There is jingle of keys and my favourite two-legs walks in. He smells a little tired. A little sour. Has he been out having fun without me? I run over to the door and flop over on my back. My favourite two-legs rubs my tummy. All is well.
He goes into the kitchen and I hear the rustling sound that signals dinner. What strange animal is He feeding me? I never hear it except for when it’s time to eat. It smells fantastic and it’s in my bowl. I don’t take any chances. I only take breaks to breathe. Otherwise something terrible could happen. The food could get up and walk away. Or some other dog could get in the house and eat it. Or anything really. I cough to clear my throat. And I’m done.
He calls me to the door. I bounce off the walls while waiting for him to get his act together. There is a click as His strong hands close the collar around my neck. It’s definitely there to stop me from losing Him. He sinply can’t keep up with me. It’s time for our walk.
I’m normally happy as anything to be out in the park. It’s a great opportunity to pick up on the neighbourhood gossip at all my favourite pee posts and maybe catch up with a friend or two. Not this time of the year though. It’s the time of the year that I have to keep my favourite two-legs out of trouble.
I take a sniff at the first patch of green that we come to. It’s always nice to find out who’s been around. But my heart isn’t really in it today. Have to be alert. Ears up, nose ready. We’re less than halfway into the park when I see the first one. It’s a small one, a puppy two-legs, no more than half as tall as my two-legs. She’s in the bushes, staring. Her mouth opens and shuts, but no sound comes out. There’s a line of blood down from her brow, and when she turns her head, left and right, left and right, trying to fix her one good eye on the pair of us. I don’t smell the blood on her face. If I did, I’d be going crazy. That’s the thing about these two legs in the park. On the streets sometimes. No smell. They don’t have any smell. She just stands there, watching us, one eye bright and angry, the other one missing.
I tug my two-legs away from her. He makes a little noise, deep in his throat. Not a good noise. There isn’t much joy in the walk after that. I don’t know where these things with no smell come from, or why they appear when they do. They don’t like me, and I don’t like them much either. Worst thing is, they’re always trying to get around me to my two-legs. I’ve never let them. You can’t trust anything without a smell.
We’re halfway through the park when the next one appears. This one is in worse shape. It’s a big female. She’s a little more active, trying to reach out to grab my two-legs. Something’s been chewing at her fingers. The tips are gone, leaving nothing but soft looking red points. She can’t seem to move very far from her spot. I look back at my two-legs. He looks straight through her. In fact, he’s starting to veer towards her. The female two-legs with no smell bares her teeth. It looks like a smile, like my two-legs sometimes gives when he’s playing fetch. But she doesn’t look like she’s in a tail wagging mood. Not at all. It’s something in the eyes. Those eyes would smell hungry and excited, if they had any smell at all. But they don’t. There’s nothing that scares us more than something without a smell, I tell you. You can’t tell where it is, what it’s thinking. It makes me want to curl up and whimper, if only it wasn’t rapidly approachin the pair of us.
My two-legs shows no signs of slowing down. Does he see her? He doesn’t show it if he did. And I know his sense of smell is worse than a puppy with a snoutful of its own poop. This isn’t good. It looks like I’ll need to bust out one of my old tricks for this one. I tuck my forelegs in and twist before I hit the ground. He makes another sound of annoyance and starts yanking on my leash, while I wriggle my back on the scratchy grass, coincidentally getting that itchy spot that He always misses. He pulls a little harder. I take the opportunity to spring to my feet and rumble off in a new direction. Caught off guard, he loses the leash. Success! The grass rustles underpaw as I take off across the field, only glancing back to see the look of disappointment on the face of the no smell two-legs.
It takes my two-legs a while to catch me. In the end, I have to slow down and start running in little circles so that he manages to stomp on the handle of the leash. The bitter smell of irritation oozes from him. He tugs the leash a little harder than he has to. I follow, tail between my legs. He doesn’t look pleased at all. A romp through the grass is one of life’s great pleasures. Second to bacon of course.
He’s bringing me back the way we came, cutting short our walk in the park. I huff out a breath and droop my ears, glancing back to see if He notices. No, he does not.
The troubles aren’t over. Some of them are rousing in the distance, now that the light is fading. They’re getting more daring, more active. It’s not safe for either of us. We’re back on the path, heading home. We round the corner to cover the last stretch back home and there, in the middle of the path, is one more. This one’s been around for a long time. It has already started to lose its shape, like the lines of its face are going blurry. I can’t tell if it was a male or female. Its eyes were just black holes in its head. It gapes at us, starting to drag itself forward.
Dear two-legs is oblivious. He probably wants to get home and drop Himself onto the couch. I slow down, but He is having none of that. The leash tightens and I find myself being dragged forward. The thing with no smell is starting to get more animated. It’s raising itself up on its stumpy limbs. No hands or feet here, they must be long gone. It still has teeth though. They look sharp.
I dig my claws into the ground and tense up. A low growl comes from my throat. The thing hears me. It stops. It hesitates.
My two-legs has had enough. The collar starts to pull at the skin at the back of my neck. I’m a big dog, but He’s much heavier and He always wins this game. The thing senses victory. It’s getting closer. I’m getting a little scared now. I don’t want it to touch my two-legs, but my two-legs can’t see it. I know that if it touches my two-legs, something Bad will happen. And that would make me a Bad Dog. Not just any Bad Dog, but the absolute worst kind there is, the kind that doesn’t take care of the pack.
I must be strong. I must be brave, even though I am so scared that I may widdle myself like a small pup again. I must be brave for my two-legs. I can’t hold on much longer, the pressure on my collar is unbearable. I reach deep, close my eyes and summon up the biggest storm of barks that I can find. For that one moment, I am bigger than a scared dog on a leash, bigger even than the giant mastiff down the street. For that one moment, there is a little magic, something ancient and terrible in that bark. I open my eyes and the magic is gone.
My two-legs stops pulling me, he looks on in a mix of wonder and fear. I look back ahead of me. The thing with no smell has retreated far from the path. I see it quivering off in the distance. I hold my head up high and trot home with my two-legs in tow. He seems relieved that I’m not giving him any more trouble. If only he knew. Still, a pack is a pack, even if the leader can’t seem to take care of himself. And the pack has me to keep it safe, even if it’s just for a walk in the park. And I will do it all again tomorrow.
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Credits to: Straydog1980
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