My Journey Home

This story references a kidnapping (of a sort).

I was happy. Really. Life was good. In the age of innocence, I never had to worry about my next meal, or a roof over my head. I was carefree, spending my days enjoying what life had to offer, educating myself about the world around me, and having fun playing with my brothers and sisters.

As I recall, my house was warm and cozy back then. I thought it was a safe place, never imagining any danger could infiltrate my sanctuary. Fear didn’t exist within those four walls. My siblings and I were content. Our mother was both a sentry and an enforcer. In my young eyes, she was invincible. God forgive anyone that tried to harm our family. She was also our disciplinarian, keeping us all in line. We learned right from wrong, and did our best to always do right.

It was a simple time. A time when my life was filled with love and joy.

That all changed one day when the stranger came. My sense of safety was shattered. I cried for my mother and my siblings when he grabbed me away from all I knew and loved. I know my mother fought to keep this man from me, but to no avail. As strong as I had always envisioned her to be, she was powerless against him. 

He put me in a large car and drove off. I cowered in the back, shaking at the unknown. Where were we going? Why would someone do this? What would become of me?

We drove and drove. After a while, my curiosity got the better of me and I peered out the window. Lots of trees and grass. Occasional buildings. I was disoriented and didn’t recognize anything, but I knew we were far from whence I came.

Exhausted with fright, I slept a bit. I heard my mother’s screams in my sleep and whimpered, hiding my head in the back seat, hoping to muffle the sound. My dreams were now nightmares with strangers lurking in dark corners. Innocence broken.

I never saw them again-my family. I still miss them terribly.

After a while, we stopped. I don’t know how long we drove, but apparently we arrived at our destination. Terror gripped me again, not knowing what was next. 

My new house is large and drafty. I have my own room, where I spend all my time. It is bare and lonely. Others live here, too. I can hear them, but I can’t see them. At night I hear them crying for their families, just like I do. 

What kind of a person could do this? I wonder how many are here; how many this cruel man has taken away from their mothers. I can’t tell. I wish I could break free and escape. But where would I go? I have no idea where I am, which way is home, or if my family is still there.

The man smells of smoke, probably from the cigar that resides in his mouth. It’s never lit when he comes into my room, but he still carries it in his mouth. I’m beginning to wonder if it is permanently stuck to his lip. He must love it. The cigar. What would he do if I grabbed it away from him, like he grabbed me away from my family? I’m too scared to try.

Whenever cigar man nears, I shake uncontrollably. He is gruff, never has a nice word for me. As a matter of fact, he barely speaks to me at all. He has no warmth. I long for the warmth of mother. Or if not mother, someone to show me they care.

When cigar man enters my room, usually just to give me something to eat, I go to the farthest corner and make myself as small as possible. He brings me breakfast and dinner each day. I hardly touch my food.  I know I need my strength, but how can I eat when my stomach is twisted in fear? I think of my mother and wonder what she would do if she were here. Then I start shaking. Is she looking for me?

Today, a little girl has entered the big house. I heard her voice. It sounded so sweet; it made me cry. She’s with cigar man and another lady. The lady has a nice voice too, but not as sweet as the girl’s.

Doors open and close. I hear them going in and out of different rooms.

Please, please let me see the girl, I thought. Please let her into my room. I cry louder.

The door began to open. I ran to the far corner, in case it was the cigar man. It was the little girl. She saw me in the corner and walked into my room. The cigar man closed the door behind her. I didn’t know what to do. She was a stranger, but her voice wasn’t gruff. She couldn’t be cruel like the man. Could I trust her? I was scared.

The little girl walked in to the center of the room and sat down on the floor. She didn’t try to crowd me. She just sat down. Then she started to softly sing. I don’t remember the words, but it was a nice song. It calmed me. Slowly, I stopped shaking. I took a couple of steps towards the girl, watching carefully to see what she did. If she made a sudden move, I was ready to retreat to the corner again. But she didn’t move. She just sat there, perfectly still, and kept singing softly in that sweet, sweet voice. 

I approached her, one step at a time until I found myself in her lap. She pet my head and I let her rub my belly. Then I licked her all over, until she started laughing.

At the sound of laughter, the door opened. The little girl’s mother walked in.

“This one,” the little girl said. “I want this one.”

Her mother smiled at the sight of the little dog sitting in her daughter’s lap. “This one it is, then,” her mother said. “You have to give him a name.”

“How about Buddy? ‘Cause he’s my new best buddy,” said the girl.

“Buddy sounds perfect,” said the mother. “OK, Buddy. How’d you like to come home with us?”

I jumped up and started running in circles. My tail was wagging as hard as I could wag it.