I climbed the stairs again, scissors in hand, determined to finally cut the branches. The silence around me was heavy—no barking, no rustling, just the faint sound of my own breathing. The sky had grown darker, as if pressing down.
I reached for the first branch when a sharp crack echoed above me. I froze. My eyes darted upward. At first, I thought it was just the wind—but then I saw it.
One of the thicker branches was already split in half, hanging by a thread of damp wood. It swayed ominously right above where I had been standing moments earlier.
Before I could react, the branch snapped completely. With a thunderous crash, it fell straight down onto the exact spot where my dog had pulled me away just minutes before.
My breath caught. My knees went weak. If I had been standing there… I swallowed hard. I wouldn’t have survived it.
From below, I heard desperate barking. My dog—struggling against the chain—was pulling so violently that his collar cut into his fur. His eyes burned with panic, as if begging me: “Now do you understand?!”
Tears stung my eyes. My hands shook as I climbed down slowly, step by step. When I finally unbuckled the chain, he leaped at me, pressing his head against my chest, whining in relief.
I wrapped my arms around him. “You saved me,” I whispered, voice breaking. “You knew.”
The rain finally poured, washing the dust and fear from the air. The branches lay shattered on the ground, but I was still alive—because of him.
From that day on, I never ignored his warnings again. My loyal friend wasn’t just a dog. He was my guardian.