STRANGER IN THE GARDEN
I was sitting quietly in my back lounge, trying to avoid the national political debate that had been heralded all week. Each candidate was examined critically, from every possible angle, for strengths and weaknesses. Each utterance was scrutinised almost clinically for any deviation from the truth. Every hesitation was pounced on for signs of exaggeration or incompetence.
I needed peace and quiet, so I retreated with Lily to write something. We settled together on the couch, glad to be away from all the hassle and noise.
I started writing, just getting into my stride, when Lily took off like a jet-propelled rocket, skidding to a stop at the glass door, spinal fur raised as a warning noise rattled in her throat. Intrigued, I arose to see what had attracted her interest, thinking it might be one of the fox family who lived in our garden.
To my amazement, I was facing a black and brown dachshund which was wagging its tail in a very friendly manner. Lily, on the other hand, was showing who was boss in this establishment.
I quickly retreated, closing all the doors one after the other as I moved through the house to the front door. Stepping onto the porch, I called soft doggy noises, trying to encourage the dog to come to me. Sadly, I was not speaking the right language or one she understood. So I retreated to get my walking stick before proceeding outdoors; not to protect me against the dog, just to keep upright.
Going around the house and finding the side gate open, I wondered if it had just wandered in; maybe her people were looking for their dog in the lane or along the main road.
As I entered the back garden, there was my stranger, standing looking at me, with tail wagging in friendship, and with Lily bashing the glass in fury with her paws. Calling the dog over, I was delighted when it followed me around to the front of the house. Things then turned serious, as I had no lead or rope to restrain my wandering new friend. We are near a lane and a main road, both heavily used by traffic.
So, seeing a collar, I made a grab for it, to see a dangling bone-shaped name, address and telephone number. Only one problem: my eyesight is not very good in the rapidly approaching dusk.
Just at that moment, three knights (without shining armour) appeared in the lane. As a true lady in distress, I asked for help. They very kindly picked up the dog, read her collar information and called her owners to inform them that we had Sky. One of my knights held her uncomplaining in his arms until her owner appeared to claim her.
Once the handover was complete, I thanked my three knights and told them about WobblingPen and its gifts of stories, poems, and audiobooks available for them, if they wished and, if they liked them, to pass the links on to others.
Saying goodbye, we went our separate ways and I hurried indoors, suddenly feeling the chill of the approaching night and carrying a warm glow in my heart at the lovely encounter.
2025 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen
