Mystery Dog

My name is Susie, and I am seven years old. I’m in second grade, and this is my story. It’s a mystery about a dog. I live in Sugar Creek, where red and gold leaves adorn the trees each October. There’s a dog known to us children as Rusty. Rusty is a sturdy Airedale with a coat the color of cinnamon. He would stare at us from a distance, but he never came close enough to be petted. No one knew where Rusty came from or where he went at night.  

One late fall afternoon, as the orange sun dipped low in the west, I began chasing a beautiful yellow and black butterfly. It flew out of my backyard, and I followed it. The butterfly was always just out of reach. I found myself at the edge of Willow Pond; a place my parents warned me never to go alone.

The bank of the pond was slick with damp leaves. The butterfly hovered over the edge of the water. I reached, hoping the butterfly would land on my arm, but I slipped and tumbled into the cold, murky water. Terrified, I screamed. My clothes were dragging me under the water. I tried to swim, but I couldn’t lift my arms. Oh, Mom, Dad, help me!

No one saw me fall into the water except Rusty, who was standing in the brush at the far edge of the pond. He bolted without hesitation and leaped into the water. He paddled straight toward me. His head stretched high above the water. I could almost hear him calling, I’m coming. I’m coming. His front paws scoop forward in alternating strokes, splashing as they push water behind. I was paddling and screaming and then I went underwater. Cold darkness enveloped me. I knew I was crying, but I couldn’t feel tears because I was underwater. Then I heard paddling. Rusty grabbed my jacket collar with his teeth. My head popped above the surface as Rusty pulled me toward the shore.

I heard my mother calling, “Susie, Susie.” A neighbor heard barking and screams and told my parents. My mom and dad ran to me. Rusty stood protectively, licking my cheeks. When Dad knelt down; Rusty moved away, but cautiously watched as Dad and Mom, hugged me.

The news of the stray dog who saved me spread throughout the village. People wanted to know more about him. But where he came from remains a mystery.

My parents and I don’t care about the mystery. We know one thing: Rusty saved my life. That night we took him to our home, dried him off, fed him, and gave him a soft blanket by the fireplace. Rusty isn’t a stray anymore. He now has a forever home.