Little Lady bolted out the door as Simon was returning from the outhouse. As a ten-year-old boy from the suburbs, going in and out from his grandparent’s farmhouse was strange enough, he had not considered at all about the little beagle rushing out the door. The boy stomped his foot as the dog vanished into the darkness, took a deep breath to call her back, then thought better of it. If he woke his parents, there would only be trouble. All he needed to do was find a flashlight and he could run after her himself. At least, as he tiptoed into the kitchen and heard rain begin to fall, he hoped that would be the case.

            The dog ran hard and fast into the night. Her small body was plump and her legs were short, but the chase and hunt were strong in her blood. Since her family arrived in the countryside for the weekend she could not get enough of the new smells and all the wide-open space. She wanted to roll in the wheat field, she wanted to sniff at the pig pen. One thing was for sure: she never, ever wanted to go back to the to the suburbs again.

            She yipped when the flash of lightning and the boom of thunder roared nearby. On the way in Little Lady saw an old, derelict barn she was sure was close by, and she decided she could wait there through the storm. The old structure stood along the property line and Little Lady ducked under the swelling wood and into relative comfort. Rain seeped through holes in the ceiling, but after some searching she found a warm, dry spot. Just as soon as the squall ended, she’d get right back to her running.

            “Loud enough for you out there?”

            Little Lady jumped and turned around toward the noise. In the dark there wasn’t much to see, but in the momentary flash of a bolt of lightning she came face to face with a tall, gnarled, tired-eyed old hound. At first, she took a step back, ready to run again, but then noticed the outline of the other dog’s long, floppy ears, so much like her own. She was still young, and in familiarity there was comfort. It seemed strange she had not smelled the other creature when she came in, but she chalked that up to the rain.

            “Hello,” Little Lady said. “Is this your doghouse?”

            “Perhaps,” the old hound said. “Or maybe it’s just a house this old dog stays in, you know?”

            The younger dog tilted her head. She did not know but did not want to admit it. “My name is Little Lady.”

            “And my name is Old Girl.”

            The beagle chuckled. “Has that always been your name? Even when you weren’t so old?”

            “I suppose so,” Old Girl said. “Will Little Lady still be your name if some day you aren’t so little?”

            “Oh, the humans say I’ll be small forever,” Little Lady said. “Something about how I’m a purebred. I don’t know what that means, but I’ve heard them say it before.”

            “I don’t know what it means either,” Old Girl said. “But my humans always said I was a big mutt, so maybe the two things are opposites.”

            “Do your humans live near here?” Little Lady wagged her tail fast. “And they let you stay out here all night? Do they need another dog? It’s so wonderful to be out like this, I never get to go out at night back home.”

            “Oh, some nights it’s lovely. Others, like this….” Old Girl trailed off as another bolt of lightning cracked in the distance, rested her head on her paws, and sighed. “Some nights it would be nice to have a bed inside to lay in. And it would be good to get as round as you.” She scratched behind her ear with a boney leg.

            “It’s not as great as it seems,” Little Lady said. “They’ve put me on this special new food that’s so dry and flavorless. It’s supposed to make me even smaller; I don’t know why they’d want that.”

            “Maybe you’re just not where you’re supposed to be. Or eating all you should be,” Old Girl said. “My boy used to feed me ham hocks from the table. They were scrumptious, but the bits of bone would irritate my stomach for days after.”

            “I’d still take it,” Little Lady said. “My boy wouldn’t do that for me.”

            At that same time, flashlight in one hand and galoshes covered in mud, Simon ran up and down the farm and called, “Lady! Lady!” Each yell more desperate than the last.

            Little Lady paused at one wall of the barn where a collar hung on a hook, some message written in human scratched beneath it. “Is this yours? You don’t have to wear it all the time?”

            “I only ever wore it for walks.”

            “You see what I mean?” Little Lady jumped with joy at the thought and scratched at the collar clipped around her neck. “To be out all day and night and not wear these itchy things, it sounds like a great life to me.”

            Old Girl asked, “Why do you always need to have the collar on?”

            “In case I run off, I suppose,” Little Lady said. “And so they can pull me away when we’re out and about and I run up to bark at all those cars in the street.”

            “I can see why what would be tiring.” Old Girl stretched out her long legs and yawned. “But it also sounds so nice to be so worried about.”

            “Oh, come on,” Little Lady said. “Do people ever really know what’s best for us? I’ve heard them talk, they had something done to me and now I can’t have puppies. I don’t even know if I’d want puppies, but maybe I would have.”

            “They’re wonderful when they come,” Old Girl said.

            “You’ve had some?”

            “I was a mother once, yes. My beautiful litter was born right in this barn, long, long ago.” She slumped down again in tiredness. “Of course, my humans couldn’t care for them all, so they were given away. It was the world to do it once. But after that—” she paused, leaned down, and gnawed at her stomach for a few seconds. “To be able to carry little ones, but not to be doing it for years and years, it takes a toll on you. Better, perhaps, that you never had to experience all that.”

            Old Girl’s contrary nature finally made Little Lady bark in frustration. “How can you say all those things? Do you really think that in my tiny house with my collars and my surgery and my dried food that I’m more loved than you?”

            Back at the farm, a soaking, muddy, defeated Simon stood outside the door of the guest bedroom. With a frightened knock, he called, “Dad?”

            Before Old Girl could answer Little Lady’s question, another bolt of lightning flew down from the sky and struck an old tree next to the barn. The fire that ignited was out an in instant, but Little Lady still shrieked, ran, and curled up by Old Girl’s side.

            The old hound licked her head and asked, “And would you rather be alone on a night like this?”

            “They’d leave you out here by yourself, even during storms?” Little Lady shuddered and mewled. “Maybe that doesn’t sound like love after all.”

            “Oh they loved me all right,” Old Girl said. “I think there are all kinds of different ways the humans show us those things. Maybe the ways aren’t very important. Maybe it doesn’t matter how they love us, only that they love us.”

            Little Lady just stared at the older dog she was curled against, rolled into a little ball, and asked, “Even when we don’t appreciate them for it?”

            There was no hesitation in the old hound’s voice. “You’re still a little one, you’re still learning these things. But they’ll teach you how endless that love can be.”

            A moment later, there came a call of, “Lady! Little Lady!”

            The beagle perked up and walked to the threshold of the barn. Two little lights shook in the darkness and rushed toward the barn. With relief and excitement both at once, Little Lady howled.

            “Dad, Dad!” Simon called. “It sounds like she’s over here!”

            The boy rushed into the dilapidated barn and Little Lady, in spite of everything, jumped to meet him and laid kisses all over his face.

            “There you are, girl.” He sounded like he would burst out in laughter and tears at the same time. “You had us so worried.”

            “Next time tell me as soon as it happens.” Simon’s father breathed a tired sigh as he stepped into the barn. Little Lady looked toward him as he stepped in. Old Girl rose from the floor and rubbed up against his leg, but strangely, he paid her no mind. “I know your grandpa’s place better than you.”

            “I will, I will.” There was no conviction in Simon’s words, he was too busy being relieved. “Come on, girlie, let’s get you back home.”

            The boy’s father, however, lingered as he pointed the flashlight around the barn, as if he were looking for something.

When Simon first stepped back out into the rain with Little Lady by himself, he turned and called, “Dad?”

            “Just a minute,” his father said. “Just looking for something.” He approached one wall, the old, haggard hound followed at his side. At the rusted hook with the old leather collar he stopped and blew dust from the etching in the wall.

Little Lady still in his hands, Simon stepped up next to his side and asked, “What is that?”

            “Just something I made for an old friend,” his father said. “Maybe an old friend who helped keep Lady safe tonight.”             He ran a finger over the cuts in the swollen wood and lowered his hand. The old hound rested her head against his open palm.

            With a raised flashlight and squinted eyes, Simon read the words in the wall. “Rest in peace, Old Girl. You are loved, now and forever.”