The farm had few visitors and rarely any intruders, and the old farm dog had grown accustomed to a life of idle serenity. It had given up yapping at the slightest disturbance and would simply move around the yard searching for the best spot in which to stretch out and sleep.

That is how the wolf found it: snoozing complacently on a dry patch of concrete. The wolf decided to make a quick meal of him, but just as she was about to pounce, the old hound woke and managed to scrambled clear of her snapping jaws.

The wolf chased the dog into a corner. “Please don’t kill me,” it cried realising it was done for. The wolf snarled with derision, but the dog continued to beg for its life. “Or wait a few days, at least. Just a few days.” “Why on earth would I do that?” the wolf asked.

“Because in a few days, I will make a much more satisfying meal,” the dog explained. “There’s going to be a wedding here, a big feast with roast meat, pies and puddings, and plenty of scraps for me.”

“See how skinny I am now,” the dog continued. “In a few days, I will be fatter and juicier, and sweeter. Well worth the wait. And what is more, you would be granting me one last meal. I’ve been looking forward to it for months. I don’t want to miss it.”

The dog was rather scrawny, the wolf had to admit, and she certainly preferred her meat tender and sweet, and though she had little use for magnanimity, it did give her the means to accept the proposal gracefully, not greedily, so she agreed to postpone her meal for a few days.

But when the wolf returned a few days later she did not find the dog waiting in the yard. He was instead curled up on the slated roof of an outhouse. “Psst, come down from there,” she ordered as forcefully and quietly as she could. “No, I don’t think I will,” the old dog replied.

“Come on, let me see how plump and juicy you’ve become after this wedding business of yours,” the wolf continued. “No, I think I’ll stay here, thanks,” the old dog replied. “Come down at once,” the wolf insisted. “You’ve had your feast. Now it is time for mine.”

“Ah, but there was no feast,” the old dog revealed. “There was no wedding either. I made it all up.” “Then I’ll eat you just as you are,” the wolf replied with steely menace. “Ha! You should have done that when you had the chance,” said the old dog. “You won’t catch me again.”

The wolf felt a growl rumble up from her empty belly. But she was more indignant than hungry. “You’d better watch your skinny little back, you lying good-for-nothing,” she muttered. “You’ll have to come down sooner or later. And I’ll be waiting for you when you do.”

The old dog began to bark, forcing the wolf to retreat. He barked and barked until he was hoarse and the farmer’s wife came out and threw a scrubbing brush at his head and told him to get down from the roof. The old dog knew then that his days of idle serenity had come to an end.

No longer would he be able to stretch and snooze complacently wherever pleased. He would sleep on the roof until the cold weather made it impossible. He would bark at shadows and bolt his food and scratch at the door to be let inside at night.

And the wolf? She never did come back, though the old dog was convinced he’d seen her lurking in the trees.

© Richard Parkin, 2022