The Last Walk: Story of Loyalty

Old Mr. Harrison spent all his life in the silent, vivid village of Green Meadows. He had been a retired carpenter. He spent the last years of his life quietly, being an old little cottage. For nearly ten years, he lived the quiet company of his golden retriever Max, never complaining. Max is much more than a pet to Mr. Harrison. He is, in fact the best friend and confidant. Their bond is so strong that one cannot even imagine him without the other.

Every morning, without failure, the couple was walking down the village; Mr. Harrison, who had the cover of years, walked with a cane, and Max accompanies him as watchful and attentive. The villagers sometimes loved seeing silent arguments between the man and his dog. Max used to bring Mr. Harrison's newspaper from the small shop available in the village to the doorstep, as the same path is followed every year by the village.

Life was peaceful; apart from the fight to keep up with Mr. Harrison, who now, in the last months, was getting weaker: fewer steps, labored breathing. Max stood right next to him; one sensed he understood. He nudged Mr. Harrison's hand with his nose as if to show his support.

Then, following his usual daily amble about the close, Mr Harrison slipped quietly into his sleep. It was a kind retirement, but left Max in a world suddenly out of tune. The following morning, when Mr. Harrison fails to stir, Max lingers by the side of the bed thumping the inert hand with his elbow, puzzled by the silence that has filled the room. For even the house, once full of the murmurous sounds of old Mr. Harrison's life—his slow steps, his low humming—seemed too still now.

Relatives came to settle the thing and Max was taken to spend the night at the home of the neighbor. The old cottage felt empty for it was empty without the man who was heart. Days passed and Max seems lost. He lays by the door, eyes fixed on the gate as if waiting for Mr Harrison to return. The neighbors were kind to Max but no one could take the place of what he shared with his master.

But something strange began to occur. Heartbroken to the marrow, Max seemed to go about as if Mr. Harrison had never left. Every day, just as he had for years and years, Max trotted down the road, stopped by the village store, and picked up his newspaper with his mouth. So he would set out by their own route, past the park where they'd sat there together, then back home again. He'd lay the paper on the doormat, as was his wont every night.

The residents had grown accustomed to this view of Max continuing his walk that many had seen him walking with Mr. Harrison. Then, however, came the weeks when wonder lay over this small community. Max's routine never broke. Rain or shine, the golden retriever would make the journey, faithfully carrying the paper home without the man once walking beside him.

The villagers tried to break up Max's stride. Some offered him their snacks and others invited him to come play with theirs but Max just looked up at them through sad, knowledge-filled eyes and continued on his walk. Mr. Grady was the village postman. He was quite fond of Max, and no time was allowed to go by without treating the dog to a snack or saying something nice to him.

"It's like he thinks the old man is waiting for him back at the house," Mr. Grady said one afternoon, watching Max walk down the lane, newspaper in hand. Maybe Max believed that. To Max, the routine was the only connection to life with Mr. Harrison. Step by step through their ravaged path, Max moved like a means of preserving his master's memory, something death could not tear apart. A dog that knows the essence of loyalty, which it never heard of except that it overshadows the possibility of dying.

It was night when the sun sinking down had scattered its gold everywhere around the horizon and brought golden heat on the village. This time though, this journey to the old cottage was different for him. He stood at the gate, sat there holding onto his newspaper as it dangled from his mouth. His eyes no longer sorrowful, as if he had accepted the silence that had fallen over his world.

Sit there with his head a little to one side as if he hears something only he hears. In that instant perhaps he does hear Mr. Harrison or perhaps it is just the tranquility brought by time.

Max laid the newspaper down quietly on the grass beside the gate, and rose and walked off-not down the road, which he knew every inch of-but across the open fields behind the village, where he used to run as a pup, wild and full of life. The villagers were heavy-hearted but felt fulfilled to continue with a heavy heart as they saw him leave. This was to be Max's final tribute to his master, a silent good-bye. Though Max never again walked the village path, the memory of his daily journey did stay in the minds of people of Green Meadows. Max proved them to be the depth of love and loyalty even in loss. And in the quiet corner of a village where his old man's cottage stood still, Max's story became that reminder of the bond that is defined between man and dog-a bond formed once that can never break.