Man's Best Friend

“Stella! Stella! Stella!” I understand that Fred named me as some kind of human joke. Specifically for calling me back in from the yard. I know because it always makes him laugh when he does it, and the neighbors shake their heads when they hear it. I go back into the house anyway, and he gives me a treat and scratches the base of my tail.

I can see by his clothes that we’re going on one of our special nighttime walks. I love these. We walk around a neighborhood I’ve never seen before, and I get to sniff around as much as I want. Fred is never impatient on these walks. It’s almost as if he’s grateful for the opportunity to stop and just stare around, taking in the surroundings in his inferior, human way.

I think he needs the break because of the stress of his work. He is an EMT, from what he tells people. I expect that explains his special uniforms. He tells people stories about the people he has tried to help, and they are always shocked and distressed, while leaning forward to glean extra details.

I can see that some of these experiences bother Fred a lot. Sometimes he launders the uniform when he comes home, showering to get the smell of blood, guts, and fear from his clothes. Occasionally he throws the uniform into the wood burning stove instead, as though the memory of what happened needs to be destroyed completely. Those nights, he holds me close and lets me sleep on the bed beside him. It takes him a long time to get to sleep, but I think my presence helps to calm him. I love Fred, and I want him to feel safe.

This story is about one time when Fred nearly broke under the pressure, and I saved him. I’m not a big dog, but I can be fierce. Fred says I am a Jack Russell terrier. That makes no sense to me because Jack is a boy’s name, and I am definitely a girl dog.

This time was a few months ago, before we moved. Fred was extra excited about our special walk, and we stopped outside a one-story house with a strange smell. I was sniffing all around the front of the house, until someone came out and yelled at Fred. Fred pulled his hoodie around his face, and said “Come on, dog.” He never called me “dog,” it was always “Stella.”

We walked around the block some more, but every time we came close to the house with the strange smell, Fred turned around and went in a different direction. After a while, we went back to the car, and Fred drove us home. That night, he was unusually stressed. He held me close and let me sleep on the bed. I didn’t know what the problem was, but I did my best to comfort him until he fell asleep.

The next couple of days, Fred was moody. He still went to work, he still fed me, walked me, and took care of me, but he seemed distracted. Then one day he went on a night shift. He wore his uniform, and came back a few hours later, upset and sweating, breathing heavily. He tore off his clothes and threw them into the wood burning stove, then he raced upstairs to the bathroom, and I heard the shower running. He was in much more of a hurry than usual. He hadn’t even let me outside, which he always did as soon as he came home.

After a few minutes, I heard hammering at the door. I growled, but whoever was outside didn’t give up. Fred was still in the shower. The door suddenly swung open, and two intruders in uniform came in. It wasn’t Fred’s uniform, but I’d seen ones like it before. I stood my ground, barking to alert Fred, and snarling at the intruders. One of them moved towards the stairs, and I blocked his path. He tried to grab me, but I moved too fast. Then the other went towards the wood burning stove. He was going to try and steal Fred’s burning uniform! I rushed over there, and stopped him.

I heard Fred’s voice from the top of the stairs, angry and upset. The other stranger had gone up the stairs and was with him, and they were arguing. I heard Fred say “Leave my dog alone!” That’s Fred for you, always thinking about me and my welfare, even in emergencies.

Fred came downstairs, and the two intruders both started asking him questions. Fred was dripping wet, shaking with anger, and wrapped in a towel. He pointed at the door and yelled at them. This went on for a while. Nobody approached me or the stove. Eventually, Fred agreed to leave with them. He let me outside for a few minutes while he got dressed, then called me in: “Stella! Stella! Stella!” The intruders smiled at that, and let him give me a treat and fill my water bowl before leaving with him.

I stayed in front of the wood burning stove for the rest of the night. It died down, and I still lay there, guarding it. I knew it was important.

The sun was up when Fred came home. He was tired and upset but he was pleased to see I was still guarding the stove. He told me what a good girl I was and gave me some really good treats – cooked chicken. Then we went upstairs and I got on the bed to keep him calm while he settled down to sleep.

I didn’t tell him I knew what he did those nights. I had always suspected, but the smell on him and on the clothes that night confirmed it. He hadn’t gone to work at all – he’d gone back to that house. The blood and guts and fear came from the man who had yelled at us. Fred takes care of those who are injured and of those who injure them. I will always protect him.

We had to move away soon afterwards. But now things are back to normal, and Fred is working again. At both jobs.