BARRY DER MENSCHENRETTER

The snow was blinding, a total whiteout as Barry trudged on with his heavily padded feet. He was on a mission as usual. A troop of travelers had gone missing, buried under the treacherous avalanche which had come cascading down with a relentless fury.

Barry with his highly sensitive senses to sniff out frozen bodies went about his task with great devotion. His handlers followed close behind him, every hope pinned on Barry as he dug out chunks of snow with his strong paws. The Alps resounded with his victorious howls when he succeeded.

Barry belonged to a breed of Alpine Mastiffs, who later came to be called as the St. Bernard after the St. Bernard Hospice where the injured or unfortunate travelers were brought in to be bundled up in warm clothes and to be fed steaming broth.

Barry, in this fashion had saved over forty lives. He was a cuddly pup who was brought in from a nearby farm and adopted by the St. Bernard monastery. Watching a long line of mastiffs rescuing people, he had grown to love his job.

Sporting a saddle pack of bread and a barrel of water tied to his collar, this valiant canine hero set out everyday, scouting for potential pilgrims in an ill fated accident of their carriages or infamous avalanches which came without a warning.

His gorgeous pools of eyes, a well rounded bear-like appearance and friendly demeanour appealed to children and grown ups alike.

A great furore arose one day at the hospice, that a child had been failed to be brought in from a group of rescues. The parents were frantic and inconsolable. In a trice, the mastiff rescue team set out, Barry taking the lead. Innumerable digging attempts drew up a naught.

Barry bounded ahead of them.Huffing and panting, Barry brought down his burly and robust legs, prodding and jabbing at the heavy snow, a stream of icy spray flying in all directions.

Whimpering at a possible failure to bring out a human alive, Barry yelped when he struck a tiny frozen body. The team rushed to the spot with as much speed as they could muster, but Barry had done the unimaginable.

The rescue team couldn't help but watch in awe, for, Barry had surpassed his duty and performed a deed which he wasn't familiar with or trained in. Hauling the puny toddler on his back, Barry had raced down slope and back to the hospice to the amazement of all.

But what's a hero without the sacrifice of a martyr? Barry met the razor sharp steel blade of a bayonet valiantly when he was mistaken for a wolf in the frosty blindness by a soldier he had set out to rescue.

Scarlet pools spread fast on the pristine snow and Barry lay torn and ripped in the cold. With every breath leaving his body faster than an inhale, Barry soon succumbed to an excruciating end…

Holy are the grounds stained with the blood of a hero.

(496 words excluding the title)

©️ Sangeetha Kamath

Pic Courtesy:Image by Šárka Jonášová from Pixabay

Comments

'OWL'TASTIC

' OWL' TASTIC He sits in solitude as the sun slips by Rousing from deep sleep as the moon rises high Now is his time to party and play With a hoot of delight he's set out to catch his prey Swooping on rats and cubs of tiny critters His noiseless wings span the fields, woods and pastures Wise old owl is his title to this day Black, white or brown, they're endearing creatures so I say Keeping him as a pet is a hearts delight When they cuddle up to you in the blinding sunlight Turning his head all the way, he's powerful and elegant—an acrobat of the skies! ©️ Sangeetha Kamath Pic Courtesy:Pixabay

FAIRY ROSE AND THE THREE WISHES (DAY 5, POST 2)

While there was no dearth of dispiriting news floating around during the pandemic, this was one unexpected blow! How deeply I was mourning the passing of my former school headmistress, even as I put one more chapter to rest in the confines of my treasured memories. I was fortunate to have 'Sister' as my headmistress in primary school. Although I feared her greatly, I was also one of those lucky few who got to see her nurturing side. She had made it a point to give me company every evening while I waited for my father to pick me up from school, which would inevitably be long after dismissal time due to his work constraints. We're talking of the '80s here when there were no after-school facilities in my beloved hometown. I would constantly be the lone student in the portico and it meant a lot to have an authoritarian figure looking out for my safety and well-being. I was one those painfully shy nerds who by default went into the good books of the teachers and was in th...

TAKEN (NaNoWriMo Day 8 )

TAKEN The floor boards creaked and my footsteps echoed in the vast emptiness. Shafts of moving lights filtered through a skylight from the high ceiling. In the dim murkiness, I could only see towering silhouettes. Unrecognisable. Unidentifiable. Where was I and how did I come here? Was I in an accident or had I bumped my head, lost my memory and wandered off to this abandoned structure? I only had questions and not a single answer. I felt about in my pockets for a phone. I could do with some light in here. Luck was on my side. I turned on the flashlight and saw a litter of weathered wooden crates, soggy cardboard boxes and newspapers littering the floor. I picked one up. The print was smudged and illegible. What on earth! It seemed to be a warehouse. Paint and plaster was peeling off the walls. Where was the door? I need to get out of here! I turned my flash...

A BRIDGE ACROSS

A BRIDGE ACROSS In the floating autumn leaves that glide and fall Through the crimping mists from the valleys that roll Hobbling on rough-hewn paths and treacherous terrain I craved for solitude but in vain Under sailing summer skies, strolling along the boulevards tree lined A harbor to anchor the moiling, searched my fevered mind Heaven spun stars were swaddled by lurching clouds No light escaped from this infinite shroud Black velvets and dark laces cocooned my inner dragon A soothing comfort was this sable, inky beacon 'Twas the kind of black where I was at peace In the protective arms of the night which painted my lovely dreams Shut out by turbid fabrics were muted hues Not a fuchsia, sepia or even diluted ecrus… Amidst monochrome shadows and metronome chatter Where was the light I wondered ! Not a tingle of frost nor a smudge of the moon I bided my time to emerge in...

GATOS MEUS QUERIDOS

Chapter 1 Muay The Warrior Cat Muay Thai came to be called so for the feisty and spirited little thing she was, reminiscent of the intense and energetic martial art of Muay Thai . Her bold personality inspired me to give her a name that reflected her sass and vigor. Muay Thai's antics were the stuff of legends. She was a buzz of energy, always getting into mischief and mayhem. Whether she was chasing invisible bugs, leaping over furniture like an acrobat or wrestling with toys, Muay Thai was a force to be reckoned with. Her favorite pastime was "attacking" my hands and feet, using her lightning-fast reflexes and razor-sharp teeth. It was a game she loved, and one that always left me in stitches. Despite her tough-as-nails persona, Muay Thai was also a total softie at heart. She loved nothing more than curling up in my lap and purring contentedly, her eyes gleaming with adoration before snoozing into the deepest of sl...

Sangeetha Kamath

Search This Blog