This fence is the only place that doesnt drive me away. Sometimes I feel like Ive grown attached to it
People walked pastsome in a hurry, some slowly, but hardly anyone stopped. “Ive stopped counting the days. When each one is the same, when everything starts and ends the same way, numbers lose their meaning. Here, by this rusted fence, mornings only differ from evenings in how the light falls. The rain and wind have become as familiar as hunger and silence. And yet, I havent left. This fence is the only place that doesnt drive me away. Sometimes I feel as tied to it as I once was to a home. But maybe Im still waiting for what? I dont know.”
She sat on the narrow strip of dirt between the wobbly fence and the pavement. Her fur was matted, dull, the mud mixing with rainwater beneath her paws as the drizzle dripped slowly from the rusty rails. People passed bysome rushing, some ambling, but almost no one paused. If they did glance her way, it was just for a second, with tired or indifferent eyes. To them, she was just another stray dog left on the street.
But she remembered another world. A world where mornings began with the smell of toast. A little kitchen where shed weave between legs, trying to reach the table. The warm stove in winter and the laughter of the woman when she tripped over her. The soft hand that would idly stroke her head.
Things changed slowly. First, it was just cold glances. Then a bowl left empty more often. Shouts, harsh words, shoves. And one day, she found herself on the wrong side of the doorstep. No goodbye, no explanation. The door just clicked shut, and she was left outside.
“I thought it was a mistake. I thought theyd call me back soon. But the door never opened.”
Life on the street was a brutal teacher, where lessons came with kicks and scrapes. She learned to dodge sticks, avoid thrown stones, scavenge crumbs outside shops. Sometimes she managed to steal a slice of bread or beg a bone from a rare kind stranger. But even when passersby met her eyes, she always hoped: *Maybe this one will say, Come on, lets go home?*
That day was cold and damp. Rain had fallen since morning, the wind tearing leaves from the trees. Hunched over, she felt the chill seep into her bones. Then she heard footsteps. A woman in an old coat walked slowly, as if she wasnt sure where she was going. When she spotted her, she stopped.
“Oh, love whos hurt you like this?” she murmured.
“You look at me differently. Not like the others who walk past. Your eyes are warm, like hers used to be.”
The woman knelt beside her but didnt reach out right away. Slowly, she pulled a piece of bread and sausage from her bag. “Here, eat.”
Hesitant, she crept forward, as if the ground might vanish beneath her. She took the food, chewing every bite carefully, as if afraid it might disappear. The woman didnt rush herjust sat and watched. “Come on,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “Its warm inside. No one will hurt you again.”
“Youre calling me But can I trust it? What if the door closes again tomorrow?”
Still, she followed. The gate creaked as they stepped into a small yard. The peeling fence, the apple tree with bare branches. The house smelled of soup and fresh bread. That scent hit her memory so sharply she froze on the threshold. The woman spread an old blanket on the floor, poured clean water, and set down a bowl of warm porridge. “This is your home now,” she said, gently touching her head.
That night, she hardly slept. She lay there, listening to the woman move about the housethe creak of floorboards, the clink of dishes in the kitchen. More than once, she peeked in, adjusted the blanket, and whispered, “Youre home, you hear?”
*Home I was so afraid Id never hear that word again.*
The days passed differently now. Shed wait by the door, bring her faded old ball. Shed curl up beside her as she drank tea, listening to her voice even if she didnt understand the words. Her fur grew soft again, her eyes clear.
Sometimes, walking past that same fence, shed stop. Staring at nothing, as if her old self still sat therewet, hungry, lost. The woman would step closer, rest a hand on her neck, and say, “Come on, lets go home.”
*Yes now I know where it is.*
