Abandoned or did he just leave home

Abandoned or did he just leave home

I used to walk home late from work most nights. It was a route I knew well, one I could probably manage with my eyes closed, though I would never dare try. I have always been wary of the dark. Not frightened enough to stop living my life, but cautious. I walk quickly, keys threaded through my fingers, senses alert, listening to every shift in the night. That evening was no different, at least not at first.

I had just passed the row of dim houses when I became aware of it. A faint rustling behind me. Not constant. Just every few steps. Soft enough to question, loud enough to notice. I turned around. Nothing. The pavement stretched empty beneath the streetlight. I told myself it was nothing.

The walk takes me past an empty field before I reach home. The grass in that field can sound like whispers when the wind catches it right. I convinced myself that was all it was. Wind. Paper blowing. Anything but someone following me. Still, every so often, there it was again. That subtle shuffle. That presence you feel before you see.

By the time I reached the area near my house, where one lonely lamp casts more shadow than light, I had had enough. I stopped dead and turned around. “Right,” I said into the dark. “I’ve had enough of this. If you’re following me, show yourself.”

In my coat pocket, I held my little protection device tightly. I was ready. My heart was racing, but my voice was steady. Nothing moved. No one stepped forward. After a few minutes, I felt slightly foolish standing there arguing with shadows, so I walked the rest of the way quickly, relief washing over me when I stepped inside and locked the door. It must have been nearly two in the morning. I went to bed thinking I had imagined it all.

Then I was woken by a sound.

A scratching. Faint at first. Then again. I lay there trying to place it. It was not inside the house. It was coming from somewhere specific. I got up and followed it through the quiet hallway. It was coming from the front door.

My heart began to pound all over again. Carefully, I reached for the handle and opened it. And there he was. The most beautiful animal I had ever seen in my life.

A dog. Tall and slightly leggy, not fluffy or heavy, but lean in a graceful way. He reminded me of a whippet or a greyhound, though he had a little more substance to him. A rough coat, soft around the ears, and the biggest puppy dog eyes I have ever looked into. He could not have been more than ten months old. He just sat there, looking up at me. And then it clicked“You’re the culprit,” I said softly. “You followed me home.” He tilted his head as if to say, well, yes.

“Well, you’d better come in,” I told him. “You’ll freeze to death out there.”In he came, calm as you like, as though he had already decided this was where he belonged. I offered him a dish of cooked meat from my fridge, and some warm milk, then settled him in my hallway on two warm blankets for the night and he didn’t object.

I named him Charlie.

The next morning, I will never forget what he did. I woke to find him standing in my bedroom doorway, gently holding one of my shoes in his mouth. Not chewed. Not damaged. Just carried carefully. He looked at me as if to say, if you put these on, I will come with you. He is so intelligent. So loving.

I put notices in shop windows. I asked around. I took him to the vets. No microchip. No collar. No one came forward. He was nearly mine. He had his injections, I got his up to date by me, certificates, a clean bill of health. Whoever had lost him did not seem to be looking. And I certainly was not going to put him through more than what his eyes told me he had already been through.

Maybe Charlie’s story before me will always remain a secret. Maybe he was abandoned. Maybe he chose that field because he sensed something in me that night. I sometimes wonder if he thought I needed protecting.

Over the months, and then the years, we have grown together. Through ordinary days and difficult ones. He is obedient, gentle, faithful beyond words. Still playful, still very much a puppy at heart. That night walk home made him all mine. From the moment I opened that door, something shifted. I no longer rush quite so quickly through the dark. I no longer feel entirely alone. Because sometimes, when you think you are being followed, you are not being hunted. You are being chosen.❤️Charlie❤️