“I like that story.” Callie sniffed the fence, then sat beside him. “What’s an old timer?”
Shep explained about the fight kennel — the dim, drafty structure filled with row upon row of narrow metal-linked cages — and about the young pups and the old timers. “This one dog had been there for many moons. His muzzle was pocked with scars and he was missing an eye. He was in the cage next to mine, and he kind of looked after me. I was a scrawny pup, just weaned and taken from my litter. I had bad dreams and barely slept with all the howling and barking in the kennel. I guess he felt bad for me, and so he told me stories of this Great Wolf to help me sleep.”
“That sounds nice,” Callie said.
Shep stood. “It wasn’t.”
“Not the fight kennel, but the old timer, I mean.” She scratched her ear, then licked her hind paw. “I’ve never lived with another dog before. I was taken from my litter and given to my girl. I’ve lived with her all my life — there’s a good smell on this post — anyway, as long as I can remember. It would have been nice to have had an old timer looking out for me.”
“Well, now you have one,” Shep said, cuffing her on the ear with his paw.
Callie reared and slapped his muzzle playfully. “You’re no old timer.”
“I feel like one sometimes.” Shep sighed. “Worn out and in need of a soft bed and my boy.”
“Weird,” said Callie. “I feel this energy buzzing around inside me all the time. Now, running here — this is the first time I haven’t felt like chewing or digging or tearing my way out of my fur.”
Callie shook her coat, sending a spray of water off her back. “Squirrel!” she barked, then tore off across the street.
A blur of gray fur splashed through a puddle — that was all Shep saw. But Callie was after it like it was a Ball. As Shep watched, the fur took form: It was indeed a squirrel. How had Callie seen that?
The squirrel bolted for a tree trunk, claws scrambling to catch hold on the stone street. Callie closed in, leapt, and landed right on the squirrel’s tail. Her jaws snapped closed. The squirrel shrieked.
“I’ve got it!” Callie’s triumphant bark was muffled by squirrel fur.
While her jaws were open, the squirrel pulled its tail free and jumped onto the tree.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Callie slammed the squirrel against the bark of the tree with her paws, then sliced at its head with her fangs.
Shep raced over to the battle. The little animal squealed and scratched at Callie’s nose, but Callie clenched her jaws around its neck and raked its body with her claws. Shep had no idea why Callie felt the need to fight such a little animal. He’d often chased squirrels in the Park, but why fight one?
“What are you doing?” he asked, flabbergasted.
The squirrel’s attacks slowed. Its body twitched a few times, then fell still. Only then did Callie loosen her jaws. The gray thing fell from her jowls onto the sodden dirt surrounding the tree.
Callie had a crazed look in her eyes, like that of a dog in the fight cage. The Black Dog. Shep raised his hackles; he readied for her to turn her attack on him. But then her eyes cleared, and she wagged her tail. Her tongue circled her jowls.
“My fur, that’s delicious!” She sniffed the squirrel’s body. “It came from the squirrel.” She licked a gash in the gray fur. “Taste this!” she said, pushing the little body toward Shep.
Shep calmed himself, happy to see that the Black Dog had not taken hold of the yapper. He sniffed the squirrel’s body. “It’s food?” Shep asked.
“It’s that voice I told you about,” Callie yipped. “I saw the squirrel and the voice said, ‘Chase that!’ And when I caught it, the voice said, ‘Bite!’ so I bit. I can’t believe I actually caught the thing! I’ve tried so many times, but there was always a leash or I was too slow. I guess the rain helped me, maybe hid my approach. But can you believe it? I caught it! And bit it! It tried to escape when I called to you, but then I smashed it down —” Her eyes began to glaze over again.
Shep nipped her scruff. “Stop.”
Callie shook him off. “What?” She licked her shoulder.
“You were getting a little wild,” Shep woofed. “Slow down,” he said. “Start with that voice. It said the squirrel was food?”
“Not exactly. Well, maybe. But it is food! Taste that!” She nudged the body closer to Shep.
Shep sniffed the fur, then licked it. It tasted amazing, like the best kibble he’d ever dreamed of, like what he was meant to eat….
Callie picked up the little body and trotted under an overhang. Out of the rain, she lay down with the squirrel between her paws and began to lick it. Then she caught a piece of fur in her teeth.
“Oh, Shep! Come taste this! This part’s even better!”
But Shep could not move. His stomach soured watching the little dog devour the squirrel. He knew that taste: It was lifeblood. It was inside that squirrel, and it was also inside of dogs. Shep had tasted lifeblood far too often in the fight cage — to him it was the taste of the fight cage. One lick, and his mind was flooded with the smell of the sand floor, the howls of the other dogs, claws and fangs slashing, the motionless body of his opponent, lifeblood spilling forth …
“Hey.” Callie had come back over to him. She licked his nose. “You all right?”
Her ears flopped out, friendly, and her tail wagged low. She was not an opponent; he did not have to kill her to survive.
“Yes,” Shep said, shaking his head. “It’s just the squirrel. That stuff is lifeblood. I’ve tasted it before.”
“In the fight cage?” Callie licked his muzzle, trying to comfort him.
Shep shivered and the memory shook off him like the water from his coat. “I don’t want to taste that ever again.”
“You don’t have to,” she woofed. “We’ll find some more kibble in the trash, okay?”
Shep panted, grinning, and waved his tail. “Okay,” he said. “How’s your nose?” The little dog’s snout was covered in scratches from the squirrel’s defense.
Callie licked her muzzle. “Huh,” she grunted, then licked it again. “Tastes like the squirrel.” She licked her nose once, twice, then stopped, her eyes wide. “Does this mean I could eat me?”
Shep panted again. The little dog was serious. “I wouldn’t advise it,” he said.
Callie nipped Shep’s neck. “Well, I don’t mean me,” she grumbled, “but dogs. Are we food?”
“I guess,” Shep woofed. “But I don’t see anything on these streets that can chase us down.”
“That’s right!” Callie barked. “So watch out, squirrels! Lizards, too! We’re the meanest, baddest things around!”
As they continued down the street, Callie strutted like she owned the whole city, like she was a big dog, the Great Wolf himself. Shep couldn’t help but pant at her tough act. He did not feel so secure himself. He hadn’t wanted to scare the little dog, but there was something on these streets that was tougher than her: wild dogs. If they ran into that Kaz from the Park, they’d have real trouble on their paws.
The sky began to darken, and the rain continued to fall in sheets. Shep hadn’t scented, seen, or heard a human during their whole trek. He clung to the hope that this was simply a result of the rain having washed every recent scent away, but a part of him knew that this wasn’t true. There were no humans anywhere. Every building was empty and most of the lights were out. Some windows were covered with big pieces of wood, others with metal shutters. The city was abandoned.
Other creatures sensed this abandonment by the humans. Animals used to skulking around the fringes of the human world were out in the open. Long green iguanas crawled on top of sleeping Cars. Stray cats scuttled across the streets and stood in the alleys, feasting on trash. Flocks of pigeons and gulls strutted down the middle of the empty streets. These Outsiders knew that the humans were gone from their dens, and that they wouldn’t be returning for some time.
Anxiety radiated from Shep’s every hair and whisker
. Where had his humans gone? Where was his boy? But Callie was not at all worried. She kept telling Shep that they’d scent a human around the next corner, or the next. Still, Shep couldn’t shake the feeling that he might never smell his boy again, that the man and the woman had taken him somewhere far away, where Shep couldn’t find him. Why would they have done such a thing?
“I think we should go back,” barked Shep. The splatter of rain on the pavement had gotten so loud that Shep had to repeat himself twice before Callie even noticed he’d barked.
“Go back?” she yipped, trotting over to where Shep stood in a doorway. “But it’s not even night out.”
“We can’t wait until dark to return home. Things we don’t want to run into will be out on the street by that time.”
“Like what? I haven’t seen or smelled anything bigger than an iguana.” Callie sniffed the air and twisted her ears, listening. “Nothing.”
“Like you could hear an enemy stalking you in this rain,” Shep woofed, snickering. “You couldn’t even hear me barking as loud as my lungs could manage. I can’t see or smell anything, and that makes me feel worse, not better. We’ll have no warning of an attack.”
“Attack from what?” Callie asked, annoyance creeping into her bark. “You said we’re the biggest things out here.”
“I lied.”
Callie’s eyes opened wide and her tail flattened between her legs. “Lied?” she whined, cowering. “About what? What’s out here?”
“Dogs,” Shep said, his bark softer. He hadn’t wanted to scare the fur off the little yapper. “Wild dogs. Remember what I told you about the Great Wolf? Well, there’s another legend, about the Black Dog. As my old-timer told it, he means death for any decent dog, simple as that. He doesn’t care about anything except fighting. That’s what a wild dog’s like. I’ve seen them do things, bad things.”
“Like what?” Callie was trembling from nose to tail now, her legs bent, her belly low to the ground.
“Things I don’t want to see again, okay?” Shep barked. “So let’s hightail it home before night sets in and it becomes even harder for me to smell danger.”
Shep began sniffing his way back along the faint scent of their trail, hoping the rain hadn’t washed it completely away. Callie pressed herself against his flank. Every few stretches, he felt her tremble. Her eyes flicked this way and that, searching the shadows for menacing wild dogs.
Shep felt bad about having scared her into submission, but they were heading home now and that made him happy. “You want to hear the legend?”
“What! Legend? Where?” Callie’s teeth chattered with fear.
“It’s the story of the Great Wolf and the Black Dog,” Shep woofed. He figured it might calm her down. “Listen.”
The Black Dog didn’t like the Great Wolf or the peace he’d created; the Black Dog had liked things the way they’d been. He thought it was the way of the dog to kill or be killed. He was chaos, a wildness that hurtled toward death, and he hungered for the Great Wolf and the end of his reign.
The Black Dog knew that the Great Wolf could only remain great if he commanded the respect of all dogs. He figured that the Great Wolf could only command such respect so long as he was the toughest dog. With this thought in his jaws, the Black Dog dug up a plan.
The Black Dog considered himself a crafty fight dog, and so he challenged the Great Wolf in front of all the other dogs. The Great Wolf had to accept the challenge or submit to the Black Dog, and the Great Wolf knew that submission would mean a return to chaos. He accepted the challenge.
They fought a fierce battle, but after many heartbeats, the Black Dog sensed that the Great Wolf would prevail. Unwilling to accept defeat, the Black Dog took a final slash at the Great Wolf’s muzzle, then stole away into the shadows, ragged tail between his legs.
The Black Dog did not give up. He found other dogs, big, tough dogs, and convinced them that they could replace the Great Wolf if they defeated him. One after the other, these dogs challenged the Great Wolf, and one after the other, all were vanquished.
Still the Black Dog would not concede his failure. It occurred to him that perhaps he had gone about things all wrong. Perhaps there was no bigger or tougher dog than the Great Wolf. As he passed a litter of pups, just a few moons old, scrabbling outside their dam’s den, he got an idea. Perhaps he did not need to find a bigger, tougher dog than the Great Wolf.
One of the pups was full of lifeblood, a real terror to his littermates.
“You think you’re tough?” he asked the pup.
“Tougher than you,” the scrapper snarled.
“Tougher than the Great Wolf?” the Black Dog growled. “A scrawny pup could never best the Great Wolf.”
The pup looked up at the Great Wolf, who sat at the mouth of his den, high on the mountain above. “I can best him,” the pup growled. He scrabbled his way up to the Great Wolf’s den and challenged him to battle.
“Shep!” Callie screamed.
Shep whipped around. Tugging on Callie’s scruff were the talons of a yapper-sized bird of prey. Its brown, speckled wings beat about Callie’s head and tail. Callie tried to roll to get its claws out of her fur, but the bird had her firmly in its grasp.
Shep leapt and caught the bird’s wing in his teeth. He wrenched the wing down and the bird screeched. Dropping Callie, it wheeled around on its free wing. It began pecking at Shep’s ears and muzzle with its sharp beak and grabbing at his fur with its talons.
Shep released the wing and flung his body away from the bird’s slashing claws. Then he swiped his fangs down onto the bird’s head, snapping his jaws tight. Its skull crunched between his teeth and its body fell still.
Shep dropped the bird and scrambled over to Callie. She sat in a puddle, desperately trying to lick the wounds on her back.
“I was watching for dogs,” she whimpered. “You never said anything about birds.”
Shep licked her scruff. “I didn’t know birds went after dogs,” he said. “Cats, yes.”
“I’m the size of some cats!” Callie snapped.
“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Shep barked back at her. “It’s not like I asked the bird to attack you.”
Callie licked her fur, stopping after every few licks to flash a withering look at Shep.
“Can we at least get out of the rain?” Shep woofed. “I can get a better sense of the injury if we’re not constantly being pelted by water.”
“Fine,” she said. She got out of the puddle and shook herself, whimpering pathetically as her fur ruffled. “That building looks nice.”
She trotted across the street to a stone building painted bright yellow with a wide cloth stretched over its entry that covered half the Sidewalk. The building had fancy white stone balconies with flowery designs for railings — nothing like the plain metal grates on Shep’s building. Even the entry was fancy: A pair of tall windows stood where the door should have been.
Callie sat in front of the clear front doors and they opened with a swish. “Shep, look! We can really get out of the rain!” She scrambled into the building. As soon as she was inside, the doors slid shut.
Shep panicked. This little yapper was nothing but trouble! He raced across the street and jumped onto the door. As soon as he did, it slid open again. Shep fell onto the floor inside in a heap.
“Hello!” Callie yapped. She stood over Shep’s head, her tail wagging. “It’s nice and dry in here, and there’s no wind.”
They were in a large, cool room with a white stone floor. Opposite the sliding clear doors was a blue wall with a wooden counter in front of it. Next to the counter, in the blue wall, were two shiny silver doors. The sides of the room were open, leading to dim hallways.
The air smelled overwhelmingly of chemicals and flowers — the humans that lived there had cleaned nearly every surface of its scents. Still, Shep could tell it was an older building; the walls smelled of the many humans who’d made their dens in this place. Also, scattered around the room
were plants of various sizes, which the humans had forgotten to clean. Callie walked over to a palm tree in a pot and sniffed.
“Smells like dog central,” she yipped.
Shep got his paws under him and shook the water from his coat. “You seem to be feeling better.”
Callie immediately sat and licked her shoulder. “It’s nice to be dry, that’s all.” She winced and yowled miserably.
Shep panted lightly. “Fine, fine. Let me take a look at it.”
Callie came over to Shep, wagging her tail low. “Does it look bad?”
Shep gave her a long lick, covering her whole scruff. “Just a little puncture. You’ll be good as new by next sun.” He walked over to the clear door and began pawing at the metal along the bottom. “Now it’s time to go home. How do we get this open again?”
“Help!”
“What now?” Shep barked, annoyed. He had to figure out how to get this door to slide open. He had to get back to his den.
“I didn’t say anything,” Callie yipped. “I think there’s another dog here.”
“Of course there’s another dog here! And I need your help!”
Shep and Callie followed the bark of the other dog to a door a few stretches down one of the hallways. The light on the ceiling was dim, but even in its faint glow, Shep could see that there was no window or other opening in the door.
“We’re here,” barked Shep. “But there’s no way for us to get in to help you.”
“Just open the door!” yapped the dog.
Just what I needed, thought Shep. Another yapper.
“How can we open it?” asked Callie. She sniffed the bottom of the door, then rested her head on the floor. “I can see your paws!” she barked.
“Wonderful,” groaned the other dog. “You can see the rest of me when you open the door. One of you smells like a big dog. Am I right?”
“Yes!” yipped Callie. “Shep’s a big dog.”
“Good,” said the other dog. “Big dog — er, Shep. You need to bite the knob and turn it. Then the door will open.”
The Storm Page 4
