Doglands (12 page)

“Oh,” said Skyver. His lopsided ears drooped with disappointment. “Well, I once saw you take down three angry malamutes. Perhaps it was four. Or even five!” He chuckled, obviously hoping that Argal would like him. “I bet they wish they’d never left Alaska.”

“I’m talking to my son,” said Argal, without smiling.

“Yes, sir. I was taking good care of young Furgul myself, even before you turned up. Wasn’t I, Furgul?” Skyver licked the sweat off his nose. “Boy, wait till my old mother hears about this.”

“Shut your yap or you won’t live to tell anyone,” said Argal.

Skyver crawled to the back of his cage and hid his head beneath his paws.

Argal turned back to Furgul. For the first time Furgul saw some warmth in Argal’s face, the love of a father for his son. But with the love came a shadow of fear.

“We haven’t got long,” said Argal, “so listen. Whether you decide to be a pet or you decide to let the winds of the Doglands take you where they will, your next step is the same. If you can’t be smart, at least you can learn some cunning.”

“Whatever you say, Dad.”

“Think of your mother, Keeva. Don’t close your eyes. Picture how beautiful she is. Remember how much she loves you.”

Furgul did as he was told. He pictured Keeva. He started to feel sad.

“Perfect,” said Argal. “We’ll call that your Keeva face. Now think of a time when you were happy. Think of the happiest day in your life.”

“When I played at fighting with Dervla in the park?” said Furgul.

“Good,” said Argal. “Picture that day.”

Furgul pictured it without closing his eyes. He felt his ears prick up. He held his head high. He wagged his tail without even thinking about it.

“Good,” said Argal. “We’ll call that your Dervla face. Do you know how to sit and heel? And those other silly commands that make the masters feel as if they’re in control?”

Furgul nodded. “I learned them when I was a pet.”

“Even better. Now, you have to get out of the dog pound within five days. Do you know why?”

“I explained all that, Mister Argal. Didn’t I, Furgul?” said Skyver.

Argal gave Skyver another look. Skyver bowed and scraped, as if even a scowl were an honor. Argal turned back to Furgul.

“That means that within five days you have to persuade a dog lover to pick you out from all the other dogs. You have to make them want to take you home with them. And you have to persuade the workers at the Needles to recommend you. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” nodded Furgul.

“Show the workers that you’re obedient, even if you don’t feel like it. Act like a good, responsible dog—all the time. Avoid fighting, even if your blood is boiling. And no play-fighting either—most humans can’t tell the difference. Don’t bark. Don’t whine. Keep your cage clean. Make their lives easy. And give them your Dervla face—your happy face—every time you see them. The strange thing is, the humans who work in the dog pound really love dogs, more than most of all the other humans in the world. Win the pound workers over and they might even give you more than five days. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Sooner or later you’ll find strangers—maybe with children—looking at you through the bars,” said Argal. “Show them your Keeva face, with your big brown eyes. Lift one paw toward them, but slowly and gently—and don’t look too desperate.”

Furgul nodded again. “I can do that.”

“The strangers might make those ‘aawwwh’ noises they make when they see something cute. If they do, you put on your happy Dervla face and wag your tail. Stick your tongue out and pant—they like that—but don’t bare your teeth. If they bend down and start waffling at you, you’re nearly there. Keep on your happy face and croon at them, as if they’re already your best friends. Don’t bark or snarl, even if they pat you in places you don’t like—such as on the head. Pretend you love it. Keep looking right at them. There’s a good chance they’ll want to take you home right there and then. If they start to walk away, give them your Keeva face again. And don’t worry—humans love to shop around. It makes them feel powerful and clever. If they come back to see you a second time, you can close the deal. Just give them a super-happy Dervla face, with lots of tail wagging, and they’ll have you outside on a leash within fifteen minutes. Can you remember all that?”

“Yes,” said Furgul. “What do I do next?”

“They’ll take you to their home,” said Argal. “And then, in time, you make your choice—to be a pet, or to escape and run with the winds.”

Skyver had crept back to the front of his cage. “Excuse me, Mister Argal, sir, but was that ‘stick your tongue out and pant’ or ‘don’t pant’?” he asked.

Argal gave Skyver a dark look. “Listen, fleabag, if you try any of this before Furgul is free, I’ll have your skin peeled off. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” whimpered Skyver. “Perfectly.”

The truck came to a halt. The rumble of the engine stopped.

“We’re here.” Argal lowered his voice to a whisper so that Skyver couldn’t overhear. “Stick close to me. I haven’t much time left—and I want to spend it with you.”

“What do you mean, not much time?” whispered Furgul. “We’ll have five days.”

The back doors of the truck swung open. Six nervous Traps peered in.

“I won’t get five days,” said Argal.

“Why not?”

“I’ve already been sentenced to death. First thing in the morning they’ll kill me.”

The Needles was a long gray concrete building with harsh lights outside. Beside it was an exercise yard surrounded by a high wire fence. As the dogs got out of the van, Argal was quiet and obedient. The Traps mopped sweat from their faces, relieved that they didn’t have to use their nooses. They smiled again, though Furgul could see that the smiles were false, and said “Good boy!” Furgul hated being called a boy. He wasn’t a boy. He was a dog. He was sure that Argal hated it even more. But Argal stayed cool. He let them put a collar and leash on him and didn’t fight them. They leashed Furgul and the others too, and Furgul stayed close to Argal. The Traps took them into the Needles side by side.

Inside were more harsh lights and lots of corridors. The Traps met with the shelter workers. They were both women, one with blond hair and one with red, and both with very kind faces. They gave the dogs treats and lots of smiles. The Traps talked to the women while looking at Argal, and the women looked concerned and sad.

“Watch,” said Argal. “They’re going to blunt my teeth.”

The blond woman brought a muzzle and strapped it round Argal’s snout. Argal didn’t struggle. He gave her a mournful look and shook one hind leg. The chains on his ankles rattled. The blonde unlocked the chains and took them away. She took the leashes of Argal and Furgul from the Traps, and the redhead took the leashes of Skyver, Zinni and Tess. Then the two shelter women took the dogs to the cellblock.

“They’ll put me in a cage first,” said Argal. “Try to get in there ahead of me.”

When they reached the cellblock the redheaded woman switched on a light to reveal a huge room filled with long rows of cages. In front of each row was a concrete gutter and a series of metal grates in the floor. In nearly every cage lay a sleeping dog. The smell of so many dogs was tremendous, and Furgul could tell that most of them didn’t keep their cages clean. The light woke them up and a chorus of woofing and whimpering and whining arose. Argal barked just once.

“Quiet!” commanded Argal.

It wasn’t an angry bark or even a loud bark. It didn’t frighten the two shelter women. But its effect was amazing.
Silence fell over the cellblock in an instant as every dog obeyed Argal. The two women looked at each other. They realized that Argal was a dog among dogs. The blonde said something sad to the redhead, and the redhead nodded. Furgul sensed that they were sorry that such a dog as Argal would have to die.

Near the entrance to the cellblock stood a series of extra-large cages for extra-large dogs. In one of them lay an old, starved Saint Bernard. His ribs poked out like knife blades through his loose, saggy skin. He was covered with weeping sores and scabby patches where his hair had fallen out. One eye was swollen shut with some monstrous infection. His right ear had been cut off—so recently that the wound was still bloody. Furgul had never seen a dog in such terrible condition, even at Dedbone’s Hole. It was a wonder the Saint Bernard was still breathing.

While the redhead took Skyver, Tess and Zinni down the walkway between the cages, the blonde opened the extra-large cage next to the Saint Bernard. As she bent down to release Argal’s leash, Furgul dashed into the cage, plucking his own leash from the blonde’s hand. Argal lunged in after him and turned to guard the door. The blonde wasn’t angry, but she put her hands on her hips with a look of concern, as if she were worried for Furgul.

“Show her your Keeva face,” said Argal, “and rub your shoulder against mine.”

Furgul did so and looked up at the blonde. As she
considered whether or not she should separate the dogs—which she knew would not be easy—Furgul crooned to her to let her know he’d be fine. The blonde seemed to understand. She nodded and closed the door of the cage, leaving them together. She walked away.

“Get this thing off me,” said Argal.

Furgul bit through the strap behind Argal’s ears, and the muzzle fell off.

Argal looked at the Saint Bernard and the wretched state he was in. Furgul tried to imagine how a huge Saint Bernard could be starved into a tottering bag of bones. The Saint Bernard clambered painfully to his feet. He nodded to Argal, as if they were old friends.

“Hello, Brennus,” said Argal. “Hard times.”

“I’ve known better,” said Brennus. “And I’ve known worse too.”

Argal looked at the dreadful wounds on Brennus’s body. “So I see.”

“My master locked me in a dark cellar, for months. He never said why.”

Argal’s face darkened with rage and sorrow at seeing such a noble dog brought low. “Some of them don’t need a ‘why,’ ” he said. “They just like being mean.”

“Why did they cut your ear off?” asked Furgul.

“I had a tattoo in my ear—a number,” said Brennus. “My master didn’t want the Traps to be able to trace me back to him, or he’d be in trouble. I pretended to be nearly dead,
which was easy enough. He threw me on a garbage dump to die.”

Furgul didn’t know what to say. Brennus gave him a wink with his one good eye.

“At least in here they feed me well and let me see the sunshine in the exercise yard.” Brennus looked at Argal. “But you look fighting fit, as always.”

Argal nodded. “For what good it’ll do me. This is my last shout.”

“That’s hard to believe,” said Brennus.

“Believe it,” said Argal. “The wild and rambling road ends here.”

“You ran with the winds for longer than most,” said Brennus. There was something haunted in his huge green eye. “And at least they never broke your spirit.”

“Chin up, Brennus. There’s nothing wrong with you that a few raw steaks won’t cure.”

“Right. They serve me T-bones three times a day,” said Brennus. “Speaking of red meat, how’s your brother, Sloann?”

“Haven’t seen Sloann in years,” said Argal. “Don’t even know if he’s alive.”

“Sloann?” Damaged though he was, Brennus almost laughed. “Sloann’s not like the rest of us. He’s not even like you. Of course he’ll be alive.”

“If he is, he’ll be up to no good.”

“Sloann was always one to bite first and ask questions later.”

“Sloann never asks questions,” said Argal.

Furgul’s mind reeled at the thought that Argal had a brother just as scary as he was. Before he could ask about him, Brennus looked at him and said, “Who’s the kid?”

“My son, Furgul,” said Argal. “We’ll be talking for a while.”

“Talk away,” said Brennus. “You won’t keep my old bones awake.” He studied the fresh swellings and bruises on Argal’s face. “Resisted arrest, huh? You’ll be leaving at first light, then.”

“I reckon so,” said Argal.

“At least you’ll be remembered,” said Brennus.

Brennus turned away and tried to curl up on the floor. The painful sores on his flanks made it hard, but he put his head on his paws and closed his eye.

Furgul felt a great anger and a great sorrow swelling through his chest. How could such lordly dogs as Brennus and Argal be treated with such disrespect and brutality? He found himself baring his teeth, but he didn’t growl in case he disturbed the Saint Bernard. He found Argal looking at him. Argal didn’t speak.

“Why are humans so cruel to us?” asked Furgul. “What have we done to hurt them?”

“We’ve done nothing to hurt them,” growled Argal. “All we’ve done is to be their most faithful companions for thousands of years. We protected their children, their homes, their farms. We herded their cattle and sheep. We showed them how to hunt. We fought in their wars. When they were lost, we guided them home. We put food in their mouths when
they were hungry, and we saved their lives when they were dying. We even wiped out our brothers—the wolves—for the benefit of men and to our shame because men asked us to do it. Now we capture their criminals and sniff for their dangerous explosives and poisonous drugs. The rich use us to make them look even richer, and beggars use us to help them pay for their booze. In their darkest nights we bring them comfort. In their brightest days we bring them joy. We’ve given the human race more love than any other creature on this earth. They even have the nerve to call us man’s best friend.” He looked about the death house. He looked at Furgul. “And this is our reward.”

Tears welled in Furgul’s eyes, but he fought them back down. He looked at Brennus’s ravaged body through the bars of the cage. And he realized that Brennus was awake. And not only Brennus but all the other jailhouse dogs too, their ears pricked forward to catch the words of truth.

Every dog in the Needles was listening to Argal.

Furgul turned back to him. “But why? I don’t understand it.”

“What you must understand is that it’s not just us dogs. Humans exploit all animals. We’ve all got something that they want. They exploit all of nature’s bounty. They believe that the earth was created just for them. They take and use the things they want, and when those things are worn out—or when they just get bored—they throw them away. Of all living things, humans are the most greedy, the most ruthless, the most selfish, the most deceitful. That’s why they rule the
world. And the most terrible truth of all is that they treat each other with even more cruelty, dishonesty and stupidity than they treat us dogs. They shackle us with muzzles and collars and chains, yes. But the chains men hang upon each other—and upon themselves—are stronger than the bars of this prison.”