The Stray

 Spring

Home was a bowl of dry gray sand beneath the dilapidated remains of a wood-frame house on the corner of 22^nd and Jackson. By the time Twitch was old enough to venture beyond the house he only had two remaining litter-mates, Chirp and Lila. Twitch was so named for the peculiar tic that rhythmically pulled the corners of his lips into the faintest hint of a disarming smile. They still relied heavily on their mother's milk, yet the milk was in short supply these days. Their mother was once a beautiful dog, red as an Autumn sunrise. The years had not been kind to her, nor had the persistence of repeated motherhood. In her eighth year she was now a mere emaciated frame of her once dazzling beauty, graying at the muzzle and down her protruding spine.

Each morning she sat at the end of the driveway to wait for her person's return. No matter how many years passed she was sure one day her person would come back for her, scratch her gently behind her ears and tell her that she was a very good dog. Even on her last day she never lost her faith in her person. Twitch was the first to find her that morning, cold and still with her head lowered to the broken concrete. Lila cried for days afterward, and Chirp moaned piteously in the throes of growing hunger. Twitch knew that they would not live long unless they went in search of sustenance.

They watched a person in one of their loud boxes stop outside, pick up what remained of their mother, and unceremoniously stuff her into a plastic bag before rumbling away again. Twitch knew it was time to go but he didn't know which way they should start. Lila and Chirp weren't exactly a whole lot of help either. Chirp lived in a state of constant fear. Smells, sounds, sometimes even the wind drove him into retreat to the nearest small dark place to hide. Lila, on the other hand, was solely devoted to finding her very own person just as their mother once had.

The world was harsh and unkind to a stray. They were creatures made without purpose cursed to walk with their tail between their legs in a world that did not want them. No matter how many times the people kicked at them, threw rocks and them or drove them away with harsh blows Lila always returned with her tail wagging. She was sweet and charming, trusting to a fault and nothing Twitch could do would convince her to be otherwise. It was only a few days after they left their home in search of food when the people snatched her up and took her away. Now they were two.

Twitch was intensely aware of two very real sensations: the rumbling of hunger and parasites that writhed within their cramping distended bellies and the maddening itch of hundreds of fleas creeping about through their fur, working their way into their ears and around their swollen eyes. Twitch and Chirp spent a great deal of their time sitting on their haunches desperately trying to scratch the fleas from their angry skin. They scavenged food where they could find it, in waste bins, along the sidewalks. Sometimes when there was nothing left to find they resorted to eating insects and carrion. The days were growing warmer and the need for water soon overtook their constant gnawing hunger.

They were hunkered down beneath a dumpster adjacent to an empty lot when sickness seeped into their squirming stomachs. What little food and water they managed now lay in piles around them, simmering in stinking puddles under the beat of the midday sun. Chirp lay on his side, whining softly against the assault of pain that tied him into heaving knots. Water, Twitch licked at the waste around them. Water was all he wanted. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, cracked and yearning for any sort of reprieve from unquenchable thirst. His bones ached and his nose burned with each labored breath. The last reserves of his energy left him and he closed his eyes.

Twitch woke to the sound of rain pelting the dumpster. Hollow thumps of fat raindrops echoed in his aching head and water began to seep through every seam. The rain was a blessing, slaking his thirst with each greedy lap he managed in his weakened state. Chirp lay just barely in view, still as a stone, with petrichor and the scent of death wafting in the wind in a gentle synchronous dance. Now there was just one.

Winter

Twitch would never admit to any sort of sentimentality. His life did not allow him such things. Even still as the nights grew colder he found himself drowning in the memories of his mother, sweet Lila snatched away, and timid Chirp lying motionless beneath the rain battered dumpster. He let out a mournful howl, just one, offered to the brilliant moon shining over the tangle of broken concrete and twisted chain link. The moon cast long shadows that resembled his greatest fears, the people that chased him, sometimes with long poles and loops, with traps, with their loud boxes. The shadows sometimes moved like other dogs, strays just like him vying for territory. The other dogs did not welcome him and were always ready to fight with jaws gnashing and spittle foaming at their upturned lips with each fierce bark.

He bared his teeth at the shadows and made his rounds marking his territory on nightly patrol before finally settling to a restless slumber. He found himself driven by smells, namely the smells of food, of other places dogs marked, of rodents that scurried in the dark of night which served as sustenance when he could catch them. Lately a new smell probed his senses, threatening to overwhelm every instinct he possessed. It was the smell of heat and passion.

He often found himself chasing the scent of passion well beyond his marked territory. At the end was always another dog. The meetings were always short- a chase that ended in a tumult of momentary pairing. Once the encounter ended Twitch always made it back to his own territory, spent and satisfied in a manner no amount of food or water could ever bring. The pairings brought a fleeting sensation of purpose to him. That feeling never lasted and before long he once again wore the mantle of a creature existing without connection or purpose.

With the cold brought a brief respite from the maddening itch of fleas. Twitch could run long distances, travel longer without the constant need to stop and scratch. This was his first taste of real joy. He could almost claim contentment had it not been for the persistent gnawing hunger that propelled him to hunt each day. His contentment proved to be short lived however. As soon as the days became warmer again the itch returned, more oppressive than he remembered. His legs sat in a perpetual bounce ready to scratch at each moment he could possibly spare. Sleep came in snatches between bouts of searing heat that burst from his flesh.

Sores opened, first on his haunches before spreading over every part it could find. His joints ached and it wasn't long before even his usual spirited sprint brought waves of agony from his splitting skin. Patches around the joints of his legs hardened, making it difficult to stretch his legs. Now sleep was a thing of the past, and sleep deprivation began to take its toll. The moon shadows that once gave him pause morphed into real monsters all shouting and chasing him. He spent more time running from his imagination than foraging for food and water. Each sleepless day wore endlessly in increasing misery. Finally Twitch dropped to the rocky ground, rolled onto his back despite pain of contact against his battered flesh, and gave one last howl to the memories of his loved ones.

Twitch woke unable to move beyond a tortured crawl. His hips jutted in severe angles pointing directly at the heavens that had forsaken him from the moment of his birth. He heard the sounds of people approaching his hiding spot, but he didn't have the strength to move. The best he could muster was a weak snarl made inert by his damnable tic that gave him his signature disarming smile. He hung his head and waited to be struck with rocks, to be kicked and shouted at. Any moment now the pole with the loop would arrive to rip him out of his hole. Gods let this be done.

No pole came, nor did the rocks or the angry shouting. Instead he felt the soft caress of hands brushing again his broken skin. Gentle people sounds came in a soothing rush while the scent of food and water hung over him. He felt himself swathed in soft cloth and carried ever so carefully away from the only world he knew. Even thought it hurt him to his very core to move, against the searing pain, Twitch couldn't help but wag his tail.

Summer

The days that followed were vastly different from the world that Twitch knew. His territory was completely shielded from the fierce rains and beating sun. The grass was brown and soft, made of perfectly arranged fibers. It was perfect for rolling around on lazy afternoons. There were parts of his territory that were made of hard stone, slick with little traction. He didn't care much for those parts of his territory, but he also knew this was where his food would be. Food was incredibly easy to find these days too. It always showed up in the exact same place ever single day and never ran out. The same was true for water. It was no longer sitting in dirty puddles but in a bowl that was never empty. There was no other dog to compete with for this territory, but sometimes a cat crept silently across the soft grass and perched on some surface to survey the land. He learned quickly he was not permitted to eat the food in the small bowl by the back door. This was reserved for the cat.

His skin had long since stopped itching altogether; the sores healed and no fleas returned. Twitch walked across the soft grass to sit at the front door with his favorite toy in mouth. It gave a little squeak each time he bit down on it bringing him immense satisfaction. The toy made waiting bearable, quelled the panic that rose at suddenly being alone again. He could hear the beginnings of night sounds, of crickets and the forlorn call of an owl somewhere in a tree far away. Soon, very soon. Sometimes he missed the freedom of roaming from place to place, but on most days just the territory inside and the little fenced yard spread with lush green grass was plenty of room for him.

Twitch heard the sound of a noisy box just outside the door. This box sounded different from the rest of the boxes that whizzed by throughout the day. This was his box. His ears perked and his tail wagged wildly of its own volition. He danced in place as he heard the jingle of keys. Everyday was the same routine of waiting by the door and listening to the night sounds, but the moment between the sound of keys and the door opening felt like an eternity all its own each time. The door opened and his person knelt and made happy greeting sounds. This was what his mother used to talk about, what she waited for at the end of that broken driveway everyday. This was his purpose in a world that once did not want him in it. His person gave him a gentle scratch behind the ears and let him know he was a very good dog.