The Master of the House

“... and then he picked up the slice with the coffee bean still on it and ate it. He was so drunk that he didn’t have a clue; he just kept eating!”

All of the tall ones yipped and yelped and doubled over. One even clapped his paws together as he roared and another’s eyes made her face wet.

The Master of the House was a people pleaser.

My Girl titters along with them, but I know she’s lying; I can feel it. I can feel it in the way her paw tangles in the fur at my scruff. My Girl only cares about pleasing The Master. It’s safer that way. 

Bitch is barking, too. Ha-ha-ha-ing along with them all. She puts her paw on his leg. It makes a change. Bitch usually squeals. Usually cowers. Usually whimpers and cries and makes herself small. She only ever makes a show of barking when there are other tall ones in the house.

Little Screamer toddles up to Bitch. The hairs on my back bristle; my hackles always give me away. My Girl notices - she always does - and she strokes my head and says shh shh to me.

Little Screamer is asking Bitch something. The Master watches this interchange, his teeth bared, skin pulled tight over his lips and eyes creased. He lets out low, gruff barks and, with teeth still bared, says, “Well, honey, I think it’s past your bedtime.”

“But..” Little Screamer begins, but she’s silenced with a look. Bitch bristles, but doesn’t make a noise; she knows not to bite the hand that feeds her. So Little Screamer, her eyes like pebbles, nods in acquiescence, “Yes, dad.”

It’s better that she doesn’t snap back. Better that she doesn’t whine. Better she keeps her mouth shut. Because Little Screamer? Well, she’s a bit of a bleeder.

“Lucy,” The Master of the House commands, “take your sister up to bed, will you?”

My Girl is smarter than Little Screamer; she doesn’t say anything. All she does is rise from her place on the floor and take Little Screamer’s paw. The other tall ones get up to press their lips to her little head. Bitch does the same, holding her head between her two paws. The Master beckons her over with a curled claw, indicating to his cheek where he always wants his smallest pup to show him some affection. 

“She’s such a sweetheart,” one of the tall ones says.

“God, I wish mine were as good as yours!” another chats.

I follow My Girl up the stairs as she leads Little Screamer by the paw. I catch The Master’s booming, satisfied bark carry up the climb as we get into the smaller room. 

My Girl begins to help Little Screamer with her pelt, taking it off and putting on a softer, looser one. She shows off the black and blue patches on her back in between.

“Will daddy come up tonight?” Little Screamer mews, laying in her bed.

“No, Beck, I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” My Girl replies, pulling the big pelt up around her ears.

“What if he does?”

“He won’t. Not with their friends here,” My Girl assures. She turns to me, stroking my head, “Anyway, Maxie will protect you if he does. Won’t you, boy?”

Little Screamer eyes me sceptically, “He didn’t last time.”

My Girl is stroking Little Screamer’s face now, “Well, he was locked outside last time, wasn’t he? I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

Little Screamer’s eyes were drooping, her panting turning long and soft, she breathed, “I hate daddy.”

And then she was asleep.

My Girl stood up, pulling my ears, pressing her face to my head on the way. I tried to lick her ears but she let out those little yips and dodged out of the way.

“Come on, boy.”

We return to the tall ones. They’re all howling again, teeth bared and eyes creased. One has the wet face again. The Master can always do that to other tall ones. Except Bitch; Bitch’s eyes don’t crease the same as everyone else’s.

My Girl returns to her place on the floor. I sit in front of her. The Master usually stays away if I’m closeby. Sometimes I can’t help, though. Sometimes I’m locked outside when the real howling starts.

My Girl has her hand on my back. It stays there for many breaths. And I don’t move. I don’t lie down. I just stay there and watch the tall ones, listen to their yapping, making sure The Master stays like a good boy.

“Look at him,” one of the other tall ones yaps, waving their foul smelling yellow water towards me and My Girl, “look at the way he’s guarding her from us. What a lovely dog.”

The Master’s face flickers and then he goes back to baring his teeth, “Yeah, he’s a little bastard sometimes, though. He tried to go for me the other day!”

The tall ones’ eyes both get bigger, their mouths turning into little round holes, “No! Really? Well, at the end of the day, you can’t completely trust them, can you?”

Bitch shifts. She starts to heave herself from the big sit bed, “Would you like another?”

She’s halfway up when The Master pulls her down, “Don’t get up. Lucy’ll get ‘em.”

“Why do I have to go?” 

If I didn’t know her better, I’d say that My Girl snarled.

The Master’s eyes lock on hers, like she is a rabbit and he is deciding whether to chase, “I’m not going to ask you twice.”

My Girls’ hackles are up now, and mine are starting to stand to match, but she doesn’t snap at him. She just stands and walks into the food room, waiting for me to pad through before shutting the door behind her. 

I take only a few breaths before he’s carefully coming in after us, closing the door delicately. 

He growls at her so quietly that I have to cock my head to hear, “What the fuck was that? Do you think that’s funny?” The Master takes a step towards her, “Do you think you’re being clever?”

He takes another step forward, his growl rumbling in his chest. He doesn’t see my bared teeth. Doesn’t hear my own growl.

My Girl looks up into his face and doesn’t move back. She looks brave, but I can smell her fear.

“Don’t you ever fucking speak to me like that again, understand?” He’s snarling now; his mouth close to her face. I can even smell his breath from where I am. A trickle of water breaks out of My Girls’ eye.

My growl is transforming into a snarl. Water pools in my mouth. 

The Master’s paw rises up to grip My Girl’s chin. But it doesn’t reach it.

I fling myself forward. I’m lunging and snapping and finally biting deep into the first bit of The Master’s flesh I can grab. 

He howls in agony, squirming and battering me with his other paw. But I don't let go. I hold on for dear life, for Bitch’s dear life, for Little Screamer’s dear life, for My Girl’s dear life. I don’t let go even when the other tall ones come bursting into the food room. I don’t let go when the male tall one starts to hit me, too. I don’t let go. Not until The Master stops howling. 

My Girl is gripping me around my neck, whimpering and getting her eye-water on my scruff. I breathe in her shock and relief. It smells good. I taste the blood of The Master on my tongue. It tastes good. I know that animal won't cause any problems again. It feels good.