Dog

by Andy Mulligan

  “What do we do?” hissed Spider.

  “I’m dead.”

  “You can’t be.”

  “This was what Mother said. I don’t have a chance.”

  They watched as the huntsman put the horn back to his lips. It sounded again, but this time the notes were fierce and urgent. The pack seemed to erupt in movement, for suddenly the whole battalion of hounds was pouring across the field, howling with glee. A dozen more horses crashed through the trees after them.

  Jesse had no decision to make now, for there was only one thing she could do: she ran for her life.

  Spider saw only the red blur as she skimmed into the next meadow, zigzagging wildly. The dogs came after her, and Spider realized with horror that they were as fast as his friend. He cowered in fear, for within seconds the one in the lead had jumped the hedge he was sheltering under, and the first horse was close behind. The ground was shaking, and he saw vicious hooves churning up the soil as the great beasts leapt over his head. The dogs kept coming, flooding past him in a wild torrent, and he smelt their ecstasy.

  “No!” he cried. “Stop!”

  They were all the same breed, wide-eyed and joyful. Their ears flapped as they bounded, and they didn’t appear to see or hear him. He set off at their heels, running as fast as he could. It was a downhill chase, but he could hardly keep up—his heart was soon hammering in his chest.

  Jesse was still out front, and she had gained ground. She was a red speck, pushing into open country, but even Spider could see how dangerous that was. He glimpsed his friend coursing across the land, and saw that the dogs at the front were closer than he’d thought. The fox feinted to the right, and sped off left—but it wasn’t a skilful move, and nobody was fooled. In fact, the dogs in the rear were reading Jesse’s mind, and could guess where she was heading. With a flurry of barks, they broke from the pack to cut her off from the nearby woodland: it was a pincer movement, and she was certain to be caught. She was forced to cross into another field, and soon the front runners were almost upon her.

  Spider pushed himself to the limit, racing faster than he’d ever raced. He put on a final, lung-bursting spurt, and tried to howl.

  “Stop!” he cried.

  But it was useless. The dogs who heard glanced at him with mad, shining eyes, and he realized with a shock that they were getting stronger as they ran. What could he do? His heart was bursting, but he ignored it, and he suddenly spied hope. A small copse had appeared, and though it was at most only a hundred trees, it meant protection. Jesse flew towards it, gaining ground at last. It was an island of safety, and she shot straight into the thick of it. The front runners hurtled in after her, while those at the rear divided once again, racing round the perimeter to block any exits. Spider saw with relief that the horse riders were stopping at the edge and some were dismounting. The horn sounded a new note, just as urgent and—if anything—triumphant.

  There’ll be tunnels here, thought Spider, as he pushed into the trees. There’ll be a whole network, like the ones we were in last night. They go on for miles, and she’ll be down in one by now. Jesse will be safe!

  “We got a live one!” shouted a young beagle.

  “No, you haven’t!” said Spider.

  “Stay close,” said another. “She’s not got long, huh? She’ll be climbing a tree soon, or trying to…”

  The dogs were everywhere, snuffling through the brambles and snorting with excitement. The dreadful thing was that even Spider could detect Jesse’s scent, because it was a stink of pure, concentrated terror. He could smell her urine, too, for the copse was full of it, and the dogs were trying to work out where it was strongest.

  Suddenly, Spider glimpsed a flash of red. It was deep in the undergrowth, and he whined in frustration. Why was Jesse still visible? Surely she could burrow down and disappear into the earth?

  All the dogs had to do was press into the centre. They had formed a tight circle, panting with expectation, and the chilling thing was that they weren’t even in a hurry. They were behaving as if the chase was over, and the climax was to be savoured.

  Spider tried again. His voice was hoarse, but he called out as best he could.

  “Hello?” he cried. “Listen to me, please!”

  The pack ignored him, and one dog started to howl.

  “That fox is a friend,” cried Spider. “Try to understand! You don’t know what you’re doing. She’s a harmless creature, helping a lost puppy.”

  A large beagle trotted past, wagging his tail.

  “OK, boy?” he said.

  “No! You have to listen to me!”

  “I think we got her this time. We’re going in for the kill. Wait for it…”

  Spider pushed his way forward, and tried again. “Please!” he howled. “This isn’t fair! She’s totally outnumbered, and what’s the point? Let’s just think about this!”

  Spider squeezed to the front and turned.

  “Look, brothers! Sisters!” he said, panting. “We’ve all had a fantastic run, haven’t we? It’s been great exercise, but… listen!”

  The dogs were pushing past him.

  “Let’s show compassion…”

  Once again, he smelt the sickening stink of Jesse’s fear. The whole pack started to bay, and Spider’s cries were lost beneath the noise.

  A youngster nipped him affectionately. “You ready?” he asked.

  “Please,” panted Spider. “Please stop!”

  “The real thing, at last. First time for me!”

  As he spoke, a couple of the hunters appeared—a man and a woman. They both carried spades, and clambered in among the dogs to hack at the thicket. They were clearing a path to the centre.

  Spider howled again out of sheer helplessness, for the whole pack was focused on a cluster of bushes, and red fur was clearly visible as Jesse tried to dig.

  “She’s gone!” yelped Spider. “She’s escaped!”

  The dogs didn’t hear him—they were so full of joy that they’d closed their ears. They were drinking in the intoxicating scent of the fox’s despair. An ominous growling filled the air, for the hunters were nearly through—they were chopping away the last barrier, and the fox was helpless. It was all too obvious: if Jesse were to stand any chance at all, she would have to face the pack and break through it.

  Spider howled again, and perhaps his friend heard the cry, for at that moment she leapt for her life and shot towards him. Spider glimpsed her—a red arrow that soared, and then vaulted off a fallen trunk. She rose again, flying upwards over the heads of the astonished dogs. Spider gazed, longing for the miracle that would save her, for what she needed now was a pair of wings. With wings, she could rise higher still and never come down!

  Alas, it was not to be. Gravity hauled her back to the earth, and the dogs surged after her. The leader knocked her off balance and a pair of jaws snapped at her tail. Still she might have made it, for she was up again and running. A youngster was just too quick for her, though, and caught her foot in his teeth. She was tripped, and though she tried to turn and attack, the rest of the pack poured over her together, and she disappeared beneath their jaws.

  Spider closed his ears, but Jesse’s screams drilled through, high-pitched and hopeless, and he glimpsed her just once more. She was there in the centre, for the dogs had her clamped by legs, tail and neck. She was wrenched and torn, and the stink of fear turned to a stench so foul and shocking that Spider found he was open-mouthed, gasping.

  He retreated.

  He crawled back into the mud, and shut his eyes. It wasn’t enough, though: the horror continued till he couldn’t breathe, and he had to scurry away into a thicket of brambles, where he curled into a tight, trembling ball. He put his paws over his nose and lay there, panting for breath, until there was silence.

  Nobody came for him.

  He lay there alone, lost in thought, unable to believe what he’d witnessed, and unable to believe that his new friend had been snuffed out like a candle. The hunt had moved on in trium
ph, and all he could hear was birdsong—it was as if Jesse had never existed, and he’d imagined the horror. The sun was still shining and the sky was blue.

  Spider stood up on shaking legs and tottered on to a footpath. Soon, he came to a lane, which he crossed, and he found himself in long grass. He walked slowly through it, trying to lose himself. The grief inside was so fierce it made him ache, and when he could go no further—when he was more lost and lonely than he’d ever been—he sat down and stared at his paws.

  Tom was gone, and now Jesse was gone too—the wise, generous friend who’d saved his life, and listened to all his pain and confusion. How long had he known her? Hardly a day, and she’d been extinguished.

  “Blood leads to blood!” she’d said, as if she’d known her days were numbered. And yet she had been looking to the future. She had wanted to meet Tom, and sit in the garden. “That boy needs protection!”—those had been her words, as they’d sat together, shoulder to shoulder.

  The sun was sinking, and still Spider sat. He couldn’t move.

  “That boy needs protection…”

  The words buzzed around his ears, and Spider repeated them under his breath.

  “Come on,” he said, at last. “Stand up, dog. Get up and move! Who’s protecting Tom now, Spider? Nobody. And he needs you more than ever, for this world…” He shook his head. “This world is too, too cruel.”

  Slowly, Spider got back on to his feet, and somehow, despite the aching pain, he managed to walk.

  That evening, Spider saw himself.

  He had no idea how far he’d come, but he arrived at a village and wandered up its main street. He chose a turning at random, which took him between rows of houses. His paws were burning, so he stopped at a lamp post to rest them. Looking up, he noticed a piece of white paper, and there was a photo in the centre. Two faces gazed at him: one was a boy, and he had his arm round a black and white puppy. The puppy had a tooth protruding over its bottom lip, and the boy’s eyes were so gentle Spider could only whine. It was Tom, of course, and he had a stick in his hand: his expression of happiness and pride made the dog look away again, for it was too painful. He had no idea who’d taken the picture, or when, and he couldn’t begin to understand who might have taped it to this particular post. It had been printed in colour and there were words above and below, with a set of numbers, but as Spider couldn’t read, they were a mystery. He noticed that the paper was covered in plastic, which had been carefully sealed at the bottom so it wouldn’t get wet.

  Spider sat beneath it for a whole hour, as darkness fell.

  He wondered where he should spend the night, for he didn’t know where the town was—or if he’d been walking towards or away from it. The red and black school had to be somewhere, but where? Tom would be going there tomorrow, probably, and all he wanted was to find him—but how?

  He turned down an alley, trying not to think. He stopped by a bin bag which had been split across the middle. Various creatures had explored it already, but he still snuffled about, and managed to find a few damp vegetables.

  A bit further on he came to some garages, and beyond them he found a stretch of grass. Nobody was around, so he headed across it towards a duck pond. Three lumps of bread lay at the edge of the water, rejected by the ducks. He crunched them gratefully, and stepped into the shallows to drink.

  A sad face looked up at him.

  “You’re a bad dog,” he said quietly. The face looked sadder. “Everywhere you go you cause disaster. Everyone you meet suffers.”

  Two little girls appeared with a terrier which couldn’t stop yapping. They stood under a street lamp, throwing a ball between them, and Spider saw that they were keeping it out of their pet’s reach. The dog ran from one child to the other, backwards and forwards, as happy as a dog could be. It wasn’t frustrated, or anxious: it just seemed hopeful. The younger of the two dropped the ball, and their pet pounced upon it, snarling with pleasure. Five seconds later, it had given the ball back, and the girls were throwing it between them again. All three were connected: they needed each other, and the game showed no sign of ever ending.

  Spider sighed, and took another drink.

  A duck had approached, and stared at him with an unblinking right eye.

  “I’m looking for a town,” said Spider.

  The duck said nothing.

  “I’m a stranger. Do you know a place where the railway ends? It might be a day’s journey or so, but it can’t be too far. It has a church, and it’s by the sea.”

  The duck remained silent.

  “I’m lost,” said Spider. “I’ve lost all sense of direction, but I need to find this town because I’m looking for a school where the children wear red and black. Black jackets with red on the edges and lions on the pockets—there can’t be many places like that. I’m not suggesting you’d know about the school, but does the town sound familiar?”

  The duck turned its head and stared out of its left eye.

  Spider sighed again. “Maybe you’re a stranger too?” he said. “I don’t know a lot about ducks. Are you one that flies halfway round the world and always goes in a ‘V’ shape? Sorry, I don’t suppose you speak my language, do you? What I’m saying… It must be just a load of noise, all these meaningless words. Are you wondering about me, though? Are you thinking, Wow. Why is this dog talking nonsense? Where’s he from? Where’s he going?”

  The duck gave a short, ugly honk. “You’re not a dog,” it said.

  Spider blinked.

  “Are you?” said the duck.

  “What do you mean?” asked Spider.

  “You’re not a dog. You don’t look like one, anyway.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “That’s why I came over. We were talking back there, a whole load of us, wondering what the hell you are. I said I’d go over and check.”

  “I’m a dog.”

  “Oh no. Your head’s all wrong.”

  “You mean my tooth?”

  “I mean your head. It’s the wrong shape.”

  “How?”

  “It’s like a cow’s head. You’re like… What do they call a baby cow?”

  “A calf.”

  “Exactly. I think you’re a calf. You’ve got just the same colouring as a cow, and your head’s completely cow-shaped. Why are you pretending to be a dog?”

  “Look,” said Spider. “I don’t know why you’re saying all that—”

  “Can you make cow noises?”

  “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m a dog. If I were a cow, I’d tell you and I’d… I’d give you some milk.”

  “You can moo, can’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Go on, moo-cow. Do a moo.”

  Spider stood up. “You’re joking, aren’t you?” he said. “Look at my body: what’s all this fur covering my legs? How many furry cows have you seen? And… This is crazy! I thought you were from a foreign country, but I’m realizing now that you’re just rude.”

  “What is he?” said a voice. “Was I right or wrong?”

  Spider swung round. A second duck, that looked identical to the first, had approached from behind, and was gazing at him out of its left eye.

  “He’s a great big fibber,” said the first. “He says he’s a dog.”

  “Why?” asked the second.

  “Who knows? Maybe he wants to be one.”

  “He’s confused, all right.”

  “He’s sick in the head.”

  “He’s lost it.”

  “Wow.”

  The second duck put its beak close to Spider’s nose. “My advice, chum, is that you get your scraggy little arse away from our pond—whatever you are. This is a nice area, OK? This is a village green, and the only dogs who come round here come on leads. With their owners.”

  “That’s who I’m looking for!” cried Spider. “I’m looking for my owner.”

  “So you haven’t got one?” asked the first duck.

  “Yes, I have!”
said Spider.

  “Where? You’ve been abandoned, cow-head! You’ve been kicked out of the nest, that’s for sure. I wonder why!”

  Spider was lost for words.

  The ducks clucked rudely, and the first one spun round and showed its bottom. It then made the most obscene noise the dog had ever heard—so unpleasant that Spider snapped at its tail feathers.

  Both ducks reared up, flapping.

  “Protected!” screamed the first, as Spider retreated.

  “You monster!” hissed its mate. “We’re protected and looked after. We get fed! And what are you? On your own and homeless!”

  “Peck his eyes out, Morris! Go!”

  They came at him together, honking obscenities. Spider twisted to avoid them, but he was still stabbed hard in the ribcage—then in a more private place. He rolled over, yelping, and sprinted to the road.

  When he looked back, the two ducks were quacking quietly to each other, as they touched wing tips in triumph. Spider limped off, shaken and bruised.

  He followed a footpath into the darkness, and at length the track opened out to an allotment. He could go no further. All he wanted was shelter, so he could rest safely and sleep. Thankfully, that’s what he found, for there was a shed without a door and he crept into it, curling up at once on an old sack.

  He tried to empty his mind of everything except Tom, and he lay there wondering if the boy might come to him in a dream. He remembered his old bed, and how he’d snuggle into the crook of Tom’s knees—the boy would stroke him gently, falling asleep as Spider guarded him. Where was he now? What if he’d been persuaded to settle for a cat? What if his father had found him a kitten to love? What if it was on the duvet at that very moment, purring happily as Tom leant down to scratch its simple, undemanding head? Spider closed his eyes and whined.