Doglands

by Tim Willocks

A whole bunch of cameramen spilled from the cellblock. They pointed their cameras at the dogs and clicked. There were a lot of blinding flashes, and Furgul wondered if this was some strange new weapon. Even more bizarrely, two women appeared—a redhead and a blonde—but they looked nothing like the two shelter workers. They were wearing scanty clothes and tottered on pointy shoes with very high heels. They shivered in the cold, which wasn’t surprising, but when the cameras pointed toward them, they smiled with very white teeth and contorted their bodies.

  “Can we attack them as well?” asked Zinni.

  “No,” said Furgul, “they don’t have any weapons.”

  The women in the pointy shoes stepped aside, and the cameras clicked even faster as a big man emerged. He wore a big suit and a big watch and had the biggest, whitest teeth that Furgul had ever seen. With the women on either arm, he went to stand beneath the banner with the picture of the stupid dog. The cameras followed like a herd of geese. But all of them were careful to stay behind the line of armed Traps.

  Furgul and the pack watched it all with amazement.

  The big man smiled at the cameras a lot. Someone pointed a stick with a fuzzy ball on the top at his face. Then the big man started to talk and wave his arms. He pointed at the banner. He pointed at the dogs. His face became very sad, though Furgul could tell at once that he was just pretending. Then the big man started to drone.

  “Drone, drone, drone!” he droned.

  “Furgul?”

  Furgul turned. His heart leaped when he saw Jodi walking over.

  “It looks like you were serious about fighting,” she said.

  “We’re still serious,” said Furgul. “But who’s the guy?”

  “He calls himself the Greatest Dog Lover in the World,” said Jodi, “and right now he’s the best friend you’ve got. That’s Chuck Chumley, the dog-food tycoon.”

  “What’s a tycoon?” asked Furgul.

  Jodi smiled. “A man with lots and lots and lots and lots of money.”

  Furgul almost gave Zinni permission to attack him. Then he got it.

  “You mean he’s going to pay for the Needles to become a no-kill shelter?”

  “That’s right,” said Jodi. “You’ll all be taken care of. And so will all the dogs who come here in the future. Chumley’s agreed to hire good Vets. He’ll build a new shelter. No more ‘five days to live.’ No dog will ever be killed at this pound again, even if he or she is dangerous. You did it, Furgul.”

  “Why is Chuck Chumley being so kind?” asked Furgul.

  “He’s not really being kind, just clever,” said Jodi. “I explained to him that if he saved you rebel dogs, the publicity would make him famous all over the world.”

  “You mean the TV?”

  “The TV, the newspapers, and every sack and tin of Chumley’s Extra Meaty Dog Feed that he sells. In fact, he’ll sell so much extra dog food that he’ll make a huge profit from funding the new pound. But at least you’ll be alive.”

  Furgul turned to look at Chuck Chumley. He was posing in front of the banner for the cameras, both fists raised above his head in a gesture of triumph. “Boast! Brag! Preen!” cried Chumley. While Chumley showed off and peddled his products, Furgul trotted back to the waiting army of dogs. Most of them still had no idea what was going on.

  “We told them we wanted food, and we got it,” said Furgul.

  The pack pricked up their ears.

  “We asked for the best Vets, and we’ve got them too.”

  The pack started wagging their tails.

  “We told them we wanted a no-kill shelter—and that’s what we’re going to get.”

  The pack let out a huge rebel yell.

  “That’s right!” said Furgul. “No more dogs will die at the Needles!”

  Skyver jumped up in front of him and yelped, “In other words: WE WON! PRAISE BE TO ME!”

  Skyver jerked his head at Cyril the pit bull, who, as if remembering instructions, barked: “THREE CHEERS FOR SKYVER!”

  The dogs cheered and barked. Skyver stood on his hind legs while the pit bulls scampered around him.

  Furgul looked at Jodi. She was the first human being he had ever trusted. And she hadn’t let him down.

  “For the humans,” said Jodi, “the hero of the riot will be Chuck Chumley.”

  “That’s fine by me,” said Furgul. “I just want to get out of here.”

  “I’d still love to take you back to Appletree.”

  “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want you to take Brennus and Zinni.” Furgul hesitated. “And Skyver too.”

  “Which one is Skyver?”

  “He’s the tattiest, mangiest, dirtiest, scruffiest, craftiest, greediest dog you ever saw.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SANCTUARY

  Jodi drove them away from the Needles and into the night. The dogs were exhausted and fell asleep at once—Furgul in the passenger seat, Brennus filling up the rear, Skyver and Zinni curled on a blanket in the trunk space of Jodi’s truck. When Furgul woke up, it was dawn. Jodi had stopped the car outside a big old ramshackle house, and the four dogs climbed out. They blinked and stretched and shook themselves awake. They looked about the landscape in the rise of the sun, and their jaws opened wide with amazement.

  The house was surrounded by rolling meadows and lots of splendid trees. Oak and ash, maple and birch, yew and rowan, holly and hawthorn and elm. In an orchard the apple trees were covered with blossoms. A stream tumbled through the orchard, and as the dogs took it all in, birds of every kind began to sing.

  “How do you like your new home?” asked Jodi.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Zinni.

  “Magnificent,” said Brennus.

  “Do we have cable TV?” asked Skyver.

  Jodi looked at Furgul. “What do you think?”

  Furgul said, “I’m going for a run.”

  Life at Appletree Dog Sanctuary was everything Jodi had promised. Brennus gradually recovered his health and strength. Zinni was happy not to live inside a rich woman’s purse; in fact, she proved to be unusually agile and athletic, weaving, scrambling and leaping through the woods, and sometimes even outmaneuvering Furgul on her short, nimble legs. Skyver was appalled to discover that Jodi didn’t own a TV, but he passed his time spinning ever taller tales to the other dogs who already lived there.

  Furgul loved the freedom of Appletree, but as time passed he found it hard to settle down. His soul was restless. The wild and rambling road, for all its dangers, was where he felt he belonged. And Keeva preyed more and more on his mind. While the other dogs slept and ate in an old barn near Jodi’s house, Furgul trained himself to live in the open countryside. He found the spots in the woods where leaves were thickest to shelter from the rain. He made a nest of pine needles and bracken. He learned to eat berries, roots and rotting fruit. He ate beetles, insects and worms. He learned to kill rabbits, hares and rats, snakes and voles, stoats and ducks. Sometimes he went hungry. He became hard and lean and tough. The other dogs thought he was crazy, and perhaps he was. Sometimes he missed the comfort of living with the pack, but he knew it would weaken his resolve. Furgul was always preparing for the day when he’d return to Dedbone’s Hole and free Keeva.

  Brennus became a great mentor. The wise old Saint Bernard taught him many things about the human world and schooled him in the lore of the Doglands. He showed Furgul how to find his way at night by looking at the Dog Star—the brightest in all the sky. He explained how the phases of the moon might affect a dog’s moods, which meant that certain days were better than others for getting certain things done—or for exploring certain thoughts and feelings. He talked about the theory of the Doglines—“the paw prints of the ancestors”—which form a web of invisible pathways that wander all over the earth. These days most modern dogs had never even heard of the Doglines, but Brennus told him all he knew. He also told him legendary tales about the life and times of Argal. Argal had been a king, but B
rennus was a shaman, and he instructed Furgul in secrets that even Argal hadn’t known.

  When Furgul struggled with the urge to search for Keeva, Brennus would say, “Be patient and wait for your moment. For your moment will come. And remember that you have to see it, for it’s easily missed.”

  Various other dogs lived at the sanctuary, and from time to time one of them would leave to live with a nice new owner. The new owners offered good homes, and if Jodi trusted them, and if the chosen dog liked them, they would take the dog away. That gave Jodi the space to rescue another poor dog. Brennus was a little too old to move on, and Jodi never offered him up for adoption. Lots of people wanted to take Zinni, but in Zinni’s opinion they were never quite good enough, and she always chose to stay.

  Because Furgul wasn’t around so much, Skyver appointed himself the ambassador of the pack. He was good at judging people and always took part in deciding which dog should go with which new owner. Because he enjoyed the power and the sense of importance—and, as Brennus once pointed out, because no new owner would be fool enough to take him—Skyver also stayed with Jodi.

  Furgul never offered himself for adoption. He didn’t intend to stay at Appletree forever, but he didn’t want to deceive a new owner into taking him just so he could run away. His thoughts of Keeva troubled him more and more. The problem was that Dedbone’s Hole was likely very far away—and he had no idea where it was.

  He told Jodi the story of Dedbone’s Hole, of how he and his sisters had been trapped in the box and how he had managed to escape. Jodi was very angry to hear about the greyhound farm, but she didn’t know where it was either. She tried to find it, but ‘Dedbone’ wasn’t a real human name; it was the name the dogs had called him. Then Jodi had an idea.

  “Keeva’s a successful racer, isn’t she?”

  “One of the best,” said Furgul. “That’s why Dedbone wouldn’t harm her.”

  “What’s Keeva’s racing name?”

  Furgul racked his brains. He couldn’t remember. To him, Keeva was always Keeva. He vaguely remembered that Keeva had once told him her racing name. But it was long ago, when he was just a puppy, and he hadn’t really listened. It was a silly name, a money name, so why should he remember?

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  “If I knew Keeva’s racing name, I could trace her owner. You see, in order to race at the track, she has to be registered.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “When the tracks schedule a race, they put the names of the runners in the newspaper. That way, the gamblers can decide which dog to bet on.”

  Furgul thought about this. “So, whenever there’s a race, the names of the greyhounds are written in the newspaper.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” said Furgul. “Every time there’s a race somewhere, I want you to read all the names to me. If I hear Keeva’s racing name, I think I’ll recognize it.”

  Weeks passed by, and each time there was a race Jodi read out the names of the racers. Furgul listened carefully to endless lists that made little sense to him—“Dust Devil,” “Late Arrival,” “Regency Stuart,” “White Lightning,” “Monkey Business”—but he never heard a name that reminded him of Keeva.

  “Don’t give up,” said Jodi. “If Keeva is still racing, we’ll find her.”

  One day two men came to the sanctuary to adopt a dog. Furgul didn’t usually take much interest in these matters, but he smelled them from the field. They smelled of engine grease, hot dogs and cotton candy. They hadn’t washed for weeks. He knew at once that they were not real dog lovers. They smelled like men whose only real love was money. He ran over to the house to investigate. A battered pickup truck stood outside with one door open. Various strange dog smells drifted out, but none of them dogs that Furgul would care to meet. He found the two men having an argument with Jodi. Brennus and Zinni stood at Jodi’s sides to protect her. They were glad to see Furgul.

  Jodi was being very cold toward the men. She could see for herself that they weren’t dog lovers. She shook her head and spoke sternly in human tongue.

  “No. No. No,” said Jodi. She folded her arms across her chest.

  One man was young and skinny and had crusty red spots all over his face. The older man had blue-black tattoos on his neck. He waved a rolled-up newspaper in his fist.

  “Argue! Argue! Argue!” said Tattoo.

  Spotty pointed at the barn, where the other dogs were. Evidently, he wanted one.

  “Gripe! Gripe! Gripe!” griped Spotty.

  Tattoo noticed Furgul, and his eyes lit up. He pointed at Furgul.

  “Perfect!” said Tattoo. “Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!”

  “Give! Give! Give!” demanded Spotty.

  Furgul bared his teeth and gave them a low, menacing growl that meant: You’d better get back in your truck while you can still walk.

  Brennus backed him up with a savage bark, which meant: We’ll eat your shins to start with, then work upward till you beg us to tear out your throats.

  And I’ll claw your eyes out too! snarled Zinni.

  Both men turned white and stepped backward. Jodi smiled.

  Furgul caught a sniff of something intense, a rich, overripe aroma, with a hint, perhaps, of turmeric and ginger. It was coming from the pickup truck. He turned as Skyver trotted over, looking pleased with himself. Skyver rose up on his hind legs and panted up at Tattoo. The men scowled and shooed Skyver away.

  “Goodbye!” said Jodi.

  She gave the men a wave. Tattoo spat on the ground at Jodi’s feet.

  As one, the four dogs snarled into action and went for one ankle each. The two men danced away in panic. Tattoo swiped at Zinni with his rolled-up paper, and Brennus gave his arm a light crunching with his giant teeth. The newspaper fell to the ground. Both men turned and sprinted away for their truck.

  “Let them go,” said Skyver. “The best is yet to come.”

  The two terrified men jumped back in their truck. Skyver wagged his tail with joy as Tattoo sat down behind the steering wheel and slammed the door. Both men started bellowing and groaning with horror.

  “What did you do?” said Jodi to Skyver.

  “The driver’s seat was lovely and warm,” said Skyver. “And after the tin of Chumley’s Curry Supreme I ate last night, I needed a poop real bad.”

  Tattoo and Spotty jumped out of the truck holding their noses. The four dogs growled with maximum ferocity and charged at the two men. Tattoo and Spotty jumped back into the truck even faster than they’d jumped out. The dogs barked with laughter as the truck drove away, Tattoo’s head sticking out of the window as he gasped for air.

  Zinni said, “It’s going to be a long drive home.”

  When the dogs turned around, Jodi was reading the newspaper that Tattoo had dropped on the ground. As the dogs trotted toward her, Jodi looked at Furgul. “Does ‘Sapphire Breeze’ ring any bells?”

  That night Furgul couldn’t sleep. He wandered around the fields thinking about Sapphire Breeze. As soon as Jodi had read out the name, he had remembered: Sapphire Breeze was Keeva. And she was racing tomorrow evening at a track that wasn’t too far away. Jodi had promised to take Furgul to the track, to make sure it was Keeva. Then she’d find out who owned Keeva and start the process of shutting down Dedbone’s Hole for good.

  “How can you do that?” Furgul had asked.

  “I don’t like greyhound racing,” said Jodi. “For every twenty greyhounds they breed, only one is good enough to race. Most of the rest get abandoned or killed. The lucky ones get adopted or come to places like this. But even the greyhound business doesn’t allow such abuse as you described at Dedbone’s Hole. There are laws and societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals. They’ll try to put Dedbone in jail.”

  “Jail’s too good for Dedbone,” said Furgul.

  “Maybe. But what counts is liberating Keeva and the other greyhounds.”

  “Can Keeva come here, to Appletree?”

 
“Of course she can.”

  “And the other greyhounds?”

  “I’ll make sure they’re well cared for, somewhere. Perhaps I’ll give Chuck Chumley another call.”

  The hope in Furgul’s heart was almost painful. “How long will it take?” he asked.

  “I’ll find out who Dedbone is tomorrow evening. Next day I’ll get the society to start an urgent official investigation. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

  “A few days?”

  “We have to be patient, Furgul, and do this right.”

  Now Furgul prowled up and down beneath the trees in the dark, imagining what it would be like to see Keeva. Would she recognize him, now that he’d grown so much bigger? Surely she would. Argal had known him. Would Keeva still love him? He hadn’t been able to save Eena and Nessa. And Brid was lost, perhaps forever. Would Keeva forgive him?

  As he turned these questions over in his mind, he heard a squeal of pain.

  His ears pricked up toward the sound. It came from beyond the old stone wall that surrounded the sanctuary. Furgul ran over in the light of the moon, which was almost full. He heard the squeal again—it sounded like a young puppy. He sniffed, but all he could detect was a bitter chemical smell, such as Harriet had liked to spray all over her house, especially the kitchen and the bathroom. Humans thought it smelled like flowers or pine trees, but there was nothing natural about the smell at all. With the chemicals in his nostrils, Furgul couldn’t pick up the real scents beyond the wall.

  “Who’s there?” he barked.

  “Help me,” cried a little dog’s voice. “I think my paw’s broken.”

  The wall was too high for the other dogs, but as part of his training, Furgul had been jumping over it for some time. He trotted back into the field, turned and sprinted forward. At just the right distance he slowed, sprang with all the power in his hind legs and rose up. As he cleared the wall, he saw a little puppy lying near some bushes. His leg was all twisted, and he was crying. Furgul landed nearby and turned to the puppy. The chemical smell was all over the place. Furgul was suspicious. Only a human would spray it. But why spray it just here?