"Sam's New Best Friend," A Short Story

Winter is a difficult time when you’re alone on Yellow Mountain. It is bitterly cold and there is plenty of snow. The days are short and the nights are so long.

Sam was new to the mountain and this loneliness felt strangely sad. He had a thin beard coming in that became easily frosted in the bitter cold. His wool shirts, buckskin coat, and pants did not always keep the cold and wet out and his boots were not high enough to fend off the drifting snow. Snowshoes were the first thing on his “to do” list.

He had many chores to keep himself busy. Each day he carried water from the creek. It was always an adventure to see if the swiftly, running water would be covered with a thick or thin ice coat. He was bewildered that he could dip cold, clear, clean water from a stream that flowed over a rocky, dirty, creek bed. Sam worked at the woodpile for hours each day. He loved the sound of a descending axe and smell of freshly chopped wood. He was careful to keep his axe as sharp as a razor, clean, and rust free. He carefully cut each wood piece to fit the small wood stove in the cabin. He didn’t run to cook, as he did to chop wood, but he was learning the basics, and he had gained a few pounds.

Late one night Sam heard a noise. There was a storm raging and he thought, at first, it was the wind swirling against the cabin or the woodpile.

What…? There it was again.

He set aside his book and coffee mug and got up from his soft, comfy, chair by the fire and peered into every corner. He didn’t find a thing. It was so dark and the wind was howling. He looked at the window and finally cracked the door open just slightly to look outside. Disappointed, he returned to his comfy, warm, chair and settled back into the incessant quiet.

“Why did I ever leave home and do something so foolish as come to this remote lonely place? What was I thinking? That you, God of all creation, called me to this place? I’m not meant to be alone like this. I need people, animals, living things, around me…”

What…? There it was again. A faint scratching, growing softer by the moment. Sam went to the door again. This time he threw it open wide and looked down. There, on the ground, was the smallest puppy he had ever seen. The poor thing was nearly invisible and frozen in the blowing drifting snow. It was too weak to even stand.

Sam bent down and gently scooped up the little treasure. He carried the puppy to the fire and cuddled him in his shirt near his heart. “Oh God! This little thing is so cold and so sick. Have mercy. Please don’t let him die. Not tonight, not in this place. Warm his tiny body and revive him, please.”

It was a very long time before the puppy showed any sign of life. Sam began to rise to put the puppy down near the fire when the puppy raised his head, licked Sam’s cheek, and tried to bark. He was far too sick and all that came out was a scratchy rasp. Sam knew then that he would call this fellow “Rastus.”

Where did he come from? They were seventeen miles from the nearest neighbor and it was impossible for a little puppy to get to Sam’s door all alone, at night, in such severe, cold, and snow.

Slowly the crushing silence lifted as Sam embraced Rastus, his new friend and tiny family. This wiggly bundle of encouragement strengthened him.