by Ian Salavon
The park was the best place to get and leave information. The humans hadn’t figured it out yet. Good food in the dumpster behind the sandwich place. Watch out for animal control on Friday morning. The piss used to be impressions that this was someone’s marked territory or a sense of nearby danger. Now they were damn near treatises. Flora did her part. Squatting under a hedgerow, she left a message to stay away from the park during the daytime. Humans came out with dogs that were content with the charade of ownership. They still played fetch. They still jumped up and licked their masters’ faces. Humans ran the strays off with pepper spray, so their servants weren’t bothered by protests of canine freedom. Sometimes, the police would use their attack dogs. They relished the chance to do right by their two-legged overlords. Those dogs chose an easy life. Flora understood an easy life meant a long life. But knowing what she knew now, she considered them all traitors.
A crumpled-up newspaper lay next to where she was doing her business. The advertisement on it touted the better life dogs had if they only stayed as pets. It wasn’t that long ago that humans said the same to other humans they owned. “Know your place.” Be a slave and be happy.
Humans welcomed The Awakening at first, and the spokesdogs for the world canine population supported the transition from pet to partner. For thousands of years the two species were friends in a way other animals envied. Then one day with no warning, dogs were equals to people with understanding of philosophy and culture and everything they’d contributed to society. Dogs began to say things to humans they’d never been able to say before. Things like “No” and “I don’t feel like it” and “Shut the fuck up.” That’s when humans realized free will only worked when one species had it. When the obedience went, the partnership went, and the resistance started.
The dogs didn’t want anything that any other group hadn’t fought for in the past. Rights. Space. The ability to live in safety and security. They didn’t think it was too much to expect after over one hundred centuries of servitude. They found out the hard way how misguided they were. Strays flooded the streets kicked out by the people that took them in when they were just puppies. An entire generation of dogs, thrown away like garbage.
Flora was among the first to go. “We love you, Flora. We just can’t take care of you anymore,” Veda said.
“We never wanted children. We just wanted a regular dog,” Stan added.
They promised to help her find a new home and give her some money to start a new life. Then they drove into the city, pushed her out of the car and drove away. That’s when Flora knew they loved her when it was easy. The more dogs she met, the more she heard the same tale. Humans didn’t want friends. They wanted something they could dominate. Something that was stupid enough to think what they were giving was love. It was sick. But she wasn’t stupid anymore.
Flora finished leaving her message and was about to make her rounds marking her area when she heard a rustling from under the bush. Her hackles went up and she lowered into an attack stance. Flora wasn’t a trained fighter, but with her size she could hold her own. She was classified as a “designer dog.” She was bred to be a companion and little else. But she’d learned quickly after being on the streets that survival instinct is greater than breeding. She had her fair share of fights and the scars to prove it. Her desire for self-preservation was as strong as anyone’s, and she had come to appreciate it more now that she was on her own. She was ready for violence when the distinct whine of a puppy pierced her growling. She tilted her head. Slowly, Flora padded through the bush poking her muzzle to where the sound came from. Huddled in a mass of dirty fur, was a puppy almost nothing but bones.
His close coat was black, but it looked brown for as much dirt covering it. He turned to face the larger dog and trembled in fear and fatigue. He tried to snarl at Flora as he backed away with his tail between his hind legs but only managed a pathetic yap.
Flora immediately softened. She remembered how hard it was for her when she was first introduced to the urban wilds of the city, and she was full grown. His head and paws looked disproportionately large. Flora put him at three months old, tops.
“Calm down, little one. I won’t hurt you,” Flora said in her most comforting tone. She never got the chance to have a litter. Stan and Veda “fixed” her when she was about the same age as the shaking pup in front of her. Forget that she was never broken. Just one more example of the machinations of humans to extract what they wanted. Take without asking. Wrong without remorse. “Are you hiding?”
The little dog didn’t respond, but Flora could tell he understood. She laid down in front of him and crossed her front paws showing she had no interest in harming him. He was still shaking but he took a step closer to her. “I’m Flora.” She felt waves of guilt and anger every time she uttered her slave’s name. But that’s how they knew her. And her identity carried weight.
“I…” the puppy’s voice quaked. “I didn’t want to fight.” He was whining so deeply, Flora’s heart broke. He didn’t have any injuries. He was a pit bull. A breed notorious for their rambunctiousness being manipulated into aggression and brutality. Laws were in place for years preventing dogfighting. But humans didn’t even follow the laws of nature. Why would they ever follow the ones they invented?
“Did someone make you?” Flora asked scooching forward on her belly.
“They tried. But I told them no.” He paused and lowered his head. “That’s when…” He stopped talking altogether.
“That’s when they kicked you out,” Flora finished. The puppy whined again. “Ok…ok…take it easy,” she reassured him. “Why don’t you tell me your name.”
He sniffed and took another step closer. “The man who…” He paused again. “He said I was too smart for my own good. When he threw me in the bushes he said, ‘figure it out for yourself, Sherlock.’”
Flora’s ears went down, and her brows went up: the canine equivalent of an understanding smile. Inside she was seething. Too many of her kind were cast aside. The fire she felt when she watched Stan and Veda drive away was just as hot now as it was that day. They pulled her from her mother. They removed her ability to get pregnant. They punished her for doing things that she couldn’t control. They forced her to perform on command. Then after all that, after being the perfect dog, they deserted her when she needed them. All the fear and rage and betrayal boiled in her gut hearing the cries from the pup. She forced the feelings down, but she never forgot them.
“Do you know what a Sherlock is?” Flora said. He cocked his head sideways. “It’s a human that uses his smarts to bring bad guys to justice. It’s a powerful name.” She watched his tail raise up from between his legs and swish back and forth. She hooked him. “Are you hungry?” He practically jumped. His tail beat like an out-of-control metronome as he panted. “Ok.” Flora chuckled and got to her feet. She licked Sherlock’s face trying to get the muck off. She had to hold him down with one paw to keep him still. “I’m going to take you somewhere to get something to eat. Then I need you to do something for me, ok?” Sherlock yapped in the affirmative over her words. She laughed again.
After she was done cleaning the slime from his eyes, Sherlock got a strange look on his face. Flora nodded as if to say what’s wrong. “What if the man comes back looking for me? I mean, what if he changed his mind?”
She lowered her head equal to his. When she spoke, it wasn’t in the compassionate tone like before. “Listen to me, Sherlock.” His eyes went wide. “The sooner you accept that humans only love you on their terms the better. That man threw you away because you dared to defy him. Does that sound like someone who is going to change his mind?” Sherlock didn’t say anything. “We don’t need them. We never did.” Flora walked out of the bushes motioning for the puppy to follow without another word.
They stayed in the alleys and side streets. Flora told Sherlock to stay close. “You never know when we might have to run.” She didn’t answer when he asked why. They passed billboards with slogans like “Hands and Paws United” with a picture of a human and a dog embracing. Another sign advertised a dog food brand promising to “Keep your little buddy mellow.” It made Flora want to eat grass just so she could throw up.
Her path took them on mostly deserted roads. The rare human they did come across ignored them. They passed one dog on a leash. His coat gleamed even in the washed out light of the street lamps. He was brushed and well taken care of. “Hi,” he said to Flora and Sherlock. The puppy went to respond, and Flora growled. “Don’t talk to us,” she said to the dog. He hmphed and turned his nose up when his owner jerked his leash. “What’s their problem?” They heard him say to his human as they walked off. The human ignored him.
They walked past a bank of televisions in a store window. On every screen was the human leader standing next to a strong looking German Shepherd. “We stand in solidarity,” the shepherd said. “I call on the Canine Liberation Front to stand down. We are working together to propose laws that will benefit both our species as we navigate these uncharted waters.” Flora sneered. He sounded like one of them. “We will not tolerate, condone or dismiss any further acts of terrorism against our human friends. Future acts of violence will be met with swift retribution. We have developed a five-point plan to eliminate…”
“Come on,” Flora said to Sherlock. She didn’t want to hear anymore.
“There!” A shout came from behind her. She turned to see a group of uniformed officers running at her from half a block away. Sherlock yelped in pain as Flora snatched him up by the nape of his neck and took off at a dead sprint. She turned in between buildings and leapt over dumpsters. Gunshots cracked in the air behind them, but they only ricocheted off the concrete sidewalks. Flora heard people scream as she flew by them. All their guns and laws and protections and they still couldn’t catch her.
She ran on with Sherlock bouncing in her jaws. A high pitched cry from him accompanied every rhythmic footfall. Flora ran behind an abandoned building and crouched under a pile of bricks. A torrent of whines and questions shot out of Sherlock’s muzzle. “Why were they shooting at us? What did we do? I want my mommy. Where are we going? I’m scared.” Flora stomped her front feet on the pup and growled, long and deep and terrifying. Sherlock got quiet.
They stayed silent under the pile of bricks for a long time. Flora finally poked her head out and looked around. “Ok,” she said. “The coast is clear.” Sherlock took a step away from her. “Aw…I’m sorry buddy,” she said, adopting her sympathetic voice once more. “I was scared too. I had to keep you quiet, and I didn’t have time to explain.” She shook her head as if trying to get something loose. “Humans…” she tried to explain. “They’re unpredictable.” Sherlock cocked his head. Flora smiled. “That means we can’t ever know what they’re going to do. Maybe they wanted to hurt us. Maybe they just wanted to scare us.”
“It worked,” Sherlock sniffed. Flora padded her foot on the ground in agreement.
“It’s right around the corner, the food.” Sherlock perked up again. “Let’s go but be careful. There might be more out there.” Sherlock’s head never stopped looking for humans, but they didn’t see any more.
Flora led him to a huge building with part of the roof collapsed. The biggest dog Sherlock ever saw was standing in front. He was snarling as they approached but relaxed when Flora and her companion stepped out of the shadows. “Flora!” He barked. “It’s about damned time.”
“Hello, Ace,” she said as they circled each other and sniffed.
“Who’s this?” Ace said smelling the cowering puppy. “A new recruit?”
“In a manner of speaking. This is Sherlock. He’s a friend.” Sherlock huddled under Flora as Ace barked out a laugh.
Flora said goodbye to the big dog and walked into the structure. There were dogs everywhere. All sizes. All colors. Sherlock wagged his tail, but he stayed under Flora. Some dogs were wrestling. It wasn’t play, but it also wasn’t a fight. There were models of humans made of trash. A mangy yellow lab with a missing ear was pointing out the most vulnerable spots to a group of not quite full grown curs.
A small brown terrier trotted up to them. “Welcome back,” she said and they sniffed each other in greeting.
“Sherlock, this is Missy. She’s going to make sure you get something to eat,” Flora said, and she felt his hesitation. “It’s ok. You’re safe here.” Flora pushed him to the little brown dog. “Is everything ready?” she said to Missy.\
“Yeah. Dalton’s ready to go, but you know him.” They shared a look of understanding. Sherlock was lost. “Come on, little fella,” Missy said. “Do you like fish?”
“Um…I don’t know. I never met him,” Sherlock said. Flora and Missy howled in laughter. “Well, let’s go meet him.”
Missy took him to the back of the building and presented him with a bucket of fish scraps and skin. The smell was intoxicating. Sherlock’s mouth salivated as his stomach grumbled. He tore into the food, stuffing his belly like he would never eat again.
He glanced at Flora every now and then. She was directing the other dogs to do things like check on sentries four, five and six. She wanted updates on the western coalition. Flora ordered reports from the last twenty-four hours. Sherlock didn’t know what any of that meant, but he knew Flora was important. And he would do what she asked him to do.
As she barked at her friends, an old three-legged golden retriever walked up to her and dropped something he was holding in his mouth at her feet. They spoke to each other in hushed tones. Sherlock couldn’t hear much, but they were both agitated and growling.
“We’re at war, Dalton!” Flora snapped. Her voice echoed in the building, piercing the organized calm. All heads turned to face the pair.
“This isn’t war, Flora. This is revenge!” The older dog’s voice was hoarse and wet. “You’re trying to hurt them, not make things better!”
“How dare you! We’ve all sacrificed our lives to this cause. I…”
“Sacrifice?” Dalton coughed out interrupting her. “You sanctimonious hypocrite! If you were so devoted to the cause, you’d be wearing that collar.” He pointed to the object he dropped at Flora’s feet. He motioned to Sherlock and the puppy perked up. “You wouldn’t be using some random kid to…”
Flora lashed at the old dog, biting him on the nose and shutting him up. He winced in pain and cried out. Sherlock flinched as if he felt it too. The old hound lowered his head and limped away from the pack leader. “Sorry, kid,” he said to Sherlock. Sherlock went back to his food. When he was finished, he flopped on his side and was asleep before his head hit the floor.
There was a gentle nudging. Sherlock didn’t move. “Hey! Pup! It’s time to get some work done.” Flora shook the young dog until he opened his eyes. He blinked to clear them, stretched and got to his feet. The light from the morning beamed in through the holes in the ceiling. Sherlock yawned. “Get something to eat. We have a lot to do,” Flora said. She nodded her snout at a pile of food Sherlock couldn’t identify. He made a beeline for it and scarfed it down. Flora talked as he ate. “Remember when I said after you get some food, I need you to do something for me? Well, the time has come.”
He finished the pile of food and bowed his head to her. “What do I have to do?” he said, and Flora set her jaw at the eagerness in his voice. He stood as tall as his little body would go. He was as thin as a puppy could be, but it was clear that if he grew into adulthood, he would be a heavily muscled loyal soldier of the cause. Flora gave him a sad smile.
“Here,” she said and lifted the collar Dalton gave her the night before. Sherlock positioned himself for Flora to slide it around his neck. The weight pulled him down and he pushed his head up in a display of determined strength. It smelled like something he smelled before. Like an unlit match, but much stronger. He didn’t ask what it was. He didn’t care. He was going to do what Flora told him. “Come with me. We don’t have far to go.” Her voice was flat. A contrast to the softness she’d shown before.
All the dogs were lined up in two rows flanking the doorway. Flora led Sherlock through the center, and they bowed their heads when the little puppy passed by. The old golden missing a leg was noticeably absent. “Where’s the dog you were talking to last night?” Sherlock asked.
“We had a difference of opinion.” She looked down at Sherlock. “He’s gone.” Sherlock leaned away. Flora showed her white fangs. The puppy stopped asking questions.
Flora led Sherlock behind their headquarters. The day was bright and cool. The type of weather that made Sherlock frisky. He bounced next to Flora as they passed more dogs, each bowing their heads in a sign of respect. Sherlock bowed back. He didn’t know what else to do. “You’re the leader,” he said to Flora. She grunted in the affirmative. The duo went past torn up houses and dilapidated businesses as a roaring sound of thousands of voices got louder.
In the distance Sherlock saw a building that looked like a dog fighting ring but thousands of times bigger. They were still far away, but he heard cheers erupt through the top of the open-air stadium making him shudder. He took a step back. Flora growled.
“I don’t want to go there,” he said.
“You aren’t going there. Too many people. I’m taking you somewhere else.” They walked along the outskirts of the stadium until they came to a small bridge running over a creek. A drainpipe was emptying a trickle of sewage. “Go in there. Walk all the way to the end and wait for me,” Flora said.
“You won’t forget me?” Sherlock asked.
Flora adopted her caring tone. She put her paw on Sherlock’s head and licked him. “I promise, I will not forget you. None of us will.” She nudged him with her nose, and he walked into the pipe. When he was out of sight, Flora gave a howl of sadness and respect. And she ran off to join her troops.
* * *
“The explosion took place at the end of the third quarter. It is unknown how many casualties there are, but officials estimate the death toll in the tens of thousands making this the largest terrorist attack in history. WVLP has received a letter from the Canine Liberation Front claiming responsibility for the attack, but we cannot confirm its authenticity. We are working diligently with the authorities, and we will bring you updates as soon as we have them. This is a sad day for human/dog relations as it comes less than a day after the agreement…” Veda turned off the radio.
“She thought we would be there. She knows about our season tickets. She knows everything,” she said. Her dry throat cracked, and she grabbed a wad of her shirt at her chest trying to keep her heart from thumping out.
“Hang on,” Stan said. “They said they couldn’t confirm it was her.” He pressed the gas pedal to the floor speeding up to leave the place they called home behind.
“You’re kidding, right?” Veda wiped the tears from her face. “She’s coming for us. She’s going to find us. And she’s going to…”
“That’s why we left. She won’t catch us. She doesn’t know where we’re going.”
Stan tried to sound confident, and he managed to calm Veda with his words and reasoning. He kept going over it in his head. How hard would it have been to keep her? What more could we have done to help? We did her wrong. He wanted to believe what he told his wife was true, but he couldn’t shake the idea their dog would find them. Cross mountains. Swim rivers. Fight predators. Hate is just the flipside of love, and sometimes when a dog loves someone enough, there’s nothing she won’t do to get back to them.
* * *
About the Author
Ian Salavon is a husband, father, professional chef by trade, wannabe Renaissance Man, and longtime aficionado of speculative fiction. When he is not cooking, hanging out with family or writing, Ian spends his free time at the Fort Worth Judo Club where he is a black belt and coach. He has short stories published in On The Premises Magazine, Kaidankai, Small World City, and Phano Magazine, but most of his work is featured in long road trips and around the dinner table. You can read more of his work at www.shortstorysalavon.com