Tally

“What’d he do?” I wondered. Behind me, locked in an open-air cell, sat a great, round giant, dressed entirely in orange. I would have asked, but I knew better than to speak.

I had been led up the cement stairs, my restraints were removed, then I was told to “Sit!”

I surveyed the space before me and determined that the challenges here were the same as I faced at home, really.

The environment was overwhelming with all the people and their smells, but it was still an improvement over home. At least here I would receive the occasional pat on the shoulder. Human touch.

As I waited for a cue from “Alpha,” who stood guard at my side, anxious anticipation caused my muscles to tighten. I narrowed my eyes. It was time to focus. My performance here would have to be flawless.

With an abrupt command of “Up!” I jumped into the ready position.

Alpha escorted me to the top of a railed wooden ramp, then he walked to the far side of the barred chamber confining the giant. He grabbed onto a brass handle with both hands and began turning a crank. I hadn’t seen this device from where I had been waiting.

As he rotated the crank, a rope on a pulley lifted one whole side of the cage straight up to create an opening at the front. Then the side was dragged onto the top of the cell, constructing a ceiling for the pen. When the panel fell into place, it caused the giant, an enormous orange ball—not a living thing at all—to be liberated as it was immediately thrust forward by a boot on a stick!

The harsh sound of the heavy, but hollow, metal ball slowly gaining momentum on the concrete was nothing I had ever heard before.

There was only one thing to do—run!

Panicked, I did the Scooby Doo maneuver, frantically running in place before propelling forward. Comically, I ran-slid down the chute, somehow maintaining my balance.

At the bottom of the chute, I leapt forward, hoping to put distance between myself and the crushing sphere. I landed on the “up” end of a seesaw which came slamming down, forcing a jumbo-sized plastic dinosaur, previously perched on the “down” end of the seesaw, to take flight.

I did not look back; I just kept racing forward. The flying dinosaur hit a button, causing an oversized boxing glove to extend out of nowhere; I jumped and twisted sharply to the right to narrowly avoid getting hit by it. My ballet move was graceful and a sight to behold.

For the briefest of moments, I stopped to assess my situation. Something was wrong. I felt strong, energetic, and laser focused. It was something else. Then it hit me: my collar was loose. The metal box—the one that attached to my collar and that Alpha used to punish me when I displeased him—had shifted on my neck during the last jump.

The reason was obvious enough—Alpha didn’t fit my collar today.

He let Caty fit it. We were in the backyard, and he motioned for her to do it. That wasn’t unusual; he had had her fit my collar before. Usually, he would double-check to make sure it was tight enough; but this time he had been distracted by his Zzt-Zzt Box.

It called to him and he took it out and talked at it. He said, “pointment for chip,” while looking at me, and I perked up because I thought he had said, “potato chip”, but he hadn’t. When he was done, he returned the Zzt-Zzt Box to his pocket. Then we went back into the house. He had forgotten about the collar. We both had.

And now it is loose.

I brought my attention back to the course. I had landed at the bottom of a hill, a hard landing but a graceful one, nonetheless. I looked up and promptly found my next goal. I needed to make my way to the gaping maw presented at the top, so I tore up the hill.

That’s when I realized that the oversized boxing glove had not missed after all. It was never meant for me. The glove had punched a humungous wooden duck on wheels from where it must have been perched all along, awaiting my arrival. The duck had teetered and slowly rocked toward me, eventually tipping and rolling toward me. Now it was gaining speed. The enormous bird’s beak opened and closed in time with its rolling wheels, each opening punctuated with a deafening “Quack!”

It pursued me with determination into a darkened tunnel, but it could not catch me. I ran so fast it frightened me! I ran like the wind; I ran like lightning.

Still, the duck was close on my heels, quacking for my blood. It careened into the walls, and the banging of wood on metal in the confined tunnel echoed all around me, a maddening cacophony.

At the last bend, I could see cold white light, unnatural light, shining ahead of me, revealing a deep tank of what was sure to be ice cold water.

As I reached the end of the tunnel, I could see that there were some wooden planks nailed side by side, fashioning a launch pad. I could either attempt a great leap across, or I could swim…or “doggie paddle.”

I am a competent, but limited, swimmer, but I am an excellent jumper.

I love jumping: jumping long—over streams, ditches or wide, rain-filled mud puddles; and jumping high, catching discs and launched orbs.

Once, I nearly caught a low-flying bird. It was flying over my head, at speed, and I timed my jump perfectly, springing off the ground and nearly snatching it out of the air. I managed to snatch a blue-black tailfeather; I kept it in my bed, hidden under my blanket, as a keepsake.

So, I jumped. I leapt. it was glorious! I never touched the water. And that duck splashed right in, sinking to its demise. Ha! Another bird vanquished. Too bad it had no feathers.

The next obstacle was on a steep incline, but I dashed up the front side of the A-frame construction easily.

At the apex, I discovered two things— the first was that I was resting between two hinges, and the back side of the A-frame was not down yet. Instead, its far edge was being held in place horizontally by a colossal clothes pin on a colossal clothesline. The second thing is that I would have to figure out how to get past the obstruction blocking the entire length of the apex. I almost couldn’t believe it myself, but you should believe me when I tell you, it was an enormous spoon filled with peanut butter, which hung perfectly balanced, suspended by the hooks at the ends of two massive bungee cords.

I did what anyone would do—I got busy licking. The rich, redolent odor of roasted peanuts and oil filled my head. I almost couldn’t think straight. I smacked and licked my chops, trying to get it all down so I could get more.

But nothing lasts forever. The more I licked, the lighter the spoon became. Eventually, the spoon and its wondrous bounty had risen out of my reach. I gazed at the smooth, creamy, brown paste, and accepted that it was gone.

I was on the move again; I pushed forward. As I did, the clothespin sprung out of place, dropping the board so I could begin my hasty descent.

Unbeknownst to me, while I was licking all that delicious nutty spread, apparently when the wheelie duck settled at the bottom of the tank, it caused a valve to open. Water from the duck tank had been filling a gigantic vase…

I learned this as I rounded the corner and saw a slalom track just past it. The water inside the vase had risen high enough to lift the lever which opened an aperture near its base. Just as I was approaching it, water blasted out as if being ejected from a cannon. I spryly hurtled over the spray that was threatening to drown me.

The water that missed me which, I would like to remind you, was all of it, hit an oversized ping pong ball, knocking it into a gargantuan funnel. “Not to worry,” choosing to ignore the ping pong ball. I tried to convince myself, “the ball will take some time to make its way down.”

Rushing ahead, I was thrilled when I made it to the slalom; this I knew! This I understood! I sped over to the first weave pole on the left.

When I first stepped at the base of the pole, I heard the brief sound of plastic sliding against plastic, then a tiny click. A great plastic ring attached to a generous length of string whipped past my head. “That can’t be good,” I thought, but there was no time to assess this new threat. I began the odyssey of darting left and right between the poles.

Then the source of the sound came into view: a six-foot doll which had been hidden in the bend of the tunnel, emerged, giggling and robotically toddling my way. A long string trailed behind her, slowly drawing back into her as she walked and talked. “Will you play with me?” she asked, in a sugary sweet voice. I was sure she would strangle me with those plastic mitts if I was foolish enough to wait for her.

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” I thought to myself.

The towering doll closed the distance between herself and the slalom in a mere two steps. “May I have a cookie?” she asked. I frowned as I ran from her. Why would she think I had cookies?

I am very fast, but running the slalom course slowed me down. The huge doll was unhindered by the course, lumbering straight ahead, closing the gap between us with each great stride. Her menacing giggles continued as she marched on, pushing each post forward, only to have them pop back up behind her as she passed.

After a long moment, she said in a voice that was lifeless but for a hollow melancholy, “Please take me with you.”

I thought, “No, ma’am!” and increased my speed, but her plea haunted me.

Outside of the arena there is a car lot. We drove into the lot this morning, and Alpha parked behind a pickup truck. It was filled with boxes and furniture. Outside of the truck, below the tailgate, was a metal plate. On it was a picture of the sun setting over the water, and of tall trees with bushy tops. Alpha had a metal plate behind our car, too, but the picture was of a man riding a horse.

There was a dog in the truck. I hadn’t seen him at first, but when Alpha opened my door, he must have smelled me and emerged from behind a box. He was smaller than me, though his thick, fluffy fur made him look bigger. He was clean and brushed and smelled like shampoo. He grinned at me with white teeth and his tongue hung out. His tail wagged.

“We’re going home!” he barked. “We’re taking a break here for a while and then we’re going home!”

He waited for an answer. I liked him, but I said nothing. He seemed unfazed.

The door of the truck opened, and a man came out. He smiled at me and Alpha and waved. The Other Alpha made his way around to the back of the truck, talking to his dog cheerfully. He ruffled his fur, then clipped a leash to his collar. The dog bent its back legs and readied itself to leap out of the truck when a wolf’s distant howl sounded from the hills east of us.

Alpha didn’t like me to make noise, so I swallowed my howl hard. The other dog felt no such restriction. He let loose with a soul-stirring howl—long, loud, and clear, pure in tone. Other dogs in the lot howled as well. The sound filled the air.

The Other Alpha chuckled and rested his hand on his dog’s head. He saw me and grinned. He reached down to pet me. His hand was comforting. When he reached my collar, he slipped his fingers underneath it and petted me directly on my neck.

Then I smelled that the Other Alpha was unhappy. He said something sharp to my Alpha—I heard the words “collar,” “shock,” and “bad.”

My Alpha was angry and yanked me away, causing me to yelp. As we walked away, I looked over my shoulder at them. The dog barked at me, telling me I should come back. The Other Alpha just watched me sadly. They stood by the truck while we walked away. “Please take me with you,” I thought, wistfully.

Behind me, the doll sounded like she was melting. “Pleeeeease taaaaake meeeee--" She had reached the end of the slalom but had stopped walking. Her eyes closed, she teetered for a moment, then fell flat on her face. The plastic ring lay flush against her back. Her reign of terror had ended.

The moment I completed the slalom, I heard a click of a switch, and then the beginnings of a sound I recognized, and did not like.

Then it seemed as if everything happened at once.

Behind the doll, the ping pong ball had exited the funnel, dropped into a chute, and shimmied its way out, hitting a trip wire which broke the tension on a weighted rope that was wrapped around a pole. The rope had just begun to unwind itself around the pole, gaining momentum as it swung wider with each spiral it made, reaching toward a series of erect dominoes. What would it mean when the rope hit the dominoes?

And then that sound roared to life. “BRRRRRRM!” A behemothic vacuum cleaner had been activated as I completed the slalom and now hurtled toward me, promising to eat me alive if I allowed it to catch me.

I hurried to the tightropes on my left. The two ropes were raised, 15” apart from one another. I mounted the ropes carefully and began to pick my way to the other side.

I glided along the ropes with nimbleness and skill; still, I hopped off the ropes just in the nick of time.

As I did, the weighted rope swung out and hit the dominoes. The clattering panels began flooding in my direction, so I raced toward a brick wall with a hole in the middle, big enough for me to fit through. Probably.

I reached the hole and hurled myself through. I shook with anxiety and waited for whatever came next.

Then, suddenly, a wave of thunderous applause washed over me. I poked my head out of the hole in the wall. The dominoes were arranged to form a message, “GOOD DOG!”

I was done. I was triumphant. For a moment I felt true exhilaration.

Then I saw Alpha, crossing the grass toward me from the other side of the arena. I smelled the treats in his hand and drool fell from my open mouth, but that was only instinct; I didn’t care about the treats. And then I realized that I didn’t care about this place. Or this competition.

Or Alpha.

But what was there to do? I would go home. There would be treats when I was Good and shocks when I was Bad. There would be no pets and no love, and all I would have for comfort was my hidden bird feather and, sometimes, pig ears.

I let my ears sag down and my tail droop. I lowered my head…

Thump!

I looked down. In the grass, at my feet, lay my collar. It had fallen off my neck and was nestled in the grass.

I studied it, my head cocked to one side. It had been so full of shocks and life and hurt when it had been on my neck, but now, lying there, it did not look like much at all. It looked…dead. Like it couldn’t hurt a fly. Or a dog.

I considered that for a moment. My ears and tail perked back up. I wagged my tail and I let my tongue hang from my mouth as I panted. I barked. I howled, and the other dogs in the arena howled back.

I looked up and saw that Alpha had stopped, some fifty feet away. He seemed surprised that I’d howled. He seemed angry.

He pressed his button, and the collar buzzed in the grass. He seemed surprised at that, too.

Then he looked at me. And I looked at him. We looked at each other.

And I ran.

I ran toward the gates, toward the car lot, toward daylight. I ran faster than the wind, faster than lightning, faster than Alpha. Much faster than Alpha.

If I ran fast enough, maybe I could reach the hills and live with the howling wolves. Or maybe I could jump, higher than ever before, straight up into the sky where I would spend my days catching birds. Or maybe I would just disappear altogether, leaving a trail of fire and smoke behind me.

Or, maybe, I could jump into the back of a truck and hide. And then the truck would drive away, and when it stopped, I would jump out to my new home, where there was water and sunshine, and a new friend, and a new Alpha.

The other dogs in the arena were barking and howling wildly, cheering me on.

Alpha shouted behind me, too, but he was far, far away now. I had run fast enough to leave him in my past.

And so I ran toward the gates, toward the car lot, toward daylight. Toward my future.