Semper Fidelis

One of her people left one day.

That really wasn't anything new. Her people were always doing strange things, bustling about for no apparent reason, when a perfectly rational being would curl up on a pillow and bask in the sunshine pouring through the window. Naps, of course, were infinitely more preferable than pointless motion. Sometimes, one of her people would even remember that, and she could rejoice in snuggling up against one of them, comforted and enfolded by their warmth and breathing, passing the hours in a pleasant dream.

But sometimes her people left, in ones or twos, at times all at once, leaving her alone, and she didn't like that at all. The house would become silent, utterly still, and one could only nap for so long before the quiet became oppressive. She never knew for how long her people were gone; minutes, hours, days, they were all the same to her, an almost unendurable emptiness where there were no scratches behind the ear, no treats, no one to nap with. But her people always came back, and each time she was just as excited as the last. They would come back to her, and all would be right with the world.

Then, one day, one of her people left, and never came back.

That night, at the time that person always came home, she got up from where she was and went to sit by the front door, waiting. Her eyes were bright, her ears cocked up, her tail wagging in anticipation. The time came, then passed, but the door never opened, but still she sat there. Surely her person would be home any moment now.

After a while, her ears drooped, and her tail stopped wagging. She lay down on the floor, her muzzle resting on her paws, staring at the door. Every now and then, a breath of wind whispered at the door and her tail twitched, her eyes perked up, but it never opened. When morning's first light began to steal through the windows and creep across the floor, she was still there, still waiting.

Her other people began to stir about, embarking upon their incomprehensible tasks, and eventually some of them left for a while. One of them, though, stayed behind, hidden away in that place where she went to sleep, making those noises that people made when they were sad. She didn't know why the person was sad, but the immediacy of the emotion pulled at something in her heart, as if the other's raw emotion was hers. She didn't just experience emotions, her own or her peoples', she felt them on a level that was so basic that even if she could speak, she could never explain it. So perhaps she did understand, perhaps she possessed an empathy so exquisitely tuned that no one ever gave her credit for it. All she knew was that one of her people was sad, so she was sad, and she picked herself up and went to see what she could do about it. If nothing else, she could just be a warm, conforting presence.

That night, at the time her missing person always came home, she got up from where she was and went to sit by the front door. Once again, her eyes were bright, her ears perked up, her tail wagging as she patiently waited. But the door never opened. Confused, her eyes became sad, her ears drooped, and she lay donw on the floor, resting her muzzle on her paws, and stared. When morning came, she was still there, and there were dark tracks running down her fur from the corners of her eyes, almost as if she had been crying.

She returned the next night and, when the door still refused to open and her missing person didn't come home, she began to howl. It was a piteous noise, a desperate vocalization. Part defiance, part confusion, it was a sound of unfathomable loss and question and of demand, the ululating sound of a heart breaking for a reason it could only dimly grasp, if at all.

She went there every night, at the same time, getting up from wherever she was to go and wait at that door. Eventually, the howling stopped, but still she waited, ever faithful, until morning came, waiting for her person to come back. He always came back. And when he did, there would be scratches behind the ear, and treats, and long, dozing naps in the heat of the afternoon, dreaming pleasant dreams. So she waited, patiently, ever night, until there was no more time left in which to wait.