*The Faithful Friend of a Traitor*
That autumn, drivers passing along the motorway noticed a dog standing motionless by the exit to a quiet village. Day after day, it stayed in the same spotfirst standing tall, then sitting after a week, and finally lying down, weakened by hunger, watching every car that sped by.
The locals began stopping to feed the poor thing. From a distance, the mutt resembled a German Shepherdexcept for that fluffy tail, curled up like a cinnamon roll and draped over its back. It was friendly enough to its kind-hearted meal providers but never let anyone get too close. Still, it wolfed down every scrap, licking the bowl clean, only leaving to tend to necessities before returning to its post.
No one took the dogs plight more to heart than young Tom, a lad from the village. He visited daily, calling the stoic, male stray “Faithful” and insisting the poor things owner must have had an accidentotherwise, why wouldnt they come back? The dog would tilt its head skeptically but refused companionship. Eventually, though, a bond formed, and soon they sat together by the roadside, watching the cars fly past.
Autumn faded, and winter crept in with biting frosts. Toms dad, moved by his sons pleas, built a cosy wooden hut by the country lane with a sheltered platform to keep the food dry. Faithful seemed to like his new digsbut no matter how warm it was, he always returned to his post.
Soon, snowstorms buried the roads, the fields, and even the dogs shelter. One blizzard left nothing but a giant snowdrift where the hut had been. Tom and his dad would dig out a tunnel leading to the road, turning the dogs home into a proper little cave. And still, after every meal, Faithful would trot back to the empty road, staring into the distance.
But winters end, and so did this one. The snow melted, the earth dried, birds chirped, and butterflies flitted about. The motorway buzzed again as holidaymakers returned to their countryside retreats.
That day, as usual, Tom came to see Faithful. They played, even ran a little, before flopping onto the wooden platform, basking in the warm sun. Suddenly, the dog bolted upright and dashed toward a black SUV turning onto the lane.
The Range roared to a stop as a stocky bloke in his thirties leapt out, swearing. He raised a hand as if to strikebut Faithful yelped with joy, leaping to lick his face, then dancing around him before planting his paws on the mans chest.
The man shoved him awaythen froze. “Bloody hell, Lucyits Hunter! Thought hed kicked the bucket ages ago. Tough little bugger, aint he?”
“Mister is he yours?” Tom asked warily.
“Was. Paid for a pedigree, got this scruffy mongrel instead. Blokes wouldve laughed me out of the pub if Id brought *him* home. So last autumn, when I left, I just drove off. He chased me till here, then gave up.”
“Hes been waiting for you for *six months*. Never left.”
“Blimey. Didnt think dogs did that,” the man muttered, ruffling Faithfuls neck. The dog whined, paws kneading the air, pressing closer. “Anyway, got a proper Alsatian nowproud as you like. Want a look?” He ducked into the car and hauled out a lanky, long-legged pup. “See that? Paws nearly as big as my fist already. Proper beast!”
Faithful wilted. He backed away, sat down, and gazed at his old owner with mournful eyes.
“Sorry, mate. Cant take two,” the man mumbled, avoiding the dogs stare. “Youve managed fine without me, eh?” He hurriedly stuffed the pup back into the car, jumped in, and roared off.
Faithful tore after him but soon stopped, watching the taillights vanish. Then, head low, he trudged back toward his hut.
Tom followed, blinking hard. “Dont cry, Faithful. Hes not worth it. Not all people are like thatjust your rotten luck with him.” He hugged the dog, stroking his face. “Why waste tears on that git? Youve got *me* now. Were mates, yeah? Ill never leave you. Come home with me?”
He stood and walked toward his house, glancing back, waving Faithful on. The dog hesitated, following in fits and starts, his eyes asking, *You wont betray me too?*
“Come on, trust me. Youll be happy with us,” Tom promised.
Finally, Faithful trotted after him. They entered the yard together. After showing him around and filling his bowl, Tom sat with him on the porch.
The grateful dog licked his hands as Tom murmured, “Youre the best dogsmartest, handsomest. Dont listen to that liar. Youre not a mongrel. Theres a proper name for your breed, and its the finest one there is*a faithful friend*.”
