"Sadi." That's the name I gave him. An aged, healthy stray dog with pure white fur, inspired his name. In Bengali, the color white is usually called Shaada. I don't recall exactly when he arrived in our locality, but when he did, he was young, energetic, and petite with a well-built body, his white coat an added charm. He looked more like a German Shepherd than a typical stray. He arrived alongside "Laali," another female stray dog of similar age who was already a familiar face in our neighborhood. We, the residents, used to care for Laali. I suppose she had somehow fallen for Saadi and invited him to stay with her on our streets. Just below our house was a vacant garage built for us. In the mornings, both dogs would wander around, returning by afternoon to eat the food offered by locals before taking shelter in my garage.

I work in the IT sector and have demanding night shifts. My cab usually dropped me off around 3:00 to 3:15 am at the entrance of our locality. No matter where they were at that hour, both dogs would come running to me, rubbing their heads against my legs, asking for a pat. Once I obliged, they would silently guide me to my gate. There were times when other stray dogs would bark at me as soon as I got out of the cab. Saadi and Laali would rush to my defense. Saadi, especially, would take the lead, confronting the other dogs in their barking language, as if scolding them and declaring, "This is my man. Don't bark at him." Saadi's personality and attitude among the other dogs were truly impressive; every dog seemed to follow his lead. And Saadi and Laali were always together.

I remember the day Laali's body was taken away by the municipality. Saadi stood beside me, gazing at her open eyes, tears seemingly welling up in his own. This strong, well-built dog with such presence looked like a small child who had lost their lifelong companion. I don't know if dogs have memories in the same way we do, or the ability to articulate them. But that day, Saadi looked at her as if he was trying to relive every moment they had shared. His face was so pitiful. I patted his head and said, "Don't worry, Saadi. I can never replace Laali, but rest assured, I will always be here for you." I don't know what he understood, but he began rubbing his forehead against my thighs, a mournful sound coming from his throat, which brought tears to my own eyes.

Almost a year has passed since then. Saadi is now more settled and composed. I don't know if it's due to my care or the affection of the other people in our locality. Nowadays, he doesn't leave our garage or our area very often. He's now the only dog in our locality, making him adored by everyone, especially me. My morning begins around 12:30 or 1:00 pm, after my night shift. My first task after waking is to check the garage for Saadi and, if he's there, give him biscuits or cookies. He gets his afternoon lunch from one of the families in our locality, and we prepare his dinner every day. My wife, daughter, and I are all very fond of Saadi. Either my wife or daughter serves him dinner daily, and they won't eat until he has. Even after my night shifts, when I return around 3:00 to 3:15 am, Saadi is always waiting at the entrance of our locality to welcome me or protect me from any other aggressive dogs. A simple pat on the head isn't enough then; I have to give him some biscuits or cookies that I specifically buy for him. Only then will he let me pass; otherwise, he'll simply sit by my legs.

One night, Saadi bit a stray dog whose only offense was barking at me as I got out of the cab. If I hadn't stopped him, I believe he might have killed that dog. I saw a fierce aggression in his eyes that day. He wasn't barking but growling. Yet, despite everything, Saadi always came to escort me to my doorstep at night.

Today, I woke up late, around 3:00 pm. My office cab was scheduled to arrive at 4:00 pm, so I had a rushed hour to bathe and have lunch. I completely forgot to check on Saadi and give him his cookies. When I was ready and locking my door for the office, Saadi wasn't in the garage. I called my wife, who was inside and asked her to give Saadi cookies or biscuits if she saw him, as I had forgotten. I reached the office around 5:00 pm and turned off my mobile phone, placing it in a locker as phones are restricted on the office floor. I worked, but Saadi was on my mind since I hadn't seen him that day. I considered calling my wife to ask about him, but that would take time as I'd need to go to my locker on a different floor.

While returning in the cab around 2:45 am, I turned on my phone and saw six missed calls from my wife. Just then, my phone screen flashed a low battery warning and switched off. I remembered I hadn't charged it properly due to the rush. I thought it was okay; I wouldn't call my wife anyway since it was late and they'd be asleep. If it was an emergency, she would let me know when I got home. My room is separate from my wife's and daughter's.

My office cab was just ten minutes from home when the tire punctured. The driver insisted I wait while he called the office for another cab. I told him it was only a ten-minute walk, and I could manage. Another cab would take at least 30 to 40 minutes. I said goodbye to the driver and started walking home. It was almost 3:00 am. 

The street was well-lit, with no dark spots, but it was eerily silent and deserted as if humanity had vanished and I was the only one left. The silence was so profound that even the sound of my footsteps made me feel like someone was behind me.

I was passing a well-built swimming pool when suddenly, in the distance, I saw a few stray dogs resting under an LED street light. I grew a bit nervous, realizing that even though I was in my locality, I was still ten minutes away from my home. In the mornings, I walk around this street without fear because it's usually crowded. But now, there was no one. Even Saadi wouldn't know I was here. The place felt so abandoned that no one would come to my rescue. I counted with growing fear; three dogs were lying lazily. Suddenly, out of nowhere, another dog emerged from an intersecting lane. It didn't approach me but started barking loudly. This barking alerted the other three lazy dogs. They began to run towards me aggressively, growling and baring their teeth like monsters. I could feel the anger and aggression on their faces as if an intruder had entered their territory, and they were born to eliminate it.

I was surrounded by the three dogs in front and two more behind. They barked at me ferociously and aggressively, drool dripping from their canines. They all looked like vampires. They began moving towards me slowly and deliberately, barking and growling. My nerves broke, and I started to panic. I thought this was my last night, that they would tear me apart. I closed my eyes and surrendered, ready to face the consequences. Even with my eyes closed, I could still hear their barking, but then I heard another bark, one very familiar to me. This bark wasn't directed at me but was defending me, which I could understand from its tone. It was stubborn and loud, causing the other dogs' barks to fade and eventually disappear. Now, I could only hear that persistent barking. How could this be?

I slowly opened my eyes and saw what I had hoped for: Saadi, in all his usual assertiveness, barking at the other dogs in the same tone he used on our street. I was confused. How had he come so far? It was almost ten minutes away from my home. Okay, he was here, but how could he have known what was happening to me, that I was in a terrifying situation with these dogs?

The other dogs fled, and Saadi came to me, rubbing his forehead against my legs as he always did. I patted him. He looked unusually fresh and clean as if he had just bathed. I was incredibly relieved and gave him the cookies I had brought for him. Before eating, he stared at me with a slightly different look, as if trying to convey something. I started walking towards my home, and he followed after eating the cookies. My mobile phone rang. It was the office transport team. Before answering, I patted Saadi's head again as we walked. The transport team was calling to confirm if I had reached home safely since I had dropped off ten minutes before my designated stop. I told them I had arrived safely and was at my gate, about to enter. I took out my keys, and while opening the gate, I noticed Saadi wasn't beside me. This was his area; he could be anywhere. He'll come back after his roam and sleep in the garage, I thought and went inside. As I entered my room, I saw a ray of light coming from the slit of my wife's bedroom door. I was heading towards that room when the door opened, and my wife came out. Seeing her, I realized she hadn't slept. Her eyes looked swollen as if she had been crying. Seeing me, she said in a choked voice, tears streaming down her face,

"I called you multiple times, but your phone was switched off. Saadi is no more."

Just those two sentences, but the last one sent a chill down my spine. I thought she must have misspoken and asked again what had happened to Saadi. She explained that Saadi had been found dead near the locality pond. A rickshaw puller we knew had informed her, and she had gone to confirm. She had then called the municipality, and they had taken his body away. Saadi died in a road accident when he was crossing the road.

I immediately ran and opened my gate, rushing outside to search for Saadi, who had been with me just half an hour ago. And now I was hearing he was gone. I couldn't find him in the garage or on the streets. I returned and asked my wife when this had happened. She said in the evening. Looking at me through her tears, she asked why I looked so confused. I told her nothing and kept staring at my garage, where Saadi used to rest. Yes, he was gone, but he had fulfilled his responsibility diligently, just as he always did. He had saved me from those ferocious stray dogs. Now I understood the meaning behind his gaze when I gave him the cookies on the road. He had been trying to say,

"Thank you for staying by my side. I have done my duty. Take care and love for you and your family."

Tears welled up in my eyes again.

.    .    .