Loose the Dogs

by P. D. Workman

  “So do you want him?”

  “Sure do. How much are you asking for?”

  “Just what it cost me at the pound. Two hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “Deal.”

  They shook on it.

  Miles had to spend some time standing around Scott’s back yard, waiting for the dog to settle back down again. Then Scott took him out carefully, snapping the leash onto his collar, and without a word, handed the leash across to Miles. His eyes glistened with tears, but he kept his face stony.

  “He’ll be okay,” Miles assured him. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of him.”

  Scott nodded. “Thanks,” he croaked.

  Miles ordered the dog to heel and left Scott’s house. He took the dog to his truck and put him in the box of the pick-up.

  Miles drove out to his own house, beyond the edge of town. The other dogs barked at the approach of the truck, but when he yelled at them to shut up, they were immediately silent. Miles told Thomas to come and took him out of the bed of the truck and back to the yard.

  “There’s your new home,” Miles told him. “This is where you’re going to live from now on. You do what you’re told and you’ll be just fine here.”

  The dog looked at him warily. Miles tied him to the fence and left him there. Several times during the day, he looked out into the yard to take a look at the new dog. He was larger than Miles’ other dogs. Miles could see he had real potential. When Miles was done with him, he was going to be a great dog.

  By the end of the day, the dog was lying down, nose between his paws. When Miles entered the yard, he jumped to his feet.

  “We’re going to have to come up with another name,” Miles said aloud. “Aren’t we? How about… Slash? That would be a good name. Do you like that, Slash?”

  The dog was studying him; wary and wondering what Miles was all about.

  “Sit, Slash.”

  The dog lowered his hindquarters to the ground.

  “Stay,” Miles ordered. “Guard.”

  He went over to the other dogs and checked their water. Then he got out the dog food and approached their dishes.

  “You guys hungry?” he asked.

  The dogs all sat absolutely still, ears pointed forward, watching him intently. Miles filled each of the bowls and turned and looked at them. They were all still frozen, waiting for him. Miles moved away from the dishes.

  “Now,” he said.

  They all approached their dishes, watching him, and began to eat, one eye remaining on him. Miles nodded. He walked back into the house without looking at Slash or offering him any food or water.

  By morning, he figured Slash would be getting pretty dry. He went out to the yard and fed and watered the other dogs as usual. Slash watched him. Miles went up to him after the other dogs were fed and looked him over.

  “I told you to stay, and you moved,” he reprimanded. “That’s not good. You need to be trained better.”

  Looking at him, Slash whined slightly in the back of his throat.

  “Nope, no whining. You only do what I tell you to.”

  Slash watched him with bright, intelligent eyes.

  “You want some water?” Miles asked.

  The dog didn’t react. Miles put a bowl of water a few feet away from Slash. The dog immediately moved toward it, and Miles kicked him in the nose.

  “No! Stay!” he shouted.

  Slash yelped and jumped back. He tried to circle Miles but was restricted by his rope. Miles stood between him and the water.

  “Sit,” he ordered.

  The dog didn’t want to. He wanted water. But eventually, he sat back on his haunches, eyes moving from Miles to the water and back again.

  “Stay,” Miles ordered.

  Ears pointing forward, Slash sat, watching the water, waiting. Miles moved so he was no longer between the dog and the dish.

  “Stay,” he said again.

  The dog shifted up an inch, then settled back down again. Miles walked to the door of the house and looked back. Slash watched him. Miles went into the house. He looked back out the window and saw the dog at the water dish, lapping it up thirstily. He swore and picked up a length of garden hose on his way back out the door to where Slash was drinking.

  “No!” he shouted, bringing the hose down as hard as he could across the dog’s body. “No, I told you to stay!”

  The dog yelped and screeched with pain and jumped back. He took up an aggressive stance, facing off against Miles, darting out of the way with his eyes on the hose.

  “Sit!” Miles ordered yet again.

  The dog didn’t immediately sit down, and Miles whipped the hose down again. Slash tried to dart out of the way, but Miles kept bringing the hose down over and over again. A couple of times, the dog yelped, once he growled, but eventually, he was silent. Miles whipped him a few more times for good measure.

  “Sit!” he ordered.

  The dog sat. Miles stared at him, meeting his eyes aggressively.

  “You think you’re alpha dog around here?” he asked. “Because you’re not. I’m top dog around here, and you don’t do anything unless I tell you to.”

  Slash didn’t move. Miles picked up the water dish and put it directly in front of Slash. Slash bent his head down to drink.

  “No!” Miles shouted, bringing down the hose again. “You don’t eat until I say so,” Miles warned. He pushed the water dish closer with his toe. Slash looked at it and didn’t move.

  “Good boy,” Miles approved. “That’s right.”

  Neither one of them moved for a few minutes. Miles walked back to the house. When he looked back, Slash was still sitting there staring at the water dish. Miles went inside and looked out the window. Slash was still not moving. Miles left him be. An hour later he looked out again. The dog was still sitting, waiting. Miles went back out to the yard.

  “Good boy,” he murmured. “Good staying. Now drink.”

  Slash stared up at him, trying to understand.

  “Now drink,” Miles repeated. He bent over and pressed Slash’s head toward the bowl. “Now.”

  Slash resisted until his muzzle was touching the surface of the water, then he started drinking. Miles stood over him, watching. The dog’s sides quivered as he drank. He had dried black blood in his fur from his whipping. He drank until the bowl was licked dry. Then he sat back and looked at Miles.

  “You hungry?” Miles asked.

  The dog looked at him, ears back in fear or submission. Miles put some food in a dish and put it down on the ground. Slash looked at it and back up at Miles again. He didn’t move.

  “Good boy,” Miles approved. “You stay.”

  It had been more than twenty-four hours since the dog had last eaten. But he would learn to do nothing without Miles telling him to. He wouldn’t eat or drink anything anyone else gave him. Miles walked back into the house, leaving him looking down at his dish.

  Casey showered, dressed, and prepared her morning cup of coffee before venturing to the back of her condo and opening the sliding door to the tiny back yard.

  “Joel, come on in,” she invited.

  Last night, he had been making so much noise she had finally stumbled out of bed and ordered him outside. Luckily, he didn’t howl in the yard, and she got what felt like the first good night’s sleep in weeks. It was as bad as having a new baby. He woke her up with his antics several times a night.

  Joel was growling and snuffling something at the far end of the yard and didn’t come. Casey shook her head.

  “Joel. Come!” she ordered impatiently.

  He still didn’t come.

  “Joel, if you make me come out there, so help me you’re going right to the pound! I’ve had enough of your nonsense.”

  He sneezed and still didn’t come. Casey was getting really irritated.

  “Joel! Now!”

  Finally, she slipped on her outdoor shoes, stepping on the heels and wearing them as slippers like her mom always used to chide her for. She pa
dded over to where Joel was busy.

  “Joel, you little monster, I said it’s time to come in.”

  She bumped up against his side and reached for his collar. Joel barked and snapped at her, making her jump and pull back, shocked. But Casey wasn’t going to let him intimidate her. She was not a poor little blind girl who couldn’t even manage her own dog. She wasn’t going to be calling Marilyn or anyone else to deal with the dog; she would do it herself. She kicked him in the hindquarters.

  “No, Joel! Sit!”

  He sat down and Casey reached again for the collar and pulled him back from what had interested him so much. He resisted, but she got him back a foot or two and then reached out to see what he’d been playing with. Her fingertips touched something warm and damp, a familiar coppery smell reaching her nostrils.

  Casey’s throat constricted. “What the…?”

  She let go of his collar without meaning to. It slipped out of her grasp, and she heard one last snarl from Joel before feeling his weight hit her body, his center of gravity too high for her to stay on her feet.

  In the morning, Miles slept in, checked his email, had a leisurely coffee and frozen waffle before going to check on the dogs. He fed his trained dogs first, and they gobbled their food eagerly once given the command. Then Miles went over to Slash. The dog lay on his side, panting, his eyes dull. He didn’t look well. He raised his head when Miles approached, his lips drawing back away from his teeth slightly in a half-hearted snarl. Miles laughed at him.

  “Get up, Slash. Sit. Up.”

  The dog struggled to its feet and sat up. Miles filled the water bowl and placed it in front of Slash. The dog looked at it, and at Miles, and didn’t move.

  “That’s right. Good dog.”

  The full bowl of kibble was still there. Slash hadn’t touched it. Miles waited, meeting the dog’s eyes, enforcing his position as alpha in the pack. Slash dropped his eyes.

  “Okay, Slash, eat and drink,” Miles said.

  Slash looked at him, ears pricking up.

  “Now. Eat.”

  Slash didn’t move until Miles put his hand on the dog’s head and pressed him down. Then Slash dove into the food dish, gobbling down the food as fast as he could, his eyes straining up toward Miles to make sure it was allowed. Miles nodded.

  “Good dog,” he reassured. “You go ahead and eat. You’re doing good.”

  Slash looked away and paid full attention to his food.

  Now that Slash understood he could not eat or drink without permission from Miles, it was time to take his training further. Miles kept Slash tied up. He invited some friends to come over to the house.

  When they arrived, the other dogs went wild, barking and snarling and growling. It wasn’t long before Slash joined them, excited, working himself into a frenzy. The visitors stopped at the gate and waited.

  “Hey Miles, man, are you going to let us in?” Decker yelled.

  Miles came out of the house. He told the dogs to shut up. Instantly, the older dogs fell silent. Slash kept barking.

  “I said shut up!” Miles raged at him. “So you’d better shut up!”

  He had a chain this time and began to whip Slash mercilessly. The dog yelped and cringed and moved away, trying to avoid the blows.

  “No whining,” Miles told him. “Shut up!”

  The high-pitched whining stopped and Slash cowered before Miles, pleading with his eyes, but not making a sound.

  “That’s better. Good dog,” Miles praised. “Good Slash, being quiet.”

  Then he went over to the gate and opened it for his visitors.

  “Man, Miles,” Decker complained. “Took you long enough.”

  “I’ve got to train up the new dog. You don’t mind waiting.”

  “Well…”

  Miles swung the bloody chain at his side. “You going to argue with me, Decker?” he asked, with mock threat in his voice.

  Decker laughed. “After seeing that?” he asked. “Not me.” He looked ruefully at the chain and then over his shoulder at the dog.

  “You hurt him bad,” Stefan pointed out.

  Miles raised his eyes. “Do you doubt my ability to train this dog properly?” he asked.

  “No… but I can’t say I approve of your method.”

  Miles shrugged. “I don’t care what you think of my method. It’s effective. You won’t find anyone who can train a dog faster.”

  Stefan nodded. “That might be true. But I can’t help thinking—”

  “Don’t think, Stefan. You’re not here to think.”

  Stefan rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You got some plans for today?” he asked, changing the subject. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Come inside, and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” Miles agreed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  CASEY AWOKE IN A fog.

  Something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what. She knew she was in her yard. Something bad had happened. Why was she lying on the ground? She got to her knees but was unable to push herself to her feet. She crawled across the ground, eventually arriving at the fence. She followed the fence to the house, found the door, and slid it open. Casey entered the house and shut the door behind her. She just knelt there on the floor for a while, catching her breath and trying to remember what had happened. Was it the middle of the night? She had put Joel out in the yard. But the warmth of the glass in the sliding door suggested it was daytime. Midday, even.

  She had put her cup of coffee down somewhere… Casey used the counter to pull herself to her feet and felt for the coffee cup. It was still barely warm, but she felt like maybe the coffee would help calm her shakes.

  She must be sick. Did she have the flu? She should call into work and let them know. Casey tried to take a drink of the coffee and spilled it down her front. She couldn’t feel her lips or mouth. After trying a couple more times with the same results, Casey sank to the floor again and closed her eyes.

  Time passed.

  She wasn’t sure whether she stayed conscious or not.

  She realized she needed help. Whatever was wrong with her, she needed someone to take her to the doctor. Or at least to help her up to her bed.

  Casey dragged out her cell phone and punched in Sylvia’s number. It rang a few times, and then, to Casey’s relief, Sylvia picked up.

  “Hi Casey!” she sang out. “How’s it going?”

  “I need help,” Casey said, but the words came out all in a slur. She couldn’t seem to form the words. It was like she’d been to the dentist and her mouth was frozen or stuffed with cotton.

  “Casey? Is that you?” Sylvia asked doubtfully.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No—” the word was mush. “Uh-uh,” Casey amended.

  “Where are you? Are you at home?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll be right over, Casey. Sit tight. I’ll be right there.”

  Casey put down the phone and waited.

  Miles went to check on the new dog. Slash lay on his side in the dirt and didn’t get up at Miles’ approach. His eyes were open and his eyes rolled to watch Miles approach and lean over him. Miles waved away the flies buzzing over Slash’s open wounds.

  “You gotta learn to listen to me, Slash. You gotta show me respect, or you’re gonna get hurt. I’m top dog around here.”

  Slash just watched him, not moving. Miles filled his food and water dishes and set them before the dog.

  “Now. Eat.”

  Slash lifted his head for a moment, then laid it back down again. Miles slid his hand under the big dog and rolled him onto his belly. He brought the water dish closer and lifted Slash’s head, putting his muzzle into the water. Slash lapped at it weakly. After a few moments, he lifted his head up a bit on his own and shifted his body into a more upright position, though he still didn’t stand. When he stopped drinking, Miles switched bowls, putting the food dish under Slash’s nose.

  “Eat,” he said. “It’s okay.
Now. Eat.”

  Slash took a few bits of kibble at a time, chawing on them briefly, and then swallowing them.

  “That’s right,” Miles said. “Good boy.”

  He was relieved the dog was not too weak to eat. He’d been worried at first Slash didn’t have the spirit to keep going. He’d paid good money for the dog, and he would hate to lose him because he was too weak to survive training.

  When Slash was finished eating and put down his head, Miles picked him up and moved him a few feet away, so he could wash away the blood on the pavement.

  The dogs were going crazy. Miles walked to the window and looked out. A white van was at the entrance to his property. He swore. It did not look good. He walked out of the house and up to the fence. The sign on the side of the truck said ‘bylaw enforcement.’ Miles spit to the side. Not good at all.

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “We’ve had a complaint about your dogs,” the uniformed bylaw officer told him.

  “Shut up!” Miles yelled at the dogs and the noise shut off like a tap. He favored the bylaw enforcement officer with a glare.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Evans.”

  “Well, Mr. Evans, my dogs have not been bothering anyone. I’m too far away for anyone to worry about the noise, and as you can hear, they stop when I tell them to. The only time they bark is when there is an intruder around my yard. They’re guard dogs. That’s what they’re supposed to do. And they haven’t been at large or bitten anyone. So what’s the problem?”

  “Will you let me in, please?”

  “Like hell! You’ve got no right to come onto my property.”

  “I am authorized by the municipality—”

  “You’re not authorized by me. So you can just stay where you are.”

  “I need to see the dogs.”

  “Nope.”

  “If I have to call the police to get access to your dogs, you will be placed under arrest.”

  “So what? I’m not going to prison for refusing to let bylaw onto my property. At most, I’ll get a stern warning and a fine. You just stay away from my property. Tell your boss you checked it out and everything looked fine. I don’t cotton to wannabe cops on my property.”

  “I can’t do that, Sir. This is your last warning. Let me in, or I’ll have the police come and force the locks and arrest you. I need to see those dogs.”