Dog Instincts

As a dog my instincts were always spot on. I knew when a rat approaching my food bowl suddenly feels danger. In the form of me pouncing and eating its head. You see, the bowl was always empty. And I was always starving. And chained. Killing the rats was my job. And my only means of sustenance. The leaking tap where the garden hose connected to the tap provided a puddle of mostly fresh water.

I am a breed called a Heinz 57. And I’ve been chained to this post…in this yard…since I was a young pup. I’d heard in the shelter that Hoomans were good and would come rescue you, so I was so very excited when a Hooman came for me. I was so happy that my tail wagged so hard, my whole butt end wiggled. The Hooman laughed. My butt end wiggled even more. I could not control it.

Oddly though…I expected a hug. I CRAVED a hug. I figured that would come later, after I proved myself worthy. I waited in the yard. And waited and waited…at last the Hooman came out and my tail wagged again. Stupid tail, I can’t control it. I didn’t want to seem like a puppy. The man tested the chains, gave me a pat on the head- my first contact with my Hooman! I was elated. He pointed at the churned-up earth in the yard, and I understood because I could smell the critters that made those …burrows.

I was so hungry, my mouth salivated. I was embarrassed by the copious amounts of drool that, to my horror, leaked out from my jaws and dripped to the ground. It was almost as terrible as peeing in your cell.

***

 Simon pedaled his old Raleigh as fast as his legs could pump down the street away from the hell hole that was his home. He was too big for the bike, he’d outgrown it by at least two years; it’s red paint half brown with rust, the vinyl seat cracked and uncomfortable…but he was grateful for the cool wind that came with speed. It dried the tears on his cheeks.

Lost in thought, he took the dirt road turnoff into Miller’s Woods too fast, the back wheel slid out from under him as if he were skating on slick ice and he went down, tumbling twice, small rocks and sharp granite pebbles rashing his bare arms. He just then realized he’d taken off without his hoodie. He was done with crying today however and rage filled his head, turning the pictures that reeled through it crimson like blood.

He got to his feet, his legs wobbled, and his right knee felt as if it had popped out of its socket and back in again. He groaned and thought, ‘at least no one was around to witness that idiot move.’

“Hey Sliiii-mon…is the widdle baby learning how to ride a bicycle?”

‘Fuck!’ He knew that voice. ‘No no no. Not today, not now.’ He turned and Robbie was there, perched on brand new Schwinn he’d gotten that year for Christmas, his right leg out like a kickstand, his toes barely touching the earth.

Simon realized with a start that it was nearly dark out, clouds had obscured the late fall sunset, sneaking in on purpose when his mind had been full of painful crap. He ignored Robbie and picked up his old bike, thankful that the big kid was alone which meant, given the time of day, he was on his way home for supper…just as he ought to be doing. The rage built again, and an impotent scream rattled around in his head, insane to be let free.

“What’sa matter? Pops smack ya ‘round again? Oh yeah…he took off, didn’t he? Couldn’t stand yer ugly face anymore.”

Robbie was big and dumb, with a flat boorish face pocked with the red spots sure to be a flaming acne mine field within the next few months. His mud-colored eyes shone in the dimming light with what he imagined was wit. Simon would have laughed out loud; the big turd was just so…so…dumb. Robbie rolled close to Simon and raised a fist he was familiar with. He guffawed like a bully when Simon flinched.

Simon could have kicked himself for flinching and his temper flared at himself this time. He stood straight and tall, with his chin jutted upwards and his brows furrowed low over his eyes. Robbie’s doughboy face bloomed rosy-red at the audacity of the smaller boy, the red spots seemed to swell and pulse and Simon found he was grinning. Robbie swung his balled-up fist, Simon swerved, and lifted the handlebars of his small bike.

Robbie’s fist crunched against metal. “Fuck!” He shook his bruised hand and came at Simon again. Simon was ready for him, he had the bike’s tire in his hands, he swung the whole thing like a nine iron. The pedal caught the bully in the cheek, and he fell backwards, holding his bleeding face.

Simon was again pedaling away as fast as he could but this time at a cautious pace, hindered slightly as well by the wobbling bent front wheel.

“I’ll get you tomorrow! You’re dead meat freak!”

To Simon that sounded as ridiculous as anything the bullies on tv movies spouted. He was pretty sure Robbie wouldn’t come after him without his friends in tow. He’d deal with that tomorrow or whenever, for now, he felt better than he had all week.

 ***

I was allowed in the small house occasionally. On those occasions when an extra foolish little beastie was heard within the walls. They came out at night, thinking themselves invisible. I could catch them blindfolded. My ears were just that sharp. If I failed to catch the rat that night, the man would come at me with the axe handle. He’d hit me so hard one time I am sure my hips were displaced; that was a year ago and it still hurt me to run though run I did to catch the beasties, my stomach engine desperate for fuel. The man was cruel but not stupid. He’d not whack my head, for that would be the end of me whether he broke my skull or merely deafened me. I was a good ratter for sure.

We were in the woods somewhere so deep no city sounds could be heard but the occasional engine speeding by on some road perhaps miles away. The big trucks were the loudest. Oh, how I wished I could be on one of them, whisked away from here to somewhere far far away.

I knew I was dying.

Besides the chill that came at night that made my hips ache like there were frozen rocks rumbling together down there, there was the growing pain in my ears. I rubbed at them, trying to get the clawing demons out, but the pain only got worse. I feared not being able to hear more than anything. My coat was matted and the smell of the sores attracted things in the woods. Large things with big teeth and big appetite. I heard the rustling and the air their big lungs. I suspected these creatures were too big to fit under the porch I slept under, and it was probably the only thing I was grateful for.

 ***

Simon sat at the dinner table with his mother, slowly stirring the green beans on his fork round and round in his gravy.

His mother tapped the table by his plate to get his attention. He didn’t feel like signing tonight about his awful day. It was just an awful day in a parade of awful days…thump thump thump- more agitated this time. He sighed and looked at her.

The dark circles had deepened a shade and the lines at the corners of her mouth aged her by ten years. She’d once been beautiful like in the pictures on the mantle. Deep down he supposed he still loved her…but it was hard to love someone like him. He was a burden.

She shook her head slowly when examining the cuts and bruises on his face. She poured herself another half rocks glass of Jack Daniels, sighed deeply, and drank the whole thing down. She signed, “Did the boys at school do that to you again?” Her hands were like pale starving birds, brittle and white.

Simon wanted to flee from the kitchen. They’d had this conversation before…too many times. He signed back, “No! I fell from my bike. It’s too small. I’m clumsy on it.” He wondered how much of what he was communicating was getting through her pickled brain. She appeared to be looking at her empty glass more than at him.

She signed, “You’re lying. The bike is fine---”

“Now the front wheel is bent---”

“I can’t afford you a new one. It’s not my fault you’re clumsy.” She chortled a bit, still not believing his story. She picked up the bottle with an unsteady hand and an ugly mean look on her face.

Simon stood and knocked the bottle from her hand. At last, she looked him square in the face. She signed and screamed at the same time, “But it IS your fault he left!”

Simon signed, “The hell it is! Look at yourself. You drove him away and you know it!”

She slapped him so hard across the face that he stumbled, missed the chair, and landed on the floor. He heard her slapping the table to get his attention. He stood up, as he walked to the entranceway, he heard her chair scrape the floor. He turned and she signed, “I wish you were the one who left.”

Simon went to his room in silence…as usual.

 ***

“Dagnabbit!” cried the man. “Whatchoo doing hidin under there?” A bright light shone under the porch and into my eyes. The man was not alone. I heard other male voices laughing, two of them. “Biggest damn critter is in the yard! I see ‘is eyes glowin. Over there!” He pointed across the yard, but my eyes were still spotty from the light. When they at last focused I noticed the axe handle in his other hand. I crawled out and looked across the yard.

That was no rat. That was a big-ass raccoon. They grew bold during mating season…and mighty mean. I cowered. WHACK! Hard enough to split skin but break no bones. This man was insane. The men with him were as bad, they stank of the same badness. My awful hooman was collecting money from the other two. Then I figured, ‘okay raccoon. Just do it. I’ve had enough.’

I went after it. Soon all my pain would end.

Afterwards, the last thing I noticed as I closed my eyes was how amazingly beautiful the stars were. I regretted all those nights hiding under the porch when I could have been observing such wonder.

 ***

Simon pedaled down the road, the bicycle wobbling in the ruts and potholes. He had a flashlight duct taped to the handlebars. It was near dawn, dark, with no streetlights but the eerie glow of a half-moon and a billion stars.

He stopped, turned off the flashlight, and admired the view for a few minutes. He sighed then started to turn the bike around to go back home. He froze then and slowly faced the highway ahead once more. He squinted. There was a form in the middle of the road. It was like a shadow the size of himself. He switched on the flashlight and pedaled towards it.

As he neared, his eyes already started welling up as they always did when he witnessed roadkill- coon, skunk, squirrel, deer, didn’t matter. The sight always made him sick with sadness.

This looked like a small deer. But as he pedaled closer, he saw it was a dog. A sob escaped his lips as he dropped the bike and ran to it. He knew it must have been hit by a car, but he’d be damned if he’d just leave it in the road to be mushed into a big red splotch. He knelt and felt for a collar by which he could drag it. He found none…but found warmth. He placed a hand by the dog’s mouth and felt a breath. ‘Alive!’ He felt under the dog’s upper arm and laid a hand on its chest. ‘A beating heart!’ His hand came away sticky with red goo.

Just then, headlights appeared around the bend ahead of him. If he cleared the road, the vehicle would run over the dog. He felt he had nothing to lose anymore…nothing but to try and save the dog. He stood in the road, illuminated from behind by the flashlight on his bike, and waved his arms in the air. ‘I’m a gonner,’ he thought as the headlights grew large as two moons bearing down on him.

Tires screeched. He shut his eyes.

 ***

I woke up. No sulfur. Not Hell then.

A face appeared as my vision cleared. I shrank back into…softness. I awaited the strike. I awaited the face to sneer and turn ugly.

It didn’t. It smiled and was even more beautiful than the stars. I waited for the hooman to say something, but he didn’t. The look on his face told me everything, it read it like a hooman reading a book. I realized my teeth were sticking to my gums because I must have been baring them. I licked my lips, and the young male brought a water bottle to them. The sweetest I’d ever tasted. The…boy…sat up and began gesturing with his hands, not to me, but another near him. She was a bigger Hooman and gestured back. I realized they were communicating. I did not need to know the silent language to understand what they were saying. The female Hooman leaned over and gently hugged me. I realized that my ears didn’t hurt anymore. My skin was healing, and my coat was silky soft. It smelled like the woman and they boy. They’d been hugging me.

I was in heaven.

A week later, I still looked like crap. My fur was tufted in a multitude of places where I’d been clawed and bitten. I’d lost an eye, the socket sewn up. But I was elated as I walked with the boy to his classes. He was called handicapped, so I was allowed. He told me I was his ‘service dog’. I was so proud.

The boy called Robbie approached on our first day. He smelled bad. Like menacing bad…like that man from my first life. I growled and showed him my teeth. He didn’t bother us again. The boys accompanying Robbie didn’t smell bad, just misguided. One by one they approached me, hopeful, with wondering eyes. I enjoyed the attention, the pets, the treats…the look of frustration on the bully’s face. My Hooman was safe, I was safe. My dog instincts were always spot on.