Doglands

by Tim Willocks

  “Are you saying I’d be completely free?”

  “No one’s completely free, Furgul. Not even humans. Especially not humans. Including me. But it’s as free as you can be without getting into trouble.”

  “Why me?” asked Furgul.

  “Because I like you.” Jodi had deep blue eyes, and they bored into Furgul’s heart. “And because I want to save you from the needle.”

  “How do you know I’ll get the needle? I might persuade an animal lover to take me home as a pet.”

  “They won’t let that happen,” said Jodi. “Not now. You’re the leader of this revolt. You’ve caused them a lot of trouble and made them look bad. They won’t let you go.”

  Furgul hadn’t thought about that. But, of course, she was right. As soon as this protest was over, he’d have to take the long walk to the black door, just like Argal. His tail drooped. He pulled it back up. He had an idea.

  “Why don’t you take all of us with you?”

  Jodi shook her head. “I haven’t got enough room.”

  “There’s never enough room, is there?” said Furgul. “That’s why they kill us.”

  “I agree with you, Furgul. It’s a tragedy. It’s a crime.” He saw the sorrow in her eyes. “But I can’t change the whole world by myself. I can only change it a little. Will you come with me?”

  “They’d let you take me away? Even though I’m the leader?”

  “Yes. They know me well. They know I have experience with rebel dogs.”

  “But we’re all rebel dogs now. Brennus says they’ll make us all pay. And even if they don’t, they’ll kill any dog that isn’t rescued within five days.”

  “I don’t control the pound. The politicians do.”

  Furgul didn’t know what a politician was, but he didn’t like them. He searched inside his soul. He liked Jodi. He liked her a lot. He would love to run at Appletree Dog Sanctuary. But he felt sick inside. He felt confused.

  What would Argal do?

  “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t betray my friends. I won’t. We’re going to fight to the death. And I’m going to fight with them.”

  “I’ve already spoken to the manager of the pound. If you don’t surrender, you’ll all be classed as dangerous dogs. And you know what that means.”

  “They have no idea how dangerous we are.”

  “What can I do to make you change your mind?” asked Jodi. “If you end this quickly—and peacefully—I can persuade them that you’re not really dangerous.”

  “What then? Back to business as usual at the Needles? Five days to live?”

  “At least some of you would survive. Talk to the rest of the pack,” said Jodi. “You’re their leader, but you can’t make this decision on your own. It’s their lives too.”

  Furgul thought about this. “Jodi? Did they tell you how Argal died?”

  Jodi hesitated. Then she said, “It took four lethal injections to kill him. And even though they caused him terrible pain, he didn’t make a sound. The Vet said Argal was the strongest dog he’d ever seen.”

  Furgul swallowed the emotions in his throat. The sadness. The wild rage. He felt Argal’s spirit rise inside him. If you can’t be smart, at least you can be cunning.

  He said, “I’ll go and talk to the pack.”

  As Furgul trotted back to Brennus, Zinni ran up to him in a fury.

  “How could she?” snapped Zinni. Her tail wagged slowly with anger.

  “Jodi’s only trying to help,” said Furgul.

  “I don’t mean her. I mean my mistress. Look.”

  Zinni pointed out a very thin woman in a very pink dress with a very pink, very large, hat. The woman was cuddling a Chihuahua with a diamond collar.

  “She’s got a new dog already, the pink bitch. And that little brown bitch dares to tell me I’m not wanted anymore. Chihuahuas have become more fashionable than papillons. I’m going to be abandoned.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Zinni, but we’ve got bigger steaks to fry. And I need your help. We’re going to hold a council of war. I want you to get all the small dogs together.”

  Zinni’s tail stopped wagging. “You want me to be leader of the small dogs?”

  “Who else?”

  Furgul sent Brennus to talk to the big dogs, Zinni to talk to the small, and Skyver to talk to the mutts. The pit bulls wanted to be included with the big dogs, but Zinni wouldn’t let them go. Then the three leaders met with Furgul and they made a plan.

  At first the discussion was gloomy. None of the different groups wanted to surrender, even though Skyver had tried quite hard to persuade the mutts. Like Furgul, they all said they’d rather fight to the end than go back to the way things were. Then Furgul suggested some cunning ideas, and Brennus gave his wisdom. Zinni had some demands of her own, and Skyver—who had more experience than any of them in surviving on the streets—had the most cunning suggestions of all. When they had agreed on what they should do, Zinni, Brennus and Skyver went back to tell their gangs, and Furgul went back to the fence to speak to Jodi.

  “They won’t surrender,” said Furgul. He saw a flicker of fear in Jodi’s face. He added, “Not unless the politicians meet all our demands.”

  “What do you want?” asked Jodi.

  “We want food and water in the yard,” said Furgul.

  “I’m sure I can arrange that.”

  “We want the two nice women to bring it, the redhead and the blonde, not Fatso and Baldy. And no Traps.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “We want the best Vet in the world to take care of Brennus.”

  “I used to be a Vet,” said Jodi. “Maybe not the best in the world, but—”

  “Great. We want you. But why did you stop being a Vet?”

  “Being a Vet’s very hard. It’s hard because Vets love animals very deeply. They devote their whole lives to helping animals—and yet being a Vet means you have to kill animals too. With the needle. Especially dogs and cats.”

  “You killed dogs?”

  “Yes,” said Jodi. “It’s part of the job.”

  Furgul took a step backward. He started to turn away.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Jodi, “and it’s difficult for you to understand. Perhaps it’s impossible. But the people who love animals the most—like Vets, and like the people who work in shelters and dog pounds, and even the Traps too—are the people who have to do all the dirty work for everybody else.”

  “You mean the politicians?”

  “No, I mean the masters who abandon their pets and the masters who are so cruel that their dogs run away. I mean the pedigree breeders who breed too many dogs—like the greyhound farmers. And the people who buy ‘birthday dogs’ and ‘Christmas dogs’ for children who think they’re toys. It’s their fault that there are too many dogs and not enough people to take care of them. But it’s the Vets and shelter workers who have to do the killing. Some can only do it for a few years because it breaks their hearts. After a while I burned out too. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Furgul tried to take all this in. “Is it true they kill millions and millions?”

  “Yes. All over the world. And I won’t lie. I killed some of them myself. Do you still trust me?”

  Furgul studied her. He remembered all that Argal had said about humans. They were a very strange breed indeed. But one thing was for sure: They weren’t going to go away. Furgul had to learn how to tell the good from the bad.

  “I trust you,” he said.

  “What else do you want?” asked Jodi.

  “We want the Needles to become a no-kill shelter. Even for dangerous dogs.”

  Jodi frowned. “I don’t think the politicians will pay for it.”

  “You see all those cameras?” said Furgul, who now had much more knowledge of these matters. “You see that helicopter in the sky?”

  Jodi nodded.

  “Tell your politicians to turn on their TVs,” said Furgul, “and instead of watching dogs sell beer, they can w
atch us being slaughtered.”

  He looked at Jodi. She could see that he was deadly serious. She saw the other dogs. They stood behind Furgul in a silent pack, the tall, the small and the scruffy. They were all deadly serious too.

  She said, “I’ll see what I can do.” She was scared.

  “No one else can save us, Jodi,” said Furgul. “It’s up to you.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE SHOWDOWN

  The blonde and redhead hauled out sacks of food and buckets of water. They slashed the sacks open, and the hungry dogs had a feast. Brennus made sure that each dog got a fair share and prevented any squabbling. It had been a long day, and Furgul was famished too. As he was about to tuck into his grub, Skyver trotted up, licking crumbs from his whiskers with his yellow-coated, foul-smelling tongue. He grinned with his horrible teeth, which were stained and decayed from years of eating garbage, and Furgul believed that he really was the scruffiest dog in the world.

  “Listen, boss,” said Skyver.

  “Don’t call me boss,” said Furgul.

  “Okay, I understand. The ‘proud but humble’ routine—that’s exactly the way I’d play it too,” said Skyver. “It’s always a winner with the masses. But, since you are the boss—and since everyone knows I was Argal’s best friend—I figure it’s only fair that you and me should get a double ration of food.”

  Skyver seemed very pleased with himself for coming up with this idea. He scratched himself under his mangy chin with the claws of a mangy hind leg. Furgul retreated a step to avoid the fleas.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Furgul. “Since I’m the boss I want this yard kept as neat and clean as possible. So I’m putting you in charge of policing all the poop.”

  Skyver wriggled his flea-bitten brows. “In charge of policing what?”

  “If a dog wants to take a dump, they do it over there—in the corner by the back of the cellblock. I don’t want it scattered all over the yard.”

  Skyver was aghast. “But why me?”

  “Because everyone knows you were Argal’s best friend.”

  Furgul picked up a biscuit and crunched it. When you were this hungry, anything tasted good. As Skyver skulked away, he developed a pronounced limp that Furgul had not noticed before. A none-too-bright pit bull called Cyril asked Skyver what was wrong.

  “Don’t you worry, Cyril,” said Skyver, with a pained but heroic smile. “It’s nothing. Just some injuries I got when me and Argal were fighting off the Traps—you know, when we tried to help Furgul escape from the back of the truck.”

  “Gee,” said Cyril, “it looks pretty bad to me.”

  “Naw,” said Skyver. “Can’t be more than a broken femur. And a couple of cracked ribs. Those Traps came on pretty heavy with their clubs. And their steel-toed boots.”

  Cyril looked horrified. “That’s terrible, Skyver.”

  “I’d love to stop and chat, old pal, but I’ve got too much work to do.”

  “With a broken leg and two cracked ribs?” gasped Cyril. “How can I help?”

  “It’s a very important job,” said Skyver. “That’s why I wanted to do it myself.”

  Cyril’s ears drooped. “No one’s ever given me an important job.”

  “That’s because no one’s spotted your true potential, Cyril.”

  “You think I’ve got true potential?” panted Cyril.

  “Are you kidding? I haven’t spotted so much potential since I first saw myself in the mirror as a pup.” Skyver frowned. “But it really is essential that this job get done with one hundred percent commitment and dedication.”

  “Oh please, Skyver,” begged Cyril. “Just give me a chance, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “Well,” said Skyver, “as I was just telling Furgul, I think we should keep this exercise yard as neat and clean as possible.… ”

  Furgul grinned and finished crunching up his biscuits. Then he had a good drink of water and picked a nice spot in the sun to have a snooze.

  He woke up feeling chilly and saw that the sun had gone down.

  As the evening wore on, the people at the fence drifted away with their cameras and their treats. The helicopter flew off into the distance. The dogs were left alone in the yard. The shelter workers did not reappear. Nor did the Traps. And neither did Jodi. The stars came out. A full moon rose. The night was cold and still, without a breath of wind or breeze. The pack lay down in one great pile to keep each other warm, like in the old days before dogs were pets. And as they waited longer and longer for something to happen, the hopes of the rebel dogs started to fade.

  At some time after midnight, as Brennus had predicted, harsh white electric lights suddenly flooded the yard and the door of the prison opened and the Traps marched out.

  “Here they come!” barked Zinni.

  The pack woke up and stretched their limbs. They watched as five Traps lined up to the left of the cellblock door. Five more lined up to the right. Some carried clubs and some carried nooses and some carried guns that fired the knockout needles. Then another five Traps came out. And another five. And another and another and another—until more Traps stood out there in the night than any dog in the pack had ever seen before.

  “They must have called in every Trap for a hundred miles around,” said Skyver. “We don’t stand a chance.”

  “At least we’ve got the full moon on our side,” said Brennus.

  “Yeah,” said Zinni. “Let’s remind them we’re related to werewolves.”

  “Each gang behind their leader,” ordered Furgul.

  From the corner of his eye he saw a long black limousine drive by the fence. The door handles shone gold and were shaped like dog bones. Then the limo disappeared and Furgul gave it no more thought.

  The big dogs gathered behind Brennus, the little dogs behind Zinni, including the pit bulls, and the mutts milled about behind Skyver, whose limp had been miraculously cured. Furgul walked toward the long line of grim, silent Traps, his tail held high, then he turned to face the pack. There wasn’t even a faint breath of wind. Argal was far away. Furgul was on his own.

  “Someone just said we don’t stand a chance,” said Furgul.

  Skyver glanced around with a fierce, bold face as if to say, Who was that?

  “In one way he’s right,” Furgul continued. “Humans have the power to crush us. They always will. In that sense we never had a chance. And maybe the world will never know what we do here tonight. The TV cameras have gone. In the morning they’ll shovel our bodies into trucks and burn us in the incinerator.”

  Furgul looked at the faces of the dogs before him. All the different breeds and crossbreeds. They were all great dogs. And some of them had become real friends. For a moment he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

  “We’re with you, Furgul,” said Brennus, his voice steady. “Tell us what to do.”

  Furgul took a breath and carried on. “But even if we don’t have a chance, we still have a choice. We can go to the slaughter like sheep, listening to their lies and letting them pat us on the head as they stick the needle in—”

  “Never!” cried Skyver.

  “Or we can go down fighting,” said Furgul, “and show them why our ancestors were the freest creatures on the earth.”

  The whole pack howled at the moon.

  “We’re still free—even here in the Needles,” said Furgul. “Argal showed us that. You’re all free dogs. So each of you can make the choice for yourself.”

  With one hind leg Furgul scraped a line in the dirt.

  “You’ve already put up a brave fight. If any dogs want to leave and go back to the cages, they only have to walk across this line. They can go with all honor and with my respect.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation Skyver trotted toward the line.

  When he was nearly there, he realized that he was the only dog in the whole pack who had moved. And they were all looking at him. He slowed down. With a flash of inspiration, he changed course to stand at Furgul’s right shoulde
r.

  “Live free or die like a gerbil!” barked Skyver.

  To his disappointment no one took up this battle cry or even cheered. Their attention was on something behind him. As Skyver turned to look, Furgul turned too.

  Behind the line of Traps, some workmen had erected two ladders against the cellblock wall. They climbed up the ladders holding a long roll of cloth between them. They nailed the cloth to the wall and let it unfurl downward. It was a giant yellow banner with big red letters. In the middle was a huge painting of a dog. It was a really stupid-looking dog. In fact, it didn’t look much like a dog at all. Its eyes were too large, its ears were too big, and its tongue hung down to its knees. In one hand it held a spoon—and in the other a bowl of biscuits.

  “They’re taunting us!” said Zinni.

  “What does that mean?” asked Cyril, the pit bull.

  “They’re making fun of us,” Zinni explained.

  The pack growled with anger. Furgul turned back to face them.

  “Take your positions,” he ordered. “Brennus, you and I and the big dogs charge in the front line. The Traps will shoot at us first. Zinni, your gang will charge right behind us. While the Traps are reloading their guns, go for their ankles. Skyver—Skyver?”

  Furgul looked about. Skyver suddenly seemed six inches shorter. He was crawling on his belly toward the rear of the gang of mutts. He stopped.

  “I’m going undercover!” said Skyver. “I’m planning a sneak attack!”

  “When Zinni’s gang brings the Traps down, you charge with the mutts to finish them off.”

  Barking fiercely, the dogs drew themselves up in three battle lines.

  Furgul joined Brennus at the front. The big dogs were eager to attack.

  The Traps stood motionless, their clubs and nooses and guns at the ready.

  “This is it!” said Furgul. “Charge on my command!”

  Then a strange new commotion boiled up around the cellblock door.

  “Wait!” ordered Furgul.