For twelve years Deaf Jed cleared his ten-mile stretch of track. He cut back invading undergrowth in spring and summer, carted away sacks of leaves in autumn, swept snow in winter.
Tired of the daily trek from town, he built himself a shack with timber that fell from the wagons, and lived there happily with his dog.
Scruff could hear the trains that Jed couldn’t and kept him safe - until that day in forty-three when he smelled a bitch in heat.
Trains no longer run on that track, but people say Scruff still patrols his stretch, whining for Jed.
Thanks, as always, to
for the photograph that prompted this week's story.
Follow the blue frog trail on her blog to read other writers' takes on the prompt.