The Traveler and His Dog

The story

Once, a traveler was getting ready to set out on a long journey. Dawn had barely broken, dew still clung to the stones in his yard, and mist covered the mountain road beyond his gate. He threw a thick cloak over his shoulders, set his bundle of bread and water by the door, and kept saying to himself, "It is time to go, it is time to go."

His dog lay by the threshold, where he had been waiting for quite a while. He stretched out both front paws, gave a great big yawn, and kept his ears turned toward the road outside. His tail moved gently back and forth, and his eyes stayed on his master, as if to ask, "Are we ready to leave now?"

When the traveler turned and saw the dog yawning, he frowned and scolded him loudly. "Why are you just sitting there? Everything is packed except you — hurry up and come along!" He spoke quickly and sharply, but he did not look down to see that the water-skin at his own hip was still unfastened, and the knot on his bundle hung loose.

The dog's tail drooped a little, hurt by the scolding, but after a moment he wagged it gently and answered, "Master, I have been ready for a long while. I have only been standing here waiting for you."

The traveler paused and looked down at his own loose bundle and unfastened water-skin, and his cheeks grew warm. He had spoken as if he were the one in a hurry, yet half of his own preparations were not truly finished.

Feeling a little sheepish, he smiled, knelt down, tied the rope of his bundle properly, and buckled his water-skin at last. Only then did he take up the road with his dog trotting beside him.

The sun climbed higher as the mountain road wound on ahead, and the dog stayed close at his master's heel, glancing up now and then. As they walked, the traveler thought quietly to himself that next time something felt delayed, he would first ask whether he, and not his dog, was the one still unready.