A weary dog emerged from the woods with a backpack strapped to his back. Its contents would soon alarm the police.
«Thunder, come on!» called out his owner.
The dog wagged his tail eagerly. These woodland walks were their shared joy: Edward collected mushrooms while Thunder explored new scents and chased squirrels.
That morning was specialcool yet sunny, with a light mist drifting over the treetops. Perfect weather for a «silent hunt,» as mushroom pickers often called their pastime. Edward packed quickly: a thermos of tea, a few sandwiches, a knife, and a basket. At the last moment, he tossed an old notebook and pencil into his backpacka habit from his surveying days, always keeping something handy for notes.
The first two hours passed wonderfully. The basket grew heavier with sturdy porcini and golden chanterelles. Thunder darted ahead, then circled back, barking excitedly at his discoveries.
«What do you say, old boy? One more hour, then home?» Edward patted the dogs neck, pulling out his phone to photograph a particularly fine boletus.
«No signal,» the screen blinked indifferently.
«Never mind, well be back in range soon,» he muttered, snapping the photo before tucking the phone away.
They wandered into an unfamiliar part of the forest. Ancient trees stood so densely that sunlight barely pierced the canopy. Fallen trunks, moss-covered and slick, littered the ground.
«Thunder, stay close!» Edward commanded, unease creeping into his voice.
Then came the sudden, tragic sliphis foot slid off a wet log. Sharp pain shot through his ankle, his vision darkened. He fell, grasping at nothing, scattering belongings from his loosely fastened backpack.
«Blast it» Edward groaned, trying to rise. His leg refused to obey.
Thunder whined anxiously beside him, nudging his face with a wet nose.
«Easy, boy, easy» Edward attempted a smile, but only managed a grimace.
Time dragged on The sun dipped lower. Each attempt to stand or crawl ended in failureevery movement sent waves of pain, blackening his vision.
You know that helpless feeling when you realise youre trapped? Thats exactly what Edward felt.
«Right, think, Ed, think» he whispered, fighting to stay clear-headed.
His gaze landed on the scattered backpack contentsnotebook, pencil, useless phone. And loyal Thunder, never leaving his side. The idea struck him suddenly
«Thunder, here!» His voice shook, but the command was firm.
The dog approached, eyes locked on his masters.
With trembling hands, Edward tore a page from the notebook. «If you find this notehelp!» The letters wobbled, but he wrote as clearly as he could. «Injured in woods, broken leg, no signal. Approximate coordinates: grid 25-26, near the old section» He reread the scribbled lines with grim satisfaction.
Thunder waited patiently as Edward fastened the backpack to him.
«Listen carefully, boy.» Edward pulled the dogs muzzle close. «Home now. Understood? Home!»
Thunder whimpered, reluctant to leave.
«Home, Thunder! Go!»
The dog took a few hesitant steps, glancing back.
«Go on!» The final command came out hoarse.
And Thunder ran. They say dogs feel our pain. Maybe thats why theyre capable of such feats? Or perhaps love simply makes us strongerall of us, no matter how many legs we have.
Edward leaned against a pine trunk. Dusk thickened. An owl hooted in the distance. His leg throbbed, but he clung to one thought: Thunder would make it. He had to. All that remained was to wait and believe.
Exhausted paws slipped on damp grass. Thunder panted heavily but ran on, the battered backpack bouncing on his back. An hour without stopping, without water, without rest. Just forwardtoward help.
«Home, Thunder, home!» The raspy voice echoed in his head. And the dog pressed on, ignoring the raw pads of his feet, pushing through thickets and fatigue and fear.
Twilight had fallen when lights flickered ahead. A patrol car screeched to a halt, nearly hitting the exhausted dog. Young Constable James leapt out first:
«Oi, mate, whered you come from?»
Thunder froze, eyes pleading silentlyunderstand, help, hurry!
«James, looka backpack!» his partner called. «Theres a note inside»
James hands trembled as he read. The words blurred before his eyes.
«Bloody hell» he exhaled. «Get dispatch on the line, quick! And water for the dog, now!»
Thunder lapped greedily from a plastic bowl. Each gulp revived him, but time was short. He kept glancing at the officerswhy the delay?!
Sometimes seconds stretch into eternity. Especially when you knowsomeones out there, waiting in the dark.
«Find his owner!» James finally ordered. «Go on!»
Thunder bolted into the woods, not looking backhe knew theyd follow. They ran, stumbling, cursing, but keeping pace. Torchlight cut through the gloom, radios crackled And Thunder ran and ran, back to the old pine where a man lay, trusting his faithful friend would bring help.
«Hold up!» James suddenly shouted. «Over there!»
In the torch beams, a dark shape slumped against a tree. Edward was pale, barely conscious, but alive.
«I knew» he whispered as paramedics lifted him into the ambulance. «Knew youd do it, boy.»
Thunder rested his head on James knees. He hadnt even the strength to whine.
«Come home with me, lad,» James said quietly, scratching the dogs ear. «Rest up while your owners in hospital. Then well see.»
Sometimes fate teaches us lessons in the most unexpected ways. For Constable James Carter, the teacher was a dog named Thunder
«So, what am I supposed to do with you?» James stood in his bachelor flat, eyeing his new housemate.
Thunder, washed and fed, sat in the hallway as if unsure he was allowed further. His intelligent eyes asked, «May I?»
«Get in here, hero!» James waved him in. «Its no palace, but well manage for a month.»
The first night was restless. Thunder whined, paced, scratched at the door.
«Listen, mate,» James crouched beside him at 3 AM. «I get ityou miss him. But your owners recovering, promise. Till then lets try being friends, eh?»
As if understanding, Thunder pressed against James leg and sighed.
Day by day, their new life settled into rhythm. Morning jogs (whod have thought James would run again?), shared breakfast, the walk to work
«Carter, you got a dog now?» colleagues marveled as Thunder trotted proudly through the station.
«Just fostering,» James brushed it off, but warmth swelled in his chest.
And Thunder He seemed determined to repay his temporary owner. Each morning, he greeted James with slippers in his mouth (whered he even find them?), fetched misplaced items.
«Youre a proper partner!» James laughed, rewarding him with treats.
Evenings became something special. Before, James just sprawled on the sofa scrolling his phone. Now
«Yknow, mate,» he mused, scratching Thunders ear, «I havent felt this not lonely, since the divorce.»
The dog sighed understandingly, resting his head on James knee.
They walked in the park, where Thunder chased pigeons and sniffed fellow dogs. They visited Edward in hospitalhe was recovering, laughing at tales of his pets antics.
«Thats my lad,» Edward smiled. «Cheers for looking after him, James.»
Time passed unnoticed, and deep down, an unfamiliar dread grew: how would he cope alone when Thunder went home?
On Edwards discharge day, the flat felt unnaturally empty. Thunder, deliriously happy, circled his true owner but kept glancing at James.
«Yknow,» Edward said suddenly, «hes grown fond of you too.»
«Yeah, and I» James faltered. «Listenmaybe I could visit sometimes?»
«Course!» Edward grinned. «But first, stop by the shelter. Reckon someones waiting for you there.»
The next day, the station welcomed a new recruita scruffy red mutt named Whirlwind.
