most of the wild dogs he had encountered, and when she broke through the undergrowth with the ferocity of a protective mother, the man had shot and killed her. The sound of the whimpering pups could be heard not far away crying for her. There were six of them, and without their mother's protection they would have starved, or been claimed by predators. It was with a sense of humane remorse the man broke each of their necks. Each whimpered, struggling as he picked them up before silencing them; but the dog was different? He was larger then the rest, and the last to meet his fate sitting silently awaiting his turn. When the man lifted him up by the scruff, the young pup simply stared into his eyes without a sound. Even when he placed his hand around its soft, fragile neck.