This is one of my stories from Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

An ancient bull buffalo and an old female wolf shiver in the wintery cold. Will they live through the night? Or will starvation and freezing take them before morning?

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The old farmer shuffled back a step and dropped his armload of wood. “Sixty winters I been livin’ on this land, and I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this.”

An aging she-wolf lay against the ribs of a grizzled buffalo in the snow next to the barn. Both animals quivered.

“You two scared? Cold? Heh heh. Prob’ly both. I won’t hurt you, I promise. At least you got each other to keep warm. But you look like you’re about ready to turn into ice cubes. I’ll go fetch some stuff. You two keep cuddlin’.”

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The farmer reappeared towing a toboggan laden with an assortment of blanket-covered bulges. He peeled back one of the blankets and threw several handfuls of hay to the buffalo. Then he set a dish of dog food a few inches away from the nose of the wolf.

“How ’bout I do somethin’ to warm you up a bit? Hope you don’t mind if I talk while I work.” He covered both animals with blankets. “I’ll just start a fire over here. S’ppose you two could try eatin’ some of that chow?”

The buffalo tossed its head. The wolf cowered. He pushed the dog food and hay closer with one boot, careful to watch for any signs of aggression. “You look too weak to run off on me. Not that you’d get very far in this weather.” They seemed more afraid of him than he was of them, wide eyes following every move he made.

“Nice and warm? Good. I’m Abraham, by the way. Folks just call me Abe. Awful gettin’ on in years, ain’t it? Here it is Christmas. Just the three of us. Alone and freezin’. The wife is dead, and Aaron ain’t comin’ to visit. Aaron’s my son. Good boy, but busy. Always so busy.”

His eyes glistened. “No farm critters to keep me company no more. Had to get rid of them.” His voice broke. “Old Abe is dyin’. Doc says it’s cancer. Only got a few months, he says. Haven’t told no one. They don’t got time for me. But you’ll listen, won’t you?” Abe’s tears sparkled in his mustache.

The wolf’s eyes brightened as she chewed. The buffalo snorted and then stood, gaining vigor with every mouthful.

“That’s it. You just keep chawin’.” He sat, propping himself against the barn while he watched predator and prey. “Does a soul good to help someone.”

The buffalo pawed at the ground and snorted snow away with its muzzle. Soon it worked its way to the fistful of hay in Abe’s fingers. The wolf yipped. Then she lay at Abe’s side and whimpered.

He sighed. “Yup. Does a soul good.” He rested his hand on the wolf’s head. His shoulders relaxed, and his chin dropped to his chest.

—

Aaron rapped on the front door of the farmhouse. “Surprise! It’s me.”

Frosty crystals on a biting wind drove into every crevice on the porch. Aaron’s throat stung as the bitter chill burned its way into his lungs.

“Dad?” He rapped again. “Dad, it’s Aaron.” He waited a few moments, lowered the giftwrapped parcel he was carrying, and fumbled in his pocket for his key.

A frown crept to his face as he pushed the door open. “Dad, what happened to the heat? It’s as cold as the North Pole in here. Dad?” He searched through the house, his apprehension and anxiety escalating with every room.

Aaron hurried outside. There: three shapes against the barn.

He lowered his head and pushed against the wind.

Past the garden fence.

Past the well.

A sob caught in his throat.

His father now slept his last sleep, a smile frozen on his face. A grizzled buffalo and an aging she-wolf stood guard over his corpse, statues of ice in the blistering cold.

© Kathy Steinemann

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You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

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