THE WALK HOME

The Walk Home

I was out one evening doing a long walk–short hike with Raven and Shamrock. Justin wasn’t home, and I had forgotten my phone — something I did more often than I should have. We were doing a four-mile loop, and it was starting to get dark when we were about two and a half miles from home.

Something caught Shamrock’s attention. He pressed into me from the side, and I stepped off the edge of the road onto dirt. The ground was uneven and rough. I stumbled, fell, and broke my right ankle.

I heard the crack before I felt it.

This part of the loop had almost no houses. I sat there for a moment, stunned, trying to understand what had just happened. Then I stood up, because I had no choice, and tried to make it to the main road — our road.

I barely did.

By the time I reached it, it was dark. The pain was sharp and constant. I started walking toward home, about a mile away, stopping over and over because I couldn’t put weight on my foot. Cars flew past us in both directions. No one slowed down. No one stopped.

I remember thinking, This is how people get hit.

No flashlight.

No phone.

Just darkness and traffic and two dogs who didn’t understand why we were moving so slowly.

I cried as I walked. From the pain. From the frustration. From the stupid, spiraling thoughts —

that I’d forgotten my phone,

that I’d chosen to walk so late,

that there were no houses,

that no one was stopping,

that Justin wasn’t home,

that I didn’t want to go to the ER,

that I didn’t know how long I could keep going.

Eventually, I couldn’t. I had to sit down.

When a car finally stopped, it felt like relief crashing into me all at once.

It was a man I didn’t recognize. As soon as his car came to a halt, Shamrock stepped over me — literally over me — placing himself between me and the road. The man called out and asked if I needed help. I said yes. He got out and started toward me.

Shamrock turned to face him.

The man stopped.

I told him Shamrock was friendIy and that i needed help getting back on my feet. The man tried approaching from another angle. Shamrock repositioned himself. Every time the man moved, Shamrock moved too — always keeping himself between us.

Eventually, we both understood: he wasn’t going to be able to reach me.

He wanted to drive us home. I wanted that too. But it wasn’t going to happen.

Instead, I pulled myself up using Shamrock like a cross between a crutch and a walker. I leaned on him and started the slow, painful walk home. The man followed us in his car, driving down the middle of the road with his hazard lights on so traffic in both directions had to slow down and go around us.

For forty-five minutes, I cried and walked and leaned and kept going.

When we reached the driveway, Shamrock shook himself and walked away from me — as if he knew we were safe now.

I didn’t have the strength to climb the steep driveway. The man called Justin for me. I collapsed in the front yard and waited.

About an hour later, Justin’s truck pulled in. He took one look at my ankle, picked me up, put me in the truck, let the dogs inside, and drove me to the ER.

I had gone out for a walk.

I came home carried.

And Shamrock never left my side until he believed I didn’t need him anymore.

---------------------

Shamrock's turn:

I was walking the long way with my pack.

Two dogs.

One human.

The sky was getting darker.

Something moved.

Something smelled wrong.

I stepped into my human to move her away from it.

The ground betrayed her.

She fell.

Her sound was wrong.

Not a walking sound.

Not a laughing sound.

A sharp sound.

She stood up, but she was broken in the leg-place.

I could see it in how she leaned.

I could hear it in how she breathed.

We went toward home.

Slow.

Too slow.

The dark got thicker.

The loud metal beasts rushed past us.

Their eyes were bright and angry.

She sat down.

Then another metal beast stopped.

A man came out of it.

He spoke with a helper voice.

But I did not know him.

And my human was on the ground.

So I became the wall.

I stood over her.

My chest faced him.

My legs locked.

He tried to come from the side.

I turned.

He tried again.

I turned again.

I did not growl.

I did not bite.

I said with my body:

No.

My human said he was friendly.

But friendly is not the same as known.

The man wanted to take us away in his metal beast.

I did not like that.

We made another plan.

She pulled herself up using my body.

I did not move.

We walked.

Slow.

Together.

The man stayed behind us with his blinking lights

so the fast metal beasts would not touch her.

For a long time

my job was only this:

Do not let her fall.

Do not let the man touch her.

Do not let the dark win.

When we reached the den place,

I shook my fur.

The danger smell was gone.

She sat on the grass and did not move.

I walked away then,

because my work was done