




It was a calm afternoon on the farm. The sun hung lazily in the sky, and the animals enjoyed the warm breeze. Yen Nhi was out tending the vegetable patch with her usual care and patience. CUTIS, the ever-curious golden dog, was close by, sniffing the soil and chasing butterflies. The two were inseparable, their bond forged through countless days of hard work and quiet companionship.
But that peace was shattered in an instant.
Dark clouds gathered without warning. A low rumble rolled across the sky like a warning growl. Yen Nhi looked up, startled. “That’s strange,” she murmured. The weather hadn’t called for storms. But nature doesn’t always follow forecasts.
Within minutes, the wind whipped into a frenzy, sending leaves and branches flying. The sky turned an ominous gray. And then, like a switch had flipped, it began—a storm unlike any she had ever seen. Trees groaned and bent. Sheets of rain crashed down. The noise was deafening.
Yen Nhi grabbed her basket and turned to call CUTIS—but the dog was already gone.
“CUTIS!” she screamed, barely hearing herself over the roar of the wind. “CUTIS, where are you?!”
There was no response.







She stumbled toward the shelter near the barn, hoping CUTIS had taken cover there. The rain blurred her vision, but she pressed on, clutching her arms to her chest as lightning flashed and thunder cracked the sky.
But when she reached the barn, CUTIS was nowhere to be found.
For the first time in years, Yen Nhi felt completely alone—and afraid.
She ducked inside, shivering and soaked to the bone. All around her, animals huddled in fear. But her golden dog, her partner in everything, was missing. Panic set in. Had CUTIS run off into the forest? Was he trapped somewhere, frightened, or hurt?
Yen Nhi spent the next few hours huddled in the barn, helpless. The storm raged on, tearing up trees, flooding the fields, and ripping the roof off part of the chicken coop. She kept thinking about CUTIS. Why had he run away? Why had he left her behind?
When the storm finally passed, the sun peeked cautiously through broken clouds. The farm looked like a war zone—fences were down, crops destroyed, and puddles had turned to small ponds. But Yen Nhi didn’t care about any of that. She had one mission: find CUTIS.





She called his name over and over as she searched the yard, the forest edges, and the fields. “Please,” she whispered. “Please come back.”
She finally found him the next morning, curled up and shaking beneath a collapsed tree on the far end of the property. His golden fur was muddy and tangled. He looked up at her, ashamed and afraid.
Yen Nhi dropped to her knees. “CUTIS! You’re alive!”
CUTIS didn’t move. His tail was still. His eyes looked at her with guilt and fear.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, crawling toward him. “I’m not angry. I was just scared. I thought I lost you.”
He let out a quiet whimper, then slowly crawled into her arms.
Back at the farmhouse, Yen Nhi tended to him with quiet care. She washed him, dried his fur, and wrapped him in a warm blanket. But something had changed between them. CUTIS stayed near her, but he avoided eye contact. He didn’t bark or wag his tail. He looked like a dog who knew he’d failed someone he loved.
And in some way, he had.
Over the next few days, Yen Nhi worked tirelessly to rebuild the damage from the storm. She patched up fences, repaired the chicken coop, and cleaned the barn. CUTIS watched silently. He didn’t chase butterflies or dig in the garden anymore. He stayed by her side like a quiet shadow.





One evening, as they sat by the fire, Yen Nhi finally spoke.
“You ran away when I needed you most,” she said, her voice soft. “I don’t understand why.”
CUTIS looked up at her, his ears drooping.
“But I also know you’re just a dog. You got scared. I did too. I felt completely helpless without you. But I’m glad you’re safe.”
She reached out and stroked his head. CUTIS leaned into her hand, eyes finally meeting hers.
“I’m not perfect either,” she continued. “But we’re a team. We help each other. Next time something bad happens, we’ll face it together. Okay?”
CUTIS slowly lifted his paw and placed it on her leg, as if to say, “I’m sorry.”
In the days that followed, things began to return to normal. The sun returned, the animals relaxed, and the garden slowly came back to life. CUTIS also began to return to his old self. He chased bees, barked at frogs, and rolled in the grass.
But he never left Yen Nhi’s side again—not even for a minute.
Their bond, once shaken, had become even stronger. CUTIS had run from disaster, yes. He had left her in the middle of chaos. But he had also come back, humbled and quiet, and stood by her as she healed the farm with her own hands.
Sometimes, when they sat under the stars, CUTIS would rest his head on her lap and let out a small sigh. And Yen Nhi would gently whisper, “We’re okay. We’re still here.”
Because even in the most helpless moments, forgiveness and love had a way of bringing things back together.