I adopted her when she was still a puppy. She was no more than twenty centimetres tall and she slept next to me for the warmth. But as the years went past, the constant moving and maturity changed her. It was inevitable, from that tiny creature that jumped and wet herself whenever she saw me, with her soft fur and growing teeth that sank into my arm with an unmistakable tenderness, to the hormonal beast, unrecognizable, that drove the dogs off the street, and now the country, crazy with her distinctive, maddening reproductive scent. Although I would have liked to have kept her forever a pup, time and nature, eternal as they are, beat my desires with their mere existence.
Since I had moved permanently to the country, for some months now, every night a pack of dogs encircled the cabin. From the whole hillside they came, and in the afternoons you could see a canine procession that had as a destination the terrace of the cabin I lived in with her. As the sun came down, they started barking and jumping, and there she was, like a princess, tempting them from inside, with her tail up and her flirty airs. My scolding was of no good, because she was so capricious. On the contrary, with every reproach I made, she made me fall in love further. A lick of her tongue was a flame and as she passed it over my cheek she melted me away. So then the howling of the dogs that responded to her heat and wanted to make her theirs filled me with jealousy. How could I fault her? If she didn’t control her hormones and I knew the only one she loved was me? My energies then transferred completely to scaring off the pack of dogs. I’d leave the house, with my chest pumped and showing my supremacy, I removed the pretenders like a protecting father.
Every time I went out to scare off the invaders, the small ones would panic first, submissive perhaps because of their unjust nature. It was then necessary to bring the tone up to my own bestiality. I smacked my chest, and I transformed for a couple of seconds into a primate, turning back evolution and my own civilization, to establish myself as the only alfa male worthy of the cabin. Nevertheless, there was always one, known in the village for his hard head and defiance, that stayed looking at me, analysing me, and when our eyes met it sent shivers down my back. They said in town that the dog would go into the storage of shops and the butchers at night to eat the fresh meat and wreak havoc. As an answer to that, they put barbed wire on the ground, so that the dog wouldn’t come in any more. However, every try was futile. In the mornings, the wires dripped blood and the shops were still destroyed, evidencing the path of the rebellious canine. This dog was black, with dry hair and skin full of scars. Life had left its mark, but his eyes, white as if he were blind, revealed with their emptiness the he didn’t feel. The loosest tongues in town used to say his nerve endings were atrophied, that that is where his courage came from, because he did not know pain.
And so it was that one night, after the usual primitive display of supremacy, when I was lying in bed with her by my side that the black dog appeared in my room roaring. Without any consideration for the window that separated my room from the terrace, he launched himself through the glass, causing a tremendous noise and challenging me for my bitch’s virtue. I stood up in an instant, and looked him in the eyes. He was immobile, except for his breathing which filled up his chest intermittently. He looked at me, as if saying in some extinct language that it was either him or me; that only one of us was getting out of this one. I understood, and with the universal sign with which you accept a challenge, I nodded. Like a gentleman, the dog waited for me as I got ready for battle. I got a broomstick, sent her to the living room and it all began. He got the first blow. At neck height he sent a lethal bite, I was able to deviate his snout with a swing of the broomstick, but I was left on the floor and within seconds he sent the next wave of attack. A bite to my right arm, the one that had smashed his face, which I had only realized, had hit his eye too as it was now completely bloodshot. I managed to get back up without losing a grip on the broomstick, as I had earned some seconds with a kick to the ribs that had left him struggling for air. But the next attack happened before I could see it as my vision was blurry because of the adrenaline rush; he sent a bite to my thigh and ripped the piece clean off. From then on, he had the advantage the whole time, since I could never stand firmly. I was able to give him some strong blows, but he got back up instantly to attack again. In the end, I was mauled, lying on the cold tiles, defeated. He moved away when I stopped fighting back, sparing my life.
With a couple of barks he called her. I couldn’t understand exactly, but I know what he said in between howls: that he had beaten me, that he had earned her fairly and that she had to, by natural law, go with him. Without answering, very submissive and with her head held low, like a lady of time past, she went into the room. My humiliation continued as they met formally before my eyes, quietly completing the initial rite with their curious snouts. It wasn’t even minutes when they passed over my body on their way to the treacherous country. He gave me a look, thanking me for a noble battle. I answered with tears, each one a message so that he would take care of her, as I had done. Before leaving forever, she came back with a slight jog and licked my cheek one last time.
By Nicholas Dale
The Bell 