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The man’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. The beast stalked after him, no longer dog, only a creature of rage and fury.
Without warning — no growl, no snarl — Brutus lunged at the trainer. He latched on to the man’s arm. The same arm that dangled pups as bait, an arm attached to the real monster of the sandy ring, a man who called horrors out of the shadows and set dogs on fire.
Teeth clamped over the pale wrist. Jaws crushed down. Bones ground and crackled under the pressure.
The man screamed.
From the narrow corner of one eye, Brutus watched a helmeted figure rush at them, an arm held up, pointing a black pistol.
A flash from the muzzle.
Then a sizzle of blinding pain.
And at last, darkness again.
Brutus lay on the cold concrete floor of the ke
Behind him, a small door led to an outside fenced-in pen. Brutus seldom went out there. He preferred the shadows. His torn muzzle had been knitted together with staples, but it still hurt to drink. He didn’t eat. He had been here for five days, noting the rise and fall of sunlight through the doorway.
People came by occasionally to stare at him. To scribble on a wooden chart hanging on his door. Men in white jackets injected him twice a day, using a noose attached to a long steel pole to hold him pi
He growled and snapped. More out of irritation than true anger. He just wanted to be left alone.
He had woken here after that night in the pit.
And a part of him still remained back there.
Why am I still breathing?
Brutus knew guns. He recognized their menacing shapes and sizes, the tang of their oils, the bitter reek of their smoke. He’d seen scores of dogs shot, some quickly, some for sport. But the pistol that had fired back at the ring had struck with a sizzle that twisted his muscles and arched his back.
He lived.
That, more than anything, kept him angry and sick of spirit.
A shuffle of rubber shoes drew his attention. He didn’t lift his head, only twitched his eyes. It was too early for the pole and needles.
“He’s over here,” a voice said. “Animal Control just got the judge’s order to euthanasize all the dogs this morning. This one’s on the list, too. Heard they had to Taser him off his own trainer. So I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”
Brutus watched three people step before his ke
“Here he is. It was lucky we sca
“Two years ago,” a taller man said, dressed in black shoes and a suit.
Brutus pulled back one ear. The voice was vaguely familiar.
“They took both him and his littermate,” the man continued. “We thought they’d run off during a thunderstorm.”
Brutus lifted his head. A boy pushed between the two taller men and stepped toward the gate. Brutus met his eyes. The boy was older, taller, more gangly of limb, but his scent was as familiar as an old sock. As the boy stared into the dark ke
The boy’s voice was an appalled squeak. “Be
Shocked and disbelieving, Brutus slunk back on his belly. He let out a low warning growl as he shied away. He didn’t want to remember…and especially didn’t want this. It was too cruel.
The boy glanced over his shoulder to the taller man. “It is Be
“I think so.” An arm pointed. “He’s got that white blaze over his right ear.” The voice grew slick with dread. “But what did they do to him?”
The man in the coveralls shook his head. “Brutalized him. Turned him into a monster.”
“Is there any hope for rehabilitation?”
He shook his head and tapped the chart. “We had all the dogs examined by a behaviorist. She signed off that he’s unsalvageable.”
“But, Dad, it’s Be
Brutus curled into the back of the run, as deep into the shadows as he could get. The name was like the lash of a whip.
The man pulled a pen from his coverall pocket. “Since you’re still legally his owners and had no part in the dogfighting ring, we can’t put him down until you sign off on it.”
“Dad…”
“Jason, we had Be
“But it’s still Be
The coverall man crossed his arms and lowered his voice with warning. “He’s unpredictable and damn powerful. A bad combination. He even mauled his trainer. They had to amputate the man’s hand.”
“Jason…”
“I know. I’ll be careful, Dad. I promise. But he deserves a chance, doesn’t he?”
His father sighed. “I don’t know.”
The boy knelt down and matched Brutus’s gaze. The dog wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. He locked eyes and slipped into a past he’d thought long buried away, of fingers clutching hot dogs, chases across green lawns, and endless su
A low rumble shook through his chest.
Still, the boy clutched the fence and faced the monster inside. He spoke with the effortless authority of i
“It’s still Be
Brutus turned away and closed his eyes with an equally firm conviction.
The boy was wrong.
Brutus slept on the back porch. Three months had passed and his sutures and staples were gone. The medicines in his food had faded away. Over the months, he and the family had come to an uneasy truce, a cold stalemate.
Each night, they tried to coax him into the house, especially as the leaves were turning brown and drifting up into piles beneath the hardwoods and the lawn turned frosty in the early morning. But Brutus kept to his porch, even avoiding the old sofa covered in a ragged thick comforter. He kept his distance from all things. He still flinched from a touch and growled when he ate, unable to stop himself.
But they no longer used the muzzle.
Perhaps they sensed the defeat that had turned his heart to stone. So he spent his days staring across the yard, only stirring occasionally, pricking up an ear if a stray squirrel should dare bound along the fencerow, its tail fluffed and fearless.
The back door opened, and the boy stepped out onto the porch. Brutus gained his feet and backed away.
“Be
The boy held out a hand, but Brutus already smelled the bacon, still smoking with crisply burned fat. He turned away. Back at the training yard, the others had tried to use bait on him, too. But after his sister, Brutus had always refused, no matter how hungry.
The dog crossed to the top step of the porch and lay down.
The boy came and sat with him, keeping his distance.
Brutus let him.
They sat for a long time. The bacon still in his fingers. The boy finally nibbled it away himself. “Okay, Be
The boy began to get up, paused, then carefully reached out to touch him on the head. Brutus didn’t growl, but his fur bristled. Noting the warning, the boy sagged, pulled back his hand, and stood up.
“Okay. See ya in the morning, Be
He didn’t watch the boy leave, but he listened for the door to clap shut. Satisfied that he was alone, he settled his head to his paws. He stared out into the yard.