Chibi Ruffie
I never tire of the mingled smell of pine sap and fresh air that permeates every room of our cabin in the woods.
In three years I have learned to identify every scent the forest can offer, from the sweet pollen spores that make me sneeze to the musky odor of the woodchuck who always manages to winter beneath the woodpile.
We have come to an understanding. He does not allow himself to be seen by The Boss and I do not get my nose scratched for trying to root him out.
The subtle rattle of the gun being taken from its rack is my cue to leave my comfortable place on the hearth rug and take position at the door.
The Boss wears his lumberjack coat and the boots that allow human feet to tread the rough terrain of the forest floor.The autumn leaves are crisp underfoot as I trot briskly at his side. It will take careful movement to position ourselves in such a way that our quarry does not hear us from half a mile away.
I can smell the herd of red deer grazing beyond a line of holly bushes hung heavy with green fruit. I pay them no mind, not wanting to give The Boss a false signal. Deer are not our quarry this day.Pheasants reside in a marsh that is noisy with the croaking of bullfrogs all through the summer. The frogs are dormant now, resting beneath the mud and waiting for a less harsh breeze to bring them back to life.
The Boss gives the signal to hold, forcing me to a dead stop.I am no puppy so eager to make my master proud that I would cost him a prize bird with my carelessness.
I will not twitch the tip of my ear without permission from The Boss. He has proven time and again that his wisdom is absolute. This is why he leads our small pack.
His fingers clench, setting me into motion. My powerful legs launch me at just the right angle to startle a trio of birds into the air. A single shot rings out and a pheasant falls.
My desire to scent new quarry is quenched the instant I see that body drop. I must find that feathered corpse and present it or live with the shame of a failed hunt.
The moment of truth is always when my jaw closes around the still-warm body. My training is excellent and my love for The Boss is absolute but I am still a canine.
My instincts go to war with my training for just a moment and I want to rip apart that tender flesh and feast on the spoils of my find.One moment of torment is worth the pride in my master's eyes when my soft mouth delivers the body in tact.
He rubs my ears in just the right place as he picks up his trophy by the feet.Good dog. The words I live to hear.
The Rescue:
There are days when a dog needs to feel the wind in his fur and the sweep of soft grass against his paws. A crescent moon gives all the light I need to navigate the familiar forest that is my home.
The Boss is asleep in his bed, dreaming those human dreams that cause his shuttered eyes to twitch. He knows that even the most loyal dog must have occasion to roam as freely as our ancestor, the wolf.
The dog door is locked only on bitter cold nights when he worries for my health. My thick coat would keep me warm but it is good to have a leader who cares.
I have seen dogs who put faith in the wrong sort of humans and their plight causes my ears to droop in pity.My ears prick at a rustling in the brush. Twitch is an old friend, an energetic rabbit always up for a good chase.
He knows that I would do him no harm if I could ever get near enough to catch him but we both enjoy the adrenaline of the chase. When he darts beneath the earth into the warren he shaped with his own claws, his farewell is half thankful and half mocking.
I am on my way to drink from the stream beside the great red oak when a cry of pain brings me to a halt.
The lizard's scales shimmer in the moonlight, a shade of pale lavender that is almost the same color as my ruff. His hopes of enjoying such a mild summer night were crushed by the branch that collapsed, pinning his slender body to the cold earth.
I take great care not to hurt him further as I work my jaw around the thickest part of the branch. He bares silver fangs at my approach but settles down when he realizes I am there to help.
The branch is heavy and awkward with many small splinters that threaten to give me a nasty cut on the lips. I must adjust my grip a few times before I can set to work. Muscles honed by hours in the field strain against the knot of wood lodged in a root that has broken free of the soil.
I win the tugging match at last, removing the troublesome branch with a spray of dirt.
The lizard tries to crawl away to the hole from which he came but his leg is at an odd angle and every little movement causes him to gasp.
The Boss will be worried when he wakes in the morning to find me gone but I cannot abandon a creature in need. Moving very slowly, I curl my body around the shiny little reptile.
The warmth of my fur is an invitation he does not snub for long. The Boss finds us in the morning. He does not yell or shy away from my strange-looking new friend.
He returns to the house and comes with a sling, speaking in the soft tone and taking great care with the injured leg.
I have rescued ducklings separated from their mothers in a heavy spring rain and bear cubs forced to spend the night in a tree while their mothers foraged but no creature has shown such gratitude as Ven. When The Boss removes the stick used to set his leg, Ven remains in the cabin, taking up his preferred perch on the edge of my bed beside the fire and catching those bothersome flies that are an annual nuisance when the heat of summer comes.
I rescue the unfortunate because it is in my nature. I never expected to be rewarded with such a worthy companion as Ven.
Credits:
Profile by 
Ziva
Story by 
Pureflower
