Trip

Part 2

The bloodied dog was only yards away and she could hear its breath, see the blood drip from its muzzle, feel its muscles tense for springing at her throat. The part of her that was still animal shot adrenaline through her veins, made her mouth run dry, and gave her the shakes.

A cat lay dead beneath the dog. It was the stray she and a few neighbors kept food out for on their porches. It had been a fluffy, gray-haired, friendly thing, with a crooked eye, probably from some long-ago fight, otherwise healthy. Now it lay with its belly split open on the driveway, casting a shadow like an oil puddle on the cement. Except this oil slick was red, and this unleashed, uncollared dog had buried its muzzle, almost up to its pointed ears, into the guts of an animal that had curled around her ankles just the night before.

Her husband and daughters would do something, maybe yell or turn on a hose or—but these all seemed like intensely dangerous actions. She feared the smell of blood might make Trip turn on her, that he would be overcome with desires no leash nor collar nor familiarity could hold back. She almost let the leash fall from her hands.

Something cold and wet licked her hand. She yelped and shuddered and jumped a foot away. Trip whined. She tried to settle her frenzied heartbeat with several long, deep breaths. She told herself Trip wasn't going to eat her.

"Ok, Trip. Sorry." She scratched his pink belly and curled her hand around one of his ears. She avoided looking at the driveway. "All right, I believe you. Let's just get out of here."

He kept his head close to her knee, almost touching it, and produced a low snarl. She followed his eyes. The dog had moved to the end of the driveway.

The white-haired dog returned Trip's growl and she backed up. The wind ruffled the dog's curls, except for those matted down with blood. She tried yanking on Trip's leash, but he wouldn't budge. All she wanted was to disappear and not think about how red the blood looked on this overcast day. She wanted to apologize to this dog for invading its territory, for getting in its way, for being somewhere it didn't want her, for breathing.

"Come on, Trip. Let's walk." She tugged at his leash again and he reluctantly backed away. She pulled him to the other side of the street. They would go home and finish their walk another day.

Trip whipped his head away from the driveway and back toward home.

Two more dogs trotted into view from around the corner house next to the green bungalow. No leashes. No owners. Not even a single car.

These new dogs were about the same size as the first. One was tan and looked part retriever, and the other was some sort of gray-haired terrier. They hugged the side of the street until they reached the dead cat.

Trip could act fierce when he wanted to—but take on three dogs at once? "Come on, Trip. Move." She got him to walk two steps away, but when the dogs took two steps as well, Trip whipped around, and he locked his legs straight, and he perked up his ears, and he bared all his teeth.

The gray terrier dashed in so fast, she had no time to register the action, but Trip reacted even faster, snapping back. The dog danced backwards as if on the legs of a boxer. Trip moved his hulk in front of her and then collapsed to a sit. Before his backside obscured his legs, she could see they trembled.

She gripped the leash lightly in one hand, ready to drop it if the dogs charged again. She reasoned with herself that it would help Trip if he had more freedom of movement.

This time the three dogs growled and charged together.

She dropped the leash and jumped away. She ran to the closest door, rang the doorbell, yelled for help, and pounded the knocker.

Trip hadn't moved from his seated position on the middle of the street, but the two dogs had backed off.

No answer at the door.

She thought about running for home. Maybe these dogs had rabies. Maybe Trip could defend himself.

Wind tore at her hair. She ripped her gloves off and pounded on the door to a house further away from the violence.

One house closer to home. She could probably slip away.

"Come on. Come on." She pounded again.

No answer.

A piercing yelp drew her attention. Trip laid all the way down now and curled one front paw into his chest. He kept his head up and his teeth bared, but it didn't look like he could stand on his legs anymore. The three dogs now circled him, charging in, nipping him at different spots and then darting out of his reach.

She told herself it was okay to be a coward. There were too many of them and he was just a dog.