Sheru Saves The Day

 Sher Khan. That’s his name. Quite an imposing one, huh?

We call him Sheru — our jet-black Indie with pointy ears and a long muzzle. So black that it’s hard to spot him at night.

The dog we had before Sheru was a huge German Shepherd named Rocky. After he passed away, everyone assumed we’d “upgrade” to a more expensive breed — like the way they do with cars.

We didn’t. We spotted a two-month-old Sheru at a shelter and brought him home.

Everyone was disappointed.

“No one keeps black dogs at home. It brings bad luck,” said my mother-in-law.

“It looks cheap… local,” remarked a cousin.

“There’s a Great Dane pup in my friend’s house. I can get it for you,” offered an uncle.

We ignored them all.

Then one night around 2 a.m., Sheru began barking nonstop. It wasn’t his usual “𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘵” yap or his “𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳-𝘢𝘵-𝘵𝘩𝘦-𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦” growl. This was different — sharp, urgent, impossible to ignore.

I groggily opened the door and stepped out. By the gate stood the silhouette of a German Shepherd, looking lost. Judging by the thick mane, I guessed it might be our neighbour’s dog, Tony.

“Tony!” I called. He barked back instantly. So it 𝘸𝘢𝘴 him.

A quick call to our neighbour confirmed it — they were rebuilding their compound wall, and Tony had slipped out through a gap.

Within minutes, Tony was safe in his kennel again, and the neighbourhood was quiet.

The next morning, Tony’s owner dropped by with a pack of dog biscuits for Sheru. She thanked us profusely and called him “a smart, brave boy.”

My mother-in-law had nothing to say. Though later that evening, I did notice her slipping Sheru an extra biscuit.

Sometimes, it’s 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 who prove their worth the loudest.