We stay beneath the wood behind the man and woman’s house, Bella by my side, his black fur sleek and shiny. We wait patiently while the man and woman leave food and milk, slip away a distance to watch, their eyes warm like the sun.
The sky is metal gray when two are born beneath the wood; there is not enough room when the rain falls hard and cold, water runs in narrow muddy rivers around us, the two embedded in my thick fur, Bella embedded in a curl, his fur thin and matted, falling away.
The man’s eyes are red. He looks down when he tells the woman he has taken Bella across the river to a place where he will have a chance.
Now a stranger with cold eyes has come and taken the two, telling the man with red eyes a similar lie.
Everyday, I look for Bella and the two, searching the familiar places, searching until the sun has gone and when the sun has gone again, the man takes me.
They watch from another room in the warm house. I sleep on a dry blanket and dream of Bella and the two who are here with me now, not by my side but finally inside.