A Puppy’s Progress
By T.L. Peters
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 T.L. Peters
Smashwords
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
One
The large woman ducked under the sagging wood awning and then peered suspiciously at a battered sign warning all visitors to KEEP OUT. Confident that her property had survived another night free from the plundering of vandals and police, she resumed her diatribe with wicked precision.
“I'll sit on ya if ya don't do what I tell ya, Ray. Then we'll see what kind 'a man ya are, all squashed down like a bug.”
The henpecked husband resumed a clear backward drift, hopeful that his wife's laziness would trump the energizing tendencies of a foul temper.
“I ain't thievin' no more, Carla, if that's what ya got in mind. I'm too old to risk goin' back to the penitentiary.“
Ignoring her husband's puny defiance Carla yanked open the door and squeezed her plump bulk through the narrow opening. Ray dutifully shuffled in a few seconds later, holding his nose at the stench. Despite the sudden human intrusion only a few hoarse barks issued from the darkness.
“We gotta hose this place down, Carla. It's all I can do not to puke all over my overalls.”
“Too much work takin' the dogs outside, unless ya plan on drownin' 'em in here. Them dogs don't mind the stink anyway. Look at 'em,“ and Carla gave out a short hacking wheeze that in her feeble emotional vocabulary passed for a laugh. ”Too dumb to know any better, jus' waggin' their tails, as if that's gonna get 'em somethin' to eat.”
Even a few rancid morsels of hash would no doubt have been greatly appreciated by the dozens of emaciated dogs, purebred Labs mostly with a few Rottweilers mixed in, crouched miserably in various postures of exhaustion and despair throughout the twenty-by-twenty foot prison. Their sudden hopes for a better life cruelly extinguished, they laid their heads back down on the hard filthy floor and resumed a soft chorus of pants. Huddled in the dark corners around their mothers were a few animated clumps of squirming puppies trying to nurse, while others pawed and nipped playfully at each other as best they could in the oppressive Carolina heat.
The room was otherwise bare, a few tattered newspapers spread on the floor. The damp stale air was so thick with flies that the fidgety man didn't even bother to swat at them.
“You should feed 'em more, Carla,” Ray croaked weakly. “Who's gonna wanna buy 'em, all bony and dried up like that? And to think of all the trouble I went to, riskin' life and limb to swipe them highfalut'n purebreds jus' so you could start up this here dog breedin' business. We was gonna make a fortune ya said, and now look at 'em all, half starved. Ya frittered it all away, Carla, my best thievin', and it's all gone to nuthin',” and he let loose a pathetic wail and then squatted down on his hindquarters to contemplate the grim turn of events.
“They'll perk up after a few days of reg'lar meals,” Carla snapped, “the puppies anyway. Let the pet stores pay the tab for their eats, unless ya feel like comin' up with the cash.”
“What are ya lookin' for, Carla?” the feeble man groaned. Then to get a little fresh air he rose up and poked his oblong head out the only window, a tiny glassless square five feet off the floor that was too small for a grown dog to crawl though. “Can't ya hurry up a little?”
“Hold your horses, Ray. I'm lookin' for somethin', somethin' special.”
“There ain't nuthin' special in here no more,” Ray cried. “I'm gonna puke I tell ya.”
“Here she is,” Carla said, pointing at a black Lab with large brown pools for eyes and thin floppy ears.
The last surviving offspring of prize-winning purebreds, the dog had lived her entire fourteen months in the shed, and this was to be her first litter. She was due any time now and the woman bent over and squinted at the Lab's bloated belly.
“Í'm countin' on this one to make us some decent cash. Look what a pretty litt'l thing she is, all furry and black too. Kids like 'em black, ya know.”
Ray reluctantly drew his head back inside to get a better look.
“Don't seem so black to me,” he cracked, scrunching up his nose skeptically. “Looks kind 'a gray. But I remember her mom and dad, beautiful they was before you starved 'em to death.”
“She'd be pitch black if we fed her proper. Ya bred her with that other black Lab like I told ya, right?”
“I jus' do what ya tell me,” Ray nodded vaguely, deciding to add a touch of sarcasm to flavor his compliant tone. “Ya put a black male Lab and a black female Lab together when they're in heat, and you're gonna get black Lab pups, won't ya?“
Carla could move like a cat on those few occasions in her marital relations when nimbleness was required. Instantly she squared her shoulders and then agilely positioned her overwhelming girth between the torpid man and the beckoning door. An old Rottweiler, sensing a fight, raised his large head to get a closer look.
“You better 'a put her in with the right dog,” she intoned menacingly, bouncing up and down on her toes now, her pasty flesh jiggling under the formless brown dress. “I don't want no half-breeds. Can't make no money sellin' mutts.“
At this tender encouragement her husband cocked his head back pensively, his weary eyes slowly assuming the additional burdens of recollection.
“He was black all right,” he wheezed. “I'm sure he was a Lab.”
Carla turned once again to the trembling dog.
“I'd say maybe even tonight she'll push the pups out. Then six weeks or so and we'll get ourselves a nice payday.”
“Do we gotta wait six weeks?” Ray groaned. “We always gotta wait so long to get our money.“
“That's the standard weanin' time, ya idiot,” she shot back. “Don't ya know nuthin'? We gotta keep 'em anyway 'til they look like they been weaned. Buyers generally don't want 'em while they're still nursin'.”
Ray shifted nervously from one foot to the other and then back again, trying to avoid the rusty nails poking up through the floor.
“I know it, Carla. I was jus' wonderin' if we had any others ready for sale. We could use a few quick bucks.”
His wife stared harshly about.
“Yeah, we got some others, but they're all runts. Won't fetch much. These ole' dogs ain't no good for breedin' no more, no good for nuthin' really, all except this nice littl' black Missy. We gotta get some new dogs somehow. Ya gotta steal me some more, Ray.”
“If ya fed 'em right they might do better,” Ray replied softly, unable to let his old argument go. “Ya squandered the great treasure I stole for ya, Carla. Haulin' all them squealin' hounds outta their fancy houses. It's a miracle I ain't back in jail right now.”
The woman eyed him long and cold, the flabby folds under her chin tightening in silent rebuke. Fearful of an imminent thrashing Ray suddenly whirled toward the door, but he slipped before he could make good his escape and landed face first in a moist pile of manure. While he frantically plucked the excrement from his eyes and mouth, Carla was bending over two shiny specks that had tumbled out of his pocket. The resulting expression of delight required her facial muscles to contort in ways not seen for years.
“I'd never 'a thunk it, Ray. I'd never 'a thunk ya still had it in ya.”
The haggard man froze in horror at the sight of his beloved diamonds, recently purloined with excruciating care, now resting securely in his wife's greedy paws.
“Ya went and bought me a birthday gift,” Carla gushed, her eyes moistening with long dormant sentiment. “And here I didn't think ya even remembered.”
It took the downtrodden lout a few moments to figure out what his wife was blathering about, and then a few moments more to mold his thoughts into an appropriate response.
“Yeah sure, well, that's the kind 'a guy I am. I got 'em special for ya, honey. Always tryin' to surprise ya I am.”
Carla fitted the stones carefully to her flat earlobes.
“They look almost real,” she purred. “Why, ya must 'a paid thirty or forty bucks for 'em.”
“They was expensive all right,” Ray confirmed sourly, filth still clinging to the tip of his crooked nose.
“If ya weren't so disgustin' I might even give ya a big smooch,” and Carla smiled briefly and then looked around at the wraiths still eyeing her every move for some sign of pity. “But I ain't that hard up jus' yet. Ya still got that microchip implanter ya swiped from the Vet?”
Her husband, already pondering how to go about retrieving the diamonds, had apparently missed the question. “Huh?”
“The implanter, ya old fool,“ she cried. “Ya know, the machine that shoots a microchip under the dog's skin so's it can be identified.“
“Yeah, I still got it. Why?”
“The buyer might want these litt'l pups chipped. They come from royal stock after all, right expensive merchandise.”
“Good thinkin',” Ray stammered, possessed suddenly of a wonderful idea, though the details still needed some work. “You're always on top 'a everythin', Carla.” “I'm glad ya realize it, Ray. At least ya got e'nuff brains left to figger that out.”
Satisfied that no additional labors were required that morning, the two curmudgeons trudged back onto the porch. Carla made sure to lock the door so that none of her charges could bust out while her husband covetously eyed the diamonds. Inside, the nameless dog with the short oily fur rested in the darkness, dimly aware of some great task ahead.
She still remembered that terrible night. The skinny man had dragged her out of the shed by her collar through sharp prickly bushes and then tossed her into a cage. Inside was a black dog bigger than any she had ever seen. She had tried to escape but the thick bars were too strong. The beast had promptly mounted her back and rode her around the tiny space until she was exhausted with fright. Then before she knew it the man had yanked her back to the shed.
That was the second time she had been out of her prison. The first time she remembered too. It was a blissful Autumn day. The stout woman, rendered somewhat misty by the charms of an ancient bottle of Scotch, had left the door slightly ajar, and the six-month old had cautiously nudged it open with her snout. Her fears vanishing as the brilliant sunshine tickled her eyes, she wasted little time before sprinting into the freedom of the woods, stopping only to dig her blistered pads into the cool dirt and roll around in the occasional puddle.
There were plenty of birds to bark at and small animals to chase up trees and all sorts of new and fresh smells to savor. Especially entertaining were the great tireless beasts that gleamed bright in the sun. As she was dodging their glistening bulk on the hot slabs of pavement that seemed to attract them, a little girl with long brown hair had run up to her and stroked her softly on the head. Having never been petted before her first impulse was to flee, but the gentle hand quickly soothed her anxieties.
She had just begun to lick the tips of the girl's fingers when the parents arrived and pulled their daughter away. Intrigued by the flurry of attention she had followed them in hopes of joining this new pack. That's when Ray had nabbed her, as she was running along the shoulder of old highway 158 toward the Outer Banks trying to catch up to the rusted Chevy Cavalier.
The sweet memory of those few hours had given her something to live for, and she knew that her hope was not baseless. She had seen the skinny man carry other dogs out of the shed, some her friends, their cold bodies, which had become stiff during the night, wrapped in dirty sheets. She often wondered why their scent had suddenly changed, why they had ceased to join in the soft panting chorus and, most of all, why they hadn't jumped for joy at the prospect of freedom. Yet she envied those dogs as she imagined them running outside on the prickly grass sniffing out squirrels and chipmunks, and even squaring off against some grumpy old raccoon or groundhog.
One day she would join them, and she wouldn't need to be carried out in some dirty rag. She closed her eyes and wondered why she wasn't hungry anymore.
Two
The lone window that the nameless Lab had so often tried to climb through when she was younger and still full of playful fight grew slowly dim, and then as always turned suddenly black. The flies hummed about her head, but she was too tired to raise up and bite at them. She could hear the low crackly drone of crickets outside that generally signaled the pleasant respite of sleep. But tonight would be different. She could feel it in the quaking of her stomach and the tightening in her throat. She knew that some great and onerous work had been assigned to her, something that she must do well before she would be allowed to play in the fields with her friends. She had seen other dogs give birth, the furry piles of life flailing and squeaking as their mothers furiously licked the sticky goo from their tiny curved bodies. She remembered the blood dripping languidly into the surrounding filth and the strange and confusing scents that lingered for days.
One time she'd even thrown up at the spectacle and had to endure the humiliation of an unruly Rottweiler shoving her aside to lick up the vomit. Then came the long weeks of nursing, the little teeth biting into the mother's teats, the dreary hours of quiet exhaustion as the pups roughhoused and yelped and chased each other around and over their weary mother.
Didn't these upstarts know that the most important rule of survival was to conserve energy, that food might not come for days? How could the mother suffer their impertinence and keep herself alive too? And then there was the unyielding isolation of being crammed into a small space with so many other dogs, and yet bearing such great responsibility alone.
Even the most gregarious of the residents, after satisfying their initial curiosity at the new arrivals, shied away from the suckling pups and their watchful mother, as if birth were a plague to be avoided. Worst of all, the pups would soon grow big and then suddenly disappear, carted off in cardboard boxes by the nervous man or his sour wife, leaving behind the poor mother, drained and sorrowful.
Her tongue was unusually dry that evening and she yearned for a little moisture. But as usual the few water bowls scattered about the putrid floor were empty, licked clean in a frenzy of growls and whines. She closed her eyes and listened to the faint breathing of the other dogs. Their nearness offered some consolation, as if by dint of great suffering they were united somehow. She might even have dozed off had the pain not suddenly ripped into her belly like a twisting knife, leaving her trembling and panting. Desperately she curled up to lick her teats and then began to whine softly for help. But only a couple of Rottweilers, stronger than the others because they hogged the food, bothered to look up.
As the dark hours passed another sensation gripped her, an urge really, overpowering, frightening, yet offering some hope that her torment would soon end. Straining with what remained of her strength, she obeyed its dictates and began to push. She pushed so hard that her muscles clutched and tore at her ribs, and she wondered if her body would break in half. Yet nothing happened. Then she curled onto her side and pushed even harder. Still nothing happened.
Maybe she had overlooked some essential step and as punishment would forever suffer this hellish torture. But how could she possibly have known beforehand what to do? She didn't understand why she should be admonished in this cruel way.
Nearly blinded by the pain she tried to stand up, but its sharp claws slapped her back down like a toy. Then she felt the jostling of little taps and kicks. She pushed and strained more fiercely than ever as the dismal notion overspread her anxious mind that she might fail and that the pups would remain forever imprisoned inside her, just as she was imprisoned in that foul shed. She raised her snout and began to wail, the deep pitch shattering the darkness so abruptly that some of the dogs began to bark in agitation.
Had she not been so weak she would have wailed all night. Finally she sank quietly down onto the rough floor and stared into the darkness. After many minutes she felt something soft prickle her skin. She looked down at the little head poking through, then the tiny flaps of skin that would soon become ears, the cute little eyes jammed fiercely shut, the narrow mouth creased and somber, the smooth body curled up against the spindly legs, and lastly the fledging nub of a tail.
Instantly aware of her duties she began licking the slime from the tiny wriggling ball. It tasted so good that she soon forgot her revulsion and kept on licking even as the pup lay snugly against her and the next one began its journey into light. Although the whole process lasted two more hours, to the nameless dog it seemed like just a couple of minutes before all six puppies, three females and three males, were huddled tightly against her belly, squeaking and fussing as they blindly sought to clamp their puny jaws onto her inviting teats.
Amazed that they already knew so much she nudged them with her snout to line them up at the proper angles for nursing. Then she took a moment simply to gaze at them, furry and black, all except for the littlest of the females, who seemed proudly to display a tiny white blotch of hair on her chest like a medal valiantly won.
She loved them all equally, so it pained her when she had to push one of the males away, the runt of the litter barely able to move its legs, too weak to compete with the others. He would die soon, she knew, and it would not be right to waste her precious milk on him. But the others were thriving with boisterous and unspeakable energy that made her almost gag with joy.
Suddenly she loved them even more than her own life and began to look about warily for hidden dangers, prepared to take on even the most robust Rottweiler who dared enter her space. But the other dogs were sound asleep and for once she was glad to be alone, though not really alone, because she had little friends now who would need her, at least for a while.
As the hazy dawn light tumbled through the solitary window, if anyone had been watching, they would have found the nameless dog lying quietly on her side, her eyes half closed, her jaw slightly open, her five surviving pups snuggled against her in perfect contentment.
Three
The large woman made her rounds early that day, the dull throb of greedy expectation animating her heavy step. She headed right for the female Lab and found exactly what she had been hoping for.
“Good litt'l girl,” Carla drooled, bending over and tapping the dog's head lightly. “Now just a few more weeks and pay dirt.”
The good-natured Lab stared up happily at her master, knowing that she had done well. Carla reached into her pocket and pulled out a small glad bag full of brown chunks, the cheapest dog food she could find, and poured it out in front of the grateful nose. The Lab rolled onto her belly, careful not to crush her puppies, and sloppily devoured the meal, licking the last few pellets into her mouth.
Grudgingly Carla unscrewed a bottle of water and went in search of a bowl, which she located next to one of the Rottweilers. She kicked it across the splintered floor so that it rolled right into the middle of the pups, who immediately converged on the strange metallic intruder with bubbling curiosity. The Rottweiler growled at the nasty impertinence, but Carla smacked its nose with a closed fist and the big dog whimpered in defeat.
After filling the bowl nearly to the brim Carla sloppily guzzled the rest of the bottle while the new mother lapped up half of her allotment, saving the other half for her pups.
“I can't take this work no more,” Carla mumbled, rubbing the small of her back, these constant ailments a painful reminder of her discouraging plight. “Not e'nuff money in it neither. If I had any kind of 'a husband I'd be restin' with my feet up and watchin' the soaps on TV. I never did have no luck with pickin' men.”
Then she glanced at the other dogs eyeing her expectantly.
“No pups, no food,” she growled. “Worthless hounds, always anglin' for a freebie.”
She had nearly reached the door when a disturbing notion entered her fretful consciousness, prompting her to whirl about and march with an angry and determined gait back to where the exhausted new mother lay gratefully licking her chops. The back pains apparently in sudden remission, Carla bent over and cooly examined the puppies.
“Somethin's not right here,” she muttered, and picked one of them up, a female with a bright dab of white on her tiny chest. She examined the squirmy ball from all sides. “The head's too thick.”
She picked up another one and eyed the squiggly mass with equal skepticism, like a piece of beef not cooked entirely through.
“This one's the same,” she snapped loudly, as if someone were there to register her complaint.
She inspected the other three in even greater detail, pinching the back of their necks between the fleshy pads of thumb and forefinger, and staring morosely at the tops of their slightly rounded heads. After lining the offspring up beside their mother so that they could feed and get fat and fetch a better price, Carla straightened her squat frame, groaned suddenly and rubbed her back again.
“Maybe I'm jus' seein' things,” she said. “They gotta be purebreds, unless...,” and her eyes narrowed. “If that old fool screwed this up, I'll mangle his ugly face for good.”
After watching the woman waddle out of the shed, the dogs laid back down and resumed their quiet panting. It would be a blistering hot day and two Labs would die for lack of water. But the new mother didn't notice the heat, nor did she pay much attention when the skinny man, pausing frequently to rub a sore jaw, hauled the two motionless dogs out of the shed that night, for she had her puppies to look after.
The soft vibrant bundles delighted her, but had she not been a puppy once too? She couldn't remember exactly. Perhaps when they set her free to run in the grass it would be like a second birth, but a conscious one that she could fully savor. Freedom was still far away though, and for now she needed to stay focused on nursing her puppies.
Four
Each day the morning ritual was repeated. The bulky woman would come in with food and water and then examine with a nervous eye each of the pups. After setting the squealing bundles back down, every day with slightly greater carelessness, she would violently shake her head and utter a confused string of curses. So malignant was her mood that only twice in the several weeks following the birth did the skinny man accompany her.
The first time he stood far back by the door, as though granting himself a precious few steps if a hasty retreat were required.
“Ya didn't foul this up, did ya Ray? Because if ya did, I'll...”
“I didn't foul up nuthin',” he interrupted, lifting one foot in preparation for a quick exit. “They're pure Labs through and through. Labs don't all look alike, ya know. You're jus' imaginin' things is all. Wait a few more days and you'll see. Them pups'll turn out good and we'll pocket our money quick as a whistle.”
“Ya better be right, Ray,” she sighed. “Can't make no money on mutts. They gotta be purebreds.”
“They're purebreds,” he snorted. “How could they be anythin' else?”
The woman watched the black female lying contentedly on her side as the pups eagerly dug in for more milk.
“If ya stuck her in with a Rotty, I'll fix your tail.”
Ray peered sourly at the grimy floor.
“Now why would I have gone and done a fool thing like that?”
“'Cause ya don't care 'bout nuthin' no more.”
“Quit your pickin' on me, Carla. What about them purty earrings I gave ya? Ya know I wouldn't do nuthin' to take the bread outta our mouths. Anyway, I was the one who got ya all them pure dogs in the first place. Why would I wanna mess things up now with the only decent dog we got left?”