“I’ve been looking for you!” yapped Callie. “We need to get the pack organized. The others are running around like beetles under a rock.” She wagged her tail and held her head high, friendly.
“What do you need me for?” Shep grumbled, scooping a second bite into his jaws. “I thought Frizzle was helping you.”
“Frizzle? Yes, but what’s that got to do with anything?” She hopped onto the bag of kibble so she could look Shep in the eyes. “You seemed upset after what happened with Dover, so I asked the other dogs for help. Was I wrong?” She cocked her head. Her jowls were caught on both of her bottom fangs, giving her the silliest expression, though Shep knew she was being serious. Her eyes were deep and warm and curious. “What’s the matter with you?” she woofed.
“Nothing,” Shep growled, turning away from her and tearing into a different bag. “Just leave me alone. I’m sick of taking care of this pack of yappers. I’m hungry and tired and just want to get back to my den.”
Callie snorted and jumped onto this new bag. Her ears lay against her head and her tail was tucked low. “Fine, Shep,” she growled. “See this?” She jumped off the bag and turned her rump toward him. “This is me leaving you alone.” She loped stiff-legged out of the aisle and into the dark beyond.
Shep could hardly swallow the kibbles down. His throat felt dry and tight.
“Who needs you, anyway,” he grumbled. He spat out what food remained in his jaws and smelled for an aisle that contained beds. Gripping his teeth around the biggest bed he found, he dragged a whole pile down on top of his back. He dug his way to the top of the pile, circled once, twice, and then flopped down, falling instantly into a deep sleep.
Screams and shrieks echoed around him. Harsh barks, whimpers, claws scraping on stone, the anxious chattering of teeth: All rang throughout the cavernous space. At first, Shep thought he was dreaming. But he was not. He’d been woken from his first-ever dreamless sleep. Blinking his eyes to adjust them to the dark, he dragged his tired bones up from the pile of bedding he’d made for himself.
“I said get out!” The bark was loud and sharp, and unmistakably Frizzle’s.
Shep trotted to the end of the aisle, ears up and nose ready. It smelled like near midsun, but only dim light and a mist of rainwater poured in through the hole in the window made by Callie’s ramp. In that gray space stood Frizzle, with Callie and Higgins not far behind, their hackles raised and trembling. Facing Frizzle were three beastly dogs: one white, one black, and one dusky tan with a pink nose. Slobber dripped from their exposed fangs and trembling jowls. They smelled of human garbage and dirt — wild dogs.
“This is our den,” growled Frizzle. “We found it, and you’re not taking it!”
“Frizzle, no!” howled Shep.
Shep sprang toward them, fangs bared, paw pads splaying for better grip on the smooth floor. But he was too late.
The white wild dog lashed forward and caught Frizzle around the neck. Frizzle yelped as he was flung high into the air, clamped in the big dog’s jaws. The white dog landed hard on stiff legs and threw Frizzle across the floor with a flick of his head. Frizzle’s little body flopped against the stone, then slid on the smooth surface, turning slightly before coming to rest against a shelf.
Shep’s heart raced, lifeblood pounding through his veins and ringing in his ears. He shot into the air and crashed like a wave onto the white dog’s neck. His fangs ripped into the white fur and his jaws locked. The wild dog howled and shook his head. He rolled onto his side and began to slash at Shep with his claws.
Shep raked the dog’s belly with his own claws, then released his jaws and sprang away. The white flipped over and onto his paws. They circled one another, jowls trembling, fangs bared.
“So these pets have a guard dog,” growled the white, head low and ears flat.
“You leave them alone,” spat Shep, hackles bristling along his back like flames.
“Here’s the deal,” the white said, tongue flickering between dripping fangs. “You die, and then we tear these stinking pets to shreds, one by one, until they go back to their dens.”
The dog leapt high, but kept his head low, catching his fangs on Shep’s collar. Then he jerked his muzzle, choking Shep.
Shep squealed and his tongue flopped from his mouth. He’d forgotten about the collar. He ducked his head and pulled back. The collar slipped off; it hung limp from the wild dog’s jowls. The last piece of his boy had been taken from him.
“I’ve got your collar,” the white dog snarled, spitting the fabric loop out onto the floor. “Guess that means you’re my pet now?” The other two wild dogs moved closer, hackles bristled, fangs bared, whiplike tails flat and trembling.
“I have a deal for you,” growled Shep. “The deal is you leave and never come back.” He leapt off his hind legs and caught the white dog under his jaw. Shep rolled, dragging the white onto his side.
With a yelp, the wild dog fell hard on his back. The impact knocked Shep’s jaws from their hold on the fur. Shep rolled out of the way, sprang to his paws, and resumed his stance, ready for the next attack.
The white scrambled back, joining his two packmates. He was panting hard. Red lifeblood stained the fur around his neck.
The wild dog glared at the other dogs, the pets, who cowered in the dark. “I’ll be back with the rest of our pack. You have until then to clear out.” He spat ruddy drool at Shep’s paws. “I doubt you can protect them all.”
The three wild dogs backed away from Shep, then leapt onto the wood ramp and raced out into the storm.
Shep nosed his collar where it lay in a pool of lifeblood and slobber. Good-bye, Boy. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then snorted and turned to the other dogs. They were pressed against the nearby shelves, paralyzed with fear. Even the bigger dogs like Cheese and Virgil trembled under their fur.
Zeus emerged from the dark of one of the aisles. “Let’s get out of here,” he woofed to Shep. “If we go now, we can catch up with those dogs and work out a truce.”
“They’re wild dogs, Zeus,” Shep grunted. “They’re not going to bargain with small dogs.”
“Who said anything about small dogs?” Zeus stood, tail stiff, ears flat. “You’re not telling me you’re staying with these yappers?”
Shep cocked his head. “Of course I’m staying,” he barked. “Aren’t you?”
Zeus backed away, toward the hole. “I’m going where I know I’ll be safe,” he growled. “With the other big dogs.” Rain blasted by the winds spattered the floor at his paws.
“Don’t go,” Shep said, stepping toward his friend, tail low and wagging. “We need you. I need you. I can’t protect them all myself.”
“So leave,” Zeus snapped. “Come with me. We’ll go off, just the two of us. We can protect ourselves.” His stub tail bobbed and his ears flicked forward.
“I can’t leave them,” Shep snuffled, glancing back at the huddled shadows of the other dogs. “They’re defenseless.”
“You’re one paw in the hole,” Zeus spat. “They’re already four paws in it, and you’re willingly stepping into that hole with them.” He sprang onto the wooden ramp. “It’s your lifeblood that’s going to be spilt,” he barked. “And for what? A couple of yappers.”
Zeus bounded down the plank and into the whirling rain. Lightning flashed, sparkling along Zeus’s coat, and then all was dark. Zeus was gone.
A howl rose from behind Shep, near the shelves. It was Callie’s clear voice, and it sounded out her broken heart. Her paws rested beside the motionless black fur of Frizzle’s back. Red lifeblood pooled around her claws.
Shep loped to her side and sat behind her. “I’m sorry,” he woofed softly.
“You were right about the wild dogs,” she said. Her bark was flat and cold. “They were terrible. Those three bounded in over the plank and started nosing the other dogs around, barking that they claimed this den and all the kibble. Only Frizzle had the fur to stand up to them.” Callie gently licked Frizzle’s hide
. “Now look at him.”
“If I’d been with you instead of sulking alone, I could have protected you — him.” Shep whimpered, crouching low, and rested his head beside Callie’s flank. His nose filled with the sickening scent of spilt lifeblood.
“I saw Zeus leave,” Callie woofed. “Why didn’t you go with him? You must know that when those wild dogs come back, we’ll be torn apart like toys.”
Shep sighed. “Remember that legend I was telling you before the bird attacked, the one about the Great Wolf?”
Callie glanced at Shep, then returned her gaze to Frizzle’s body.
“I never got to tell you the ending.”
The pup snarled and spat in front of the huge paws of the Great Wolf. All dogs heard his challenge and came running to see what the Great Wolf would do.
The Great Wolf looked down at the pup, whose eyes flashed with brazen fury. The Great Wolf bowed his head, acknowledging the challenge, and the pup attacked. He dug his tiny teeth into the Great Wolf’s hide, and scratched his sharp claws at the thick fur. All dogs waited for the Great Wolf to deal the death blow to the pup. Dams whimpered, dragging their own pups to their sides.
The Great Wolf, however, rolled away from the pup. He sprang far back, and then leapt off of the mountain. The Great Wolf could not bring himself to kill the innocent pup, and so he sacrificed himself. He tumbled down, nose over tail, the cold wind ruffling his fur, and for the first time, he felt peace.
All dogs howled with grief, including the pup, who had realized, too late, what he’d done.
The Silver Moon heard their cries. She reached out and caught the Great Wolf before he hit the ground. She carried him into the sky, and the Great Wolf grew, covering the world.
“You will be my companion,” the Silver Moon said, “and help me to watch over all dogs as long as I shine down upon them.”
The Great Wolf curled his huge body around the Silver Moon. The moonstuff glinted off every hair in his coat like tiny fires across the sky. Below, the dogs marveled at how he sparkled throughout the night.
“That story changed every thing for me,” Shep woofed. “I wanted to live as much as the next dog, but I realized that the cruelty of the fight kennel wasn’t the only way. I tried to kill my opponent as quickly as possible, without causing much pain. I would peek through the walls of the kennel at night and see those sparkling lights in the sky and hope that when the Great Wolf looked down on me, he saw that I was a good dog.”
Callie had curled herself into a tight ball against Frizzle’s back as she listened to Shep’s story. When he finished, she opened her eyes.
“The point is,” Shep said, “I don’t think it’s every dog for himself. I think we’re meant to stick together, big dogs and small.” Shep sat up. “I just wish I’d been there. I wish it’d been me facing off with the wild dogs and not Frizzle.”
“He wouldn’t have wanted that,” Callie said. “Even if you’d been there, he would’ve done the same thing.” Callie nuzzled Frizzle’s fur. “Stupid mutt.”
“He was a brave dog,” Shep woofed. “A pain in the tail, but a brave one.”
Callie panted softly. “You’re a good packmate,” she yipped. “Frizzle knew that. I know that.”
“We all — snort — know it,” barked Daisy.
While Shep had been telling his story, the other dogs had huddled around him. They all looked at him now with big eyes, tails low and wagging, ears forward, waiting to hear what he had to howl. And this time, it didn’t feel like a burden. Shep realized that to these dogs, he was the Great Wolf, the defender of the peace. That wasn’t a burden — that was a gift.
Thunder crashed, shaking the whole building to the very floor the dogs stood on. Oscar yowled miserably and Boji licked his head several times. Shep could see that all the dogs were nervous, and that they were waiting for him to bark.
“We should go back to our dens,” he snuffled.
“What’d he woof?” barked Rufus, who stood at the far edge of the pack. “I can’t hear anything back here! Did he bark that we should go home? I’ve been barking about that for heartbeats!”
Daisy strutted up to Rufus and nipped him on the jowl. “Look Outside,” she snapped. “Think you can paw it — snort — home in that?”
Every dog looked out the hole in the window.
The clouds above them were black, though Shep knew it should still be light out. The wind howled like the Black Dog himself and sheets of rain tore leaves from the nearby trees. Every few heartbeats, thunder grumbled and the sky blazed with lightning.
“We can’t go Outside,” Callie moaned, trembling as the clouds flashed white. “We’ll be washed away.”
Shep did not disagree, but he couldn’t think of another plan. He wasn’t a planner — he was a doer. Callie was the one who thought of stuff. Shep looked at the little girldog. Her whole body slumped toward Frizzle’s silent form. Now there was a situation he could do something about.
“Wherever we decide to go, we can’t leave Frizzle here,” Shep woofed. “Let’s give him a proper burial.”
Callie flapped her curled tail. “Where can we bury him?” she asked. “Outside is too dangerous, and there are no holes in here.”
When he died, Shep wanted to be carried like the Great Wolf into the sky. However, Shep was not the Silver Moon; he couldn’t carry Frizzle that far. But he knew of someplace high up and wonderfully soft that might feel like a cloud.
“I have the perfect place,” Shep barked.
He lifted Frizzle’s body gently in his mouth, holding him like he had little Oscar, between his teeth. He loped into the darkness, back down the aisles between the tall shelves, until he came to the tower of bedding that he’d made for himself. He climbed up onto the mound, a stretch above the floor, and rested Frizzle’s body in the center of all the beds. Closing his eyes, Shep dragged a large bed over the body.
The other dogs had followed Callie and him and now surrounded the pile of bedding.
“Shouldn’t some dog say something?” Boji asked.
Higgins stood and snorted. “He was a good chap, Frizzle,” he began. “He was a scrapper, and liked kibble, and girldogs.” Higgins coughed and ran his paw over his nose. “Oh, hang it, I’m terrible with speeches.”
“No,” Shep woofed. “That was … nice.”
The dogs snuffled their agreement. Only Callie stared into the velvet skin of the bed in front of her, her tail beneath her slumped haunches. She needed more than that.
Frizzle deserves more than that.
Shep looked at the bed he’d placed over the body. “When I was a pup,” he woofed, “I fought other dogs to survive. I hated it, but worse than the fighting was what they did with the dog who lost. The humans would just toss the body into a hole. Just like that, without so much as a stroke on the ears.”
Shep licked his jowls, then continued. “A fight dog deserves more — all dogs do. But now, I’m barking about a fight dog. A dog who wasn’t afraid to stand up to three dogs at once. Three dogs who were bigger than he was and more vicious than anything you’ve ever seen.” Shep rested a paw on the bed covering Frizzle. “I underestimated you,” he woofed. “You, Frizzle, were an amazing fighter. Thank you for defending us.”
Callie keened. Her cry rose like the Silver Moon and resounded throughout the den. One by one, the others joined her until the whole building echoed with their voices.
Great Wolf, watch over him. Shep joined their cry.
The echoes quieted until all that remained were the howling winds and pounding rain of the storm. The dogs looked up at Shep, their ears forward and tails wagging. Even Callie looked to him. In that heartbeat, Shep felt what the Great Wolf must have felt — the pressure to make things right. But he was not the Great Wolf; he was just a regular dog. Fear dug its claws into his heart. He could not lead them alone.
Shep leapt down off the pile of bedding, landing between Rufus and Cheese. The dogs became confused — wasn’t Shep the alpha? Whimpers and soft cries e
choed throughout the space, and the dogs chattered their teeth anxiously.
“We need to work together,” Shep barked. “I can’t defend you myself.”
The whimpers grew louder.
“But I can help you defend yourselves,” he howled. “Higgins, Ginny, you both know about human things. Is there anything here we can use to keep the wild dogs from attacking? Callie, do you have any ideas?”
“You were on the right scent before,” snapped Rufus. “We clear out of this place and head back to our dens before those mongrels return.”
Several dogs moaned their agreement. Callie remained silent, her eyes on the burial mound. Shep smelled the pack’s fear growing. Rufus’s yapping wasn’t helping.
“Remember what this storm did to your dens?” Shep barked. “We can’t run away from the wild dogs; we have nowhere else to go.”
The fear scent bloomed until it overwhelmed Shep’s nose. Oscar cowered beneath Boji’s belly. Ginny paced and mumbled about a potential rescue by Lassie. Even easygoing Cheese wagged his tail harder and panted heavy breaths.
Perhaps his focus on the den-destroying storm wasn’t helping, either.
“You’re all strong, healthy dogs,” Shep began, trying a new track. “We can defend this den from an attack.” Shep glanced quickly around the space in front of him. “There,” he barked. “If the smaller dogs get on top of those shelves, they’ll be safe from danger. And the big dogs can drop down on the wild dogs and gain an attack advantage.”
“Excuse me,” yapped Higgins. He shuffled out from the mess of dogs. “What if instead of dropping themselves onto the wild dogs, the dogs dropped the objects from the shelves onto them? The wild dogs would never expect that. It might scare the scoundrels off.” His tiny tail wiggled and his ears pricked forward.
“Brilliant!” yipped Callie. Shep could see that she was shaking off the sadness like rain from her fur. “What else can we do?” She wagged her tail excitedly, jaws open and eyes bright.
The Storm Page 10