The Mask of the Great Dane!

My neighborhood is peaceful today, because I, the Great Dane, protect this neighborhood. I am not a great dane though, his name is Maxie and he lives next door. My humans call me Roger.

Sometimes humans are clueless. They have no idea on what it takes to make sure their homes and streets are secure. They don’t know about the gang of feral and domestic cats that run every operation out here. They don’t know that the squirrels fence every hot item, and that the opossums know everything that pops out in these trenches. Humans go about their days, petting strange dogs and cats, walking us but not smelling the lines of protection shifting with each leg lift, and remaining oblivious to the dangers around them.

When I first arrived here, my humans brought me from the pound. Have you ever been to prison? I committed no crime, but I was locked up. Baxter, my good friend, never made it out of there. I heard the barks on the grapevine that he was unadoptable, too old. I don’t know what that means, but no dog wants to hear that word. Sometimes the possum’s tell me that it is worse for the cats, but you will never get a cat to admit to being worse at something than a dog.

Speaking of cats, and back to when I got here, these streets were run by the Orange Clowder. Nothing happened without their say so. Anyone who got out of line, it was a claw filled wap that struck your nose, or a plot for a untimely end. Granger, a corgi, was my introduction to their ways. He chased Rickets, a soldier for the clowder, off his property one too many times. And so, the gang left the latch on the gate open, and the next time Granger did his duty, he chased Rickets into the street. I think you know what happened next.

I had just arrived, and I didn’t know that was how it worked here. But something inside me said I needed to do something. But if I did, my life and those of my humans could be forfeit. The Oranges had knocked over a vase onto the head of Mrs. Carmichael at the end of the street, for shooing them off her porch. Under these conditions, no one was willing to help. I even tried to explain it to my humans, but they just grabbed the leash or gave me a meaty treat.

I could do nothing, until Jazzy, the little human girl that gives the least awkward human hugs in my house, wanted to dress me up for some day called Halloween. Normally, us dogs hate wearing human clothes. But she put a large brimmed hat on me, along with a plastic mask. It had a foul smell to it. It was the perfect disguise. I spent many nights on my rug trying to put it on myself. I finally gave up, and enlisted Jazzy to help me. It only took ten minutes of barking, nudging, and face licking to communicate to her what I wanted. She would be my Alfred.

Properly attired, into the night I went. I didn’t even smell like a yellow Labrador anymore. It helped that Jazzy insisted that she spray more disgusting scents on me. I had to hit the Oranges hard and fast. I ran through yards, jumped up on porches, and tore into trash piles. I woke them up from their naps, chased them out of their roosts, and up trees. Some tried to fight back, but wearing the mask meant that their waps on my nose didn’t tear into my nostrils, and my teeth were bigger than theirs.

I broke up their clutches, ran them off the sidewalks, and out of the doghouses they took for their own. I leapt over higher fences, scooted through smaller holes and barked louder than I knew I could.

Towards the end, a group of them jumped me. Fur flew, teeth were bared, and howls echoed through the streets. It was for all the marbles, as to who would own this neighborhood. When the last paw was thrown, the Oranges were licking their wounds, limping away. Their power was broken, forever. They had been challenged, and defeated in open battle.

I have dealt with many threats since then. A pair of coyotes tried to run a kidnapping ring. A bear came in from the forest, seeking food. A mountain lion took up residence near the rubbish pile in the vacant lot. Each time I answered the call.

I don’t ask for much. My bowl is full of kibble twice a day. I get meaty treats when I ask for them, and walks several times a day. There is a new tennis ball on my rug every week. My ears get scratched, my belly rubbed, and once a month I get a nice rawhide bone. Its a good life.

These days, word has gotten around that this neighborhood is protected. Those animals who aren’t supposed to be here, don’t come around. I even had some copydogs. Two other Great Danes chased down a ferret larceny ring. Their masks weren’t the same, and they were a poodle and a golden retriever, but it gladdened my worm-less heart to see it.

Yes, things were good. And that it usually the time you get sprayed by the fire hydrant isn’t it? One of my humans, Mark, tricked me into the car for a trip to the vet. I really don’t like it when he says, “Lets go to the dog park,” and gets me excited to see some of my friends from other neighborhoods, and instead takes a right turn when it supposed to be left at the end of the street.

I don’t mind the vet, he is a nice person. It is just the lying that I don’t like. On this visit, he does a minimal of poking and prodding, and gives me a large beef stick for my trouble. I snarf it down before getting back to the waiting room. I can see Felix in a cat carrier. One of the Oranges, he is still angry over the clowder being broken up. I give him a friendly bark, and he hisses back at me.

When we get back to my neighborhood, there is van parked out in front of the abandoned house. It had been the home base of the Oranges, but I had driven them out. Now there were five humans, bringing boxes in, with three spiked collar pit bulls outside. Each was chained to a stake in the overgrown yard. “Looks like new neighbors Roger, they don’t look too friendly.”

Mark being the human he is, decided to go introduce himself and me being his loyal companion, went with him. The three bulls charged to the end of their chains, deep growls coming from their chests. They had notched ears, scars covering their bodies, and smelled of fear. Their tethers would not allow them to reach the sidewalk that Mark and I walked up on, but even he understood to not go into the yard.

He called out to the humans, who started yelling and making strange gestures. I tensed my legs, and even without my mask, I would have leap into action to defend him. But Mark pulled me back, holding me tight even when they pulled guns from their belts and waved them about. I would be back.

“That was a bad idea Roger. Lets not do that again.” I barked in agreement, and raced back home. I needed to prepare.

I saw my chance two evenings later. That night it stormed. I don’t like storms, as the thunder hurt my ears. But I needed to get back there. I would get yelled at in the morning, as for some reason the humans really did mind me coming back from my patrols all wet.

I crept outside, and took the back paths near the woods to get over to the house. I could hear Maxie howling at the storm, and a couple of cats yowling together under a garbage can. I moved swiftly, and silently. Not even Vincent the owl noticed my passage.

I reached the house, and laid down, listening. Over the thunder, I could hear the sounds of human yelling. Underneath that I could hear snarling, and the sounds of dogs fighting. I crept along the ground, inching towards the back of the house. My nose, ever faithful, caught it first. Blood.

It wasn’t old, it was fresh. Even through the rain, I smelled it. But it was in the front, not the back. I got up, and trotted around the side. I stayed in the bushes, and poked my snout out.

Never before had I seen such evil. Dead cats lay in the grass, their bodies mangled, bitten and torn. These were not from honest fights between heroes and gang members, but as sport by vicious curs. These cats were tied to stakes, unable to use their dexterity to make the fight fair. I sniffed their bodies, committing them to memory. I had fought many of them when I first came here, and had grown to respect them. Now they were dead.

A weak meow startled me. I crouched low, and my ears rose. It came again, and I crawled through the grass to were it came from. There lay Felix, my old foe. His back was broken, and he weakly meowed. He saw me, and ever defiant, he hissed, but I knew. I lay next to him, and he placed his paw on mine. The rain dripped off his whiskers, and wetted his ears. I licked his face, trying to offer some small kindness to my once foe.

I looked into his eyes, and saw what I must do. I reached up, and pulled my mask off. He had earned knowing who I really was. He patted my nose, gently, and meowed once more. I would not leave him in this state. I licked his face for the last time, and bit down on his neck. He flinched once, and was still.

A lesser dog would have run home then. Get my human to help me. Whoever these humans were, they didn’t belong here. We treated our foes with respect. We didn’t tie them down and set curs on them. No, even without my mask, I would take a stand, by sitting up, and howling.

I called to the neighborhood, to mark the passing of Felix and the others, to call them to my aid, and to challenge those pit bulls, on their turf. This was going to end tonight. Howls answered back, from Maxie; from Champion the Saint Bernard; from Ginger and Gregory, the Huskies; from others far and wide. Vincent hooted, and the possums stirred to the dark holes and dry burrows throughout the neighborhood.

One of the pit bulls came out onto his porch. He looked at me, standing in the rain, and barked. I answered, challenge accepted.

He moved down the steps, and I met him at the base. Fangs bared, claws digging into fur and flesh.

Blood flowed from my ear, and my leg. He was strong, but I am stronger. I am the Great Dane, and I would not be denied.

I sank my teeth into the back of his neck. Until that night, I had not taken the life of those who stood in the way of justice. But for that one night, justice demanded it. I shook, and shook, and shook. I felt the bones break, and suddenly he was limp. I dropped him, and the other two came out, along with two of the humans.

“Shit, it looks like that wet dog just killed Andera. Isn’t he your dog, gwo kochon?”

“Shut up,idyot! Get ‘em, chen sal. Earn your dinner tonight!”

The pit bulls slowly came down the stairs. I backed up, keeping them both in front of me. This would be a tough fight.

One lunged at me, trying to bite me in the shoulder. The other went for a leg.

I knocked its face aside, and bit at the first one’s belly. It spun around, and snarled. I felt pain in my tail, and turned to nip at its face. It didn’t let go of my tail, so I spun around.

The other had jumped on my back, claws digging in and his slobbery maw trying to clamp down on my neck. I rolled over, and caught him under the jaw. I bit hard, and his blood filled my mouth. I pulled away roughly, and the rain turned red for a moment.

He couldn’t whimper, but the third one did. She had let go of my tail and was backing away, crouching low. I lunged, and her reaction was slow. My teeth poked her eyes, and she howled in pain. I gave her more mercy than they showed Felix, and then turned to face the humans.

“Ki, kaka sa! I can’t believe what I am seeing. That chen saljust ripped apart your fucking bitches, Gerardo.”

They stood at the top of the porch, staring at me. I had never bitten a human before in my life. I might had nipped at Jazzy once when she pulled my tail, but I never drew blood. The possums told of a tale of Maximus, a doberman who lived in my neighborhood before I came. He once bit a boy who hit him with a rock, and the sheriff came and shot him.

My identity would be known. They would come for me. But better me than if these humans came for Mark, or Jazzy, or any of the other people or animals in my neighborhood. Sometimes as a hero we must take the burden on ourselves to make the world a better place. And my neighborhood would be better without these people in it.

Humans can be so slow sometimes. I leap up the stairs, jumped up and bit hard into Gerardo’s neck before I heard even an “oh shit” out of the other one. I dropped Gerardo, gurgling on the porch, and growled at the other one.

He pulled out a knife, but clumsily swung it at me. I caught his wrist, and chomped down hard. He screamed, and dropped the weapon. Even over the storm, someone had to hear that. He fell to his knees, and I didn’t even have to jump up to reach his face.

I heard the screen door open, and a gasp. “Fuck, Gerardo and Dark Dreads just got mauled by a rabid bitch!” There was a female there, and she closed the door quickly. But no screen was going to stop me.

I jumped through it, knocking her to the ground. I bit her shoulder, and a blood curling shriek came out of her mouth.

There was a shout coming from the basement. I dropped her, and tore off down the stairs. I could hear sirens outside. The humans were coming.

What greeted me in that basement I struggle to comprehend myself. A blood soaked pit. The bodies of animals from the neighborhood, torn and bleeding. Dogs fighting, while humans shouted and screamed. I went red.

I couldn’t tell you what happened. It must have included biting, clawing and barking. When the police came down the stairs, part of me had the foresight to run out the back. Somehow I made it home, and collapsed on my own porch, utterly exhausted.

I woke with the sun, and took stock. My hat was destroyed, I was covered in cuts and bites, blood dried on my fur, and a leg that hurt to put weight on it. My mask was lost. I hid under the porch to lick my wounds. Mark called my name in the morning, Jazzy in the afternoon. I didn’t answer.

I napped, and awoke to the Oranges. They had joined me under the porch, and several were licking my wounds. A possum curled up by the entrance, and the squirrels brought a several bones from trashcans, some of which had meat still on them.

I felt well enough to go upstairs that evening, and all of my humans tried to hug me at once. Mark asked me what happened, and Jazzy fussed over my torn ear. Mark promised that I would be going to the vet again tomorrow, to clean me up.

Jazzy insisted that I sleep in her room that night, and let me jump into her bed. “I’m glad the bad people didn’t get you Roger. The police came and took them away. Daddy said I can’t go down there, because some very bad things happened. But maybe tomorrow you can go with me.”

We walked down there the next morning. The humans had taken away the dead, but tufts of fur lay between the sheaves of grass, and there were several red spots. Yellow tape covered the door, and there was a police officer standing on the porch. Jazzy pointed, “Look Roger, how did your mask get over here?”

It was were I left it. Jazzy ran over to retrieve it, only to have the human yell at her. She came back, without it and hugged me. “Was it you who stopped these bad people?”

I licked her face. “Your secret is safe with me Roger. I’ll never tell.”

One of the Oranges came out from the bushes, and rubbed up on Jazzy’s legs. She squealed, and grabbed the cat to pet it. Humans. Every time.

My neighborhood was safe again. In the end, that is what mattered. I might not longer have the disguise of the Great Dane anymore, but that wasn’t important.

Maybe Jazzy would get me another costume for the next Halloween.