once upon a time

His stance was one of a cornered dog, bristling and menacing at first, but he saw she meant no harm, and his hackles went down. No, he could not come with her. She had searched him out, even though she knew she should just let him go. He knew that it was warm and comfortable with her, but the last time he lived in a house it exploded. He had been torn apart by the shrapnel, but still he had tried to save his mistress. In return, she beat him even in his bloody wounded state, as if the explosion had been his fault. He hadn't noticed her turning on the gas. She abandoned him in the streets of a strange town.
He roamed, beaten and kicked at every turn, still the wounds from the explosion festered.  One day a hand touched his back. It sent shivers down his spine. The kind hand belonged to one who offered him a bed, a healing touch and food. It was bright and warm near her, so he went inside. He couldn't relax. This house might explode too. The loving hand would one day strike, because he was a bad dog. He had let the other house explode. The panic grew too much, and he escaped out the back door. He heard her voice calling him, it was the voice he'd always dreamed of. But he couldn't. The light was blinding, he lived in the shadows. The warmth burned his skin.
She had wanted to bathe him and heal the wounds, but he couldn't let her. She deserved a purebred registered dog that had no scars, that worshipped the ground she walked on. One that would protect her from things that go bump in the night instead of a dirty, mangy, mangled stray who was afraid of exploding houses, light and warmth.
Every day she would leave food on the porch for him, and sometimes when she would sit out there, he'd watch from a distance. When he got really lonely he found himself on the porch with her. She was talking softly. She made him a bed outside hoping he'd stay since she wasn't asking him to come inside. In the morning he realized he'd caved again and darted off the porch. Never again, he swore.
This is your home, she whispered into the darkness. It will never explode. Time will heal your wounds if you stop licking them. I'll be right here. The door will always be open, and the light to guide you home, should you ever need it. He heard the voice, but kept running. Now was not the time.