Guard Dog

Cerberus didn’t fully understand about time, but he knew he had been guarding the gate for a long amount of it. In the beginning the river was just a little trickle and the dead who came to cross were few. They saw him and were afraid. They thought he would tear them with his claws and sting them with his tail, or worse - devour them with his three mouths. But he would not. The dead were free to pass through the gate, he was there to stop them if they tried to come back out. Nobody tried to escape during those days. They knew he was too powerful. His master praised him, and he was proud.

Later, as the river swelled, so did the flow of the dead. They came to the gate wrapped in cloth and carried sealed jars with delicious meats and sweetened milk, they laid these before him, hoping he would choose to eat the contents instead of themselves. He accepted these offerings even though he was going to let them through anyway. And why shouldn't? He was a good boy. None had escaped, although only a few had dared try. Sometimes master would come and check the gate, and he would see what a good job Cerberus was doing and give him a little honey cake as a special treat.

The river grew so wide that the dead could no longer cross without help from the boatman. Cerberus liked the boatman. He was quiet and kind. If Cerberus’ ears got turned inside out, the boatman would flip them back for him. Sometimes the boatman would scratch him under his chins, making Cerberus’ leg thump.

When master came to visit, he would sit with the boatman and talk, and Cerberus could rest his heads on master’s lap. He could sense that master was tired, so he stayed vigilant so that he wouldn’t have to worry about the gate.

When it was slow on the river, the boatman would sing, and Cerberus could hear his low voice come over the water. He didn’t know what the words meant, but he would join in anyway, his melancholy howls harmonising toward the abyss.

Over time, the flow of dead began to change. Instead of a steady stream, they came in waves. Instead of soft cloth they were dressed in hard shells and carried weapons. Some tried to challenge Cerberus, but they could not succeed. He broke their pointy sticks and cracked open their shells like an oyster. Some would run from him only to wander the banks of the river, never finding a way back, returning to the gate defeated. He let them all in, even if they had been nasty to him. It was what master wanted.

Once, something new came. It looked like a dead one, but it smelled different. Like the forests he ran in as a puppy. It made him remember the light that warmed him from above and the soft earth below. He had had nothing but bare rock beneath his paws for so long.

“Ho there boy!” said the not-dead-one. “Look at what I have for you.” It offered something sweet smelling wrapped in leaves. I remember leaves. Cerberus’ tail started wagging and his tongues lolled out. Honey cakes! Three of them! He knew not-dead-ones weren’t allowed through the gate, but surely it was all right? It wasn’t trying to get through, it was bringing him honey cakes, which must mean he is a good boy. He took a cake in each mouth, savouring the way it made his mouth tingle. Then Cerberus began to feel…sleepy.

Cerberus dreamed for the first time in eons. He is running in the forest again. He is chasing something, not because he needs to catch it, but because he wants to run. His litter mates are there with him, nipping playfully at his heels. Master comes and scoops him up, holding him close to his chest. It is warm and safe. Master loves him and he loves master.

Cerberus awoke. He shook and yawned as he returned from the dream realm. What had happened? Where was the not-dead-one? That’s when he saw it, running from the gate holding the hand of a dead one. Escape! He growled and sprang after them, snarling in triplicate. He ran towards them, but he was too late. Somehow, they knew the way and disappeared back in the realm of the living. Cerberus howled in despair. He had failed master.

Cerberus knew he had been a bad boy. He shouldn’t have eaten the honey cakes. He hung his head in shame, whining softly. What if master was angry with him? Master came, saw the crumbs on the ground, and shook his head. He wasn’t angry, he just seemed very sad and very, very tired. He gave Cerberus a pat on the heads and said, “Never mind boy, I know you did your best.” Cerberus didn’t understand the words but understood master anyway. He knew that he had to work even harder, to be a good boy. If he was the best guard dog ever, maybe master wouldn’t have to be so sad.

Ever vigilant, Cerberus stood guarding the gate. The dead continued to come. More and more they came. Some dressed in many layers, with shiny rocks tied to their bodies. Some came wrapped in nothing at all, patterns marked into their skin. Many seemed sick or tired and were grateful to have arrived at the river. Some came with strange wounds and did not seem to know where they were. Some were angry and shouted at him. Cerberus remained stoic, ever watchful for escapees. He would not let down master again.

The flow of dead coming to the gate is now like an avalanche. They no longer bring him offerings, they cry and ask why their gods have forsaken them. The boatman travels back and forth continuously, unable to stop for head scratches or tummy rubs. Master has not come to visit them in a long time. Cerberus has watched uncountable dead cross a river that he himself cannot. He understands now that the flow will never stop. The work will never be done. But he remains on guard. Even though it is cold. Even though the ground is hard. Even though he longs to be by master’s side, he guards.