Doglands (16 page)

“We’re with you, Furgul,” said Brennus, his voice steady. “Tell us what to do.”

Furgul took a breath and carried on. “But even if we don’t have a chance, we still have a choice. We can go to the slaughter like sheep, listening to their lies and letting them pat us on the head as they stick the needle in—”

“Never!” cried Skyver.

“Or we can go down fighting,” said Furgul, “and show them why our ancestors were the freest creatures on the earth.”

The whole pack howled at the moon.

“We’re still free—even here in the Needles,” said Furgul. “Argal showed us that. You’re all free dogs. So each of you can make the choice for yourself.”

With one hind leg Furgul scraped a line in the dirt.

“You’ve already put up a brave fight. If any dogs want to leave and go back to the cages, they only have to walk across this line. They can go with all honor and with my respect.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Skyver trotted toward the line.

When he was nearly there, he realized that he was the only dog in the whole pack who had moved. And they were all looking at him. He slowed down. With a flash of inspiration, he changed course to stand at Furgul’s right shoulder.

“Live free or die like a gerbil!” barked Skyver.

To his disappointment no one took up this battle cry or even cheered. Their attention was on something behind him. As Skyver turned to look, Furgul turned too.

Behind the line of Traps, some workmen had erected two ladders against the cellblock wall. They climbed up the ladders holding a long roll of cloth between them. They nailed the cloth to the wall and let it unfurl downward. It was a giant yellow banner with big red letters. In the middle was a huge painting of a dog. It was a really stupid-looking dog. In fact, it didn’t look much like a dog at all. Its eyes were too large, its ears were too big, and its tongue hung down to its knees. In one hand it held a spoon—and in the other a bowl of biscuits.

“They’re taunting us!” said Zinni.

“What does that mean?” asked Cyril, the pit bull.

“They’re making fun of us,” Zinni explained.

The pack growled with anger. Furgul turned back to face them.

“Take your positions,” he ordered. “Brennus, you and I and the big dogs charge in the front line. The Traps will shoot at us first. Zinni, your gang will charge right behind us. While the Traps are reloading their guns, go for their ankles. Skyver—Skyver?”

Furgul looked about. Skyver suddenly seemed six inches shorter. He was crawling on his belly toward the rear of the gang of mutts. He stopped.

“I’m going undercover!” said Skyver. “I’m planning a sneak attack!”

“When Zinni’s gang brings the Traps down, you charge with the mutts to finish them off.”

Barking fiercely, the dogs drew themselves up in three battle lines.

Furgul joined Brennus at the front. The big dogs were eager to attack.

The Traps stood motionless, their clubs and nooses and guns at the ready.

“This is it!” said Furgul. “Charge on my command!”

Then a strange new commotion boiled up around the cellblock door.

“Wait!” ordered Furgul.

A whole bunch of cameramen spilled from the cellblock. They pointed their cameras at the dogs and clicked. There were a lot of blinding flashes, and Furgul wondered if this was some strange new weapon. Even more bizarrely, two women appeared—a redhead and a blonde—but they looked nothing like the two shelter workers. They were wearing scanty clothes and tottered on pointy shoes with very high heels. They shivered in the cold, which wasn’t surprising, but when the cameras pointed toward them, they smiled with very white teeth and contorted their bodies.

“Can we attack them as well?” asked Zinni.

“No,” said Furgul, “they don’t have any weapons.”

The women in the pointy shoes stepped aside, and the cameras clicked even faster as a big man emerged. He wore a big suit and a big watch and had the biggest, whitest teeth
that Furgul had ever seen. With the women on either arm, he went to stand beneath the banner with the picture of the stupid dog. The cameras followed like a herd of geese. But all of them were careful to stay behind the line of armed Traps.

Furgul and the pack watched it all with amazement.

The big man smiled at the cameras a lot. Someone pointed a stick with a fuzzy ball on the top at his face. Then the big man started to talk and wave his arms. He pointed at the banner. He pointed at the dogs. His face became very sad, though Furgul could tell at once that he was just pretending. Then the big man started to drone.

“Drone, drone, drone!” he droned.

“Furgul?”

Furgul turned. His heart leaped when he saw Jodi walking over.

“It looks like you were serious about fighting,” she said.

“We’re still serious,” said Furgul. “But who’s the guy?”

“He calls himself the Greatest Dog Lover in the World,” said Jodi, “and right now he’s the best friend you’ve got. That’s Chuck Chumley, the dog-food tycoon.”

“What’s a tycoon?” asked Furgul.

Jodi smiled. “A man with lots and lots and lots and lots of money.”

Furgul almost gave Zinni permission to attack him. Then he got it.

“You mean he’s going to pay for the Needles to become a no-kill shelter?”

“That’s right,” said Jodi. “You’ll all be taken care of. And so will all the dogs who come here in the future. Chumley’s agreed to hire good Vets. He’ll build a new shelter. No more ‘five days to live.’ No dog will ever be killed at this pound again, even if he or she is dangerous. You did it, Furgul.”

“Why is Chuck Chumley being so kind?” asked Furgul.

“He’s not really being kind, just clever,” said Jodi. “I explained to him that if he saved you rebel dogs, the publicity would make him famous all over the world.”

“You mean the TV?”

“The TV, the newspapers, and every sack and tin of Chumley’s Extra Meaty Dog Feed that he sells. In fact, he’ll sell so much extra dog food that he’ll make a huge profit from funding the new pound. But at least you’ll be alive.”

Furgul turned to look at Chuck Chumley. He was posing in front of the banner for the cameras, both fists raised above his head in a gesture of triumph. “Boast! Brag! Preen!” cried Chumley. While Chumley showed off and peddled his products, Furgul trotted back to the waiting army of dogs. Most of them still had no idea what was going on.

“We told them we wanted food, and we got it,” said Furgul.

The pack pricked up their ears.

“We asked for the best Vets, and we’ve got them too.”

The pack started wagging their tails.

“We told them we wanted a no-kill shelter—and that’s what we’re going to get.”

The pack let out a huge rebel yell.

“That’s right!” said Furgul. “No more dogs will die at the Needles!”

Skyver jumped up in front of him and yelped, “In other words: WE WON! PRAISE BE TO ME!”

Skyver jerked his head at Cyril the pit bull, who, as if remembering instructions, barked: “THREE CHEERS FOR SKYVER!”

The dogs cheered and barked. Skyver stood on his hind legs while the pit bulls scampered around him.

Furgul looked at Jodi. She was the first human being he had ever trusted. And she hadn’t let him down.

“For the humans,” said Jodi, “the hero of the riot will be Chuck Chumley.”

“That’s fine by me,” said Furgul. “I just want to get out of here.”

“I’d still love to take you back to Appletree.”

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to take Brennus and Zinni.” Furgul hesitated. “And Skyver too.”

“Which one is Skyver?”

“He’s the tattiest, mangiest, dirtiest, scruffiest, craftiest, greediest dog you ever saw.”

J
odi drove them away from the Needles and into the night. The dogs were exhausted and fell asleep at once—Furgul in the passenger seat, Brennus filling up the rear, Skyver and Zinni curled on a blanket in the trunk space of Jodi’s truck. When Furgul woke up, it was dawn. Jodi had stopped the car outside a big old ramshackle house, and the four dogs climbed out. They blinked and stretched and shook themselves awake. They looked about the landscape in the rise of the sun, and their jaws opened wide with amazement.

The house was surrounded by rolling meadows and lots of splendid trees. Oak and ash, maple and birch, yew and rowan, holly and hawthorn and elm. In an orchard the apple trees were covered with blossoms. A stream tumbled through the orchard, and as the dogs took it all in, birds of every kind began to sing.

“How do you like your new home?” asked Jodi.

“It’s beautiful,” said Zinni.

“Magnificent,” said Brennus.

“Do we have cable TV?” asked Skyver.

Jodi looked at Furgul. “What do you think?”

Furgul said, “I’m going for a run.”

Life at Appletree Dog Sanctuary was everything Jodi had promised. Brennus gradually recovered his health and strength. Zinni was happy not to live inside a rich woman’s purse; in fact, she proved to be unusually agile and athletic, weaving, scrambling and leaping through the woods, and sometimes even outmaneuvering Furgul on her short, nimble legs. Skyver was appalled to discover that Jodi didn’t own a TV, but he passed his time spinning ever taller tales to the other dogs who already lived there.

Furgul loved the freedom of Appletree, but as time passed he found it hard to settle down. His soul was restless. The wild and rambling road, for all its dangers, was where he felt he belonged. And Keeva preyed more and more on his mind. While the other dogs slept and ate in an old barn near Jodi’s house, Furgul trained himself to live in the open countryside. He found the spots in the woods where leaves were thickest to shelter from the rain. He made a nest of pine needles and bracken. He learned to eat berries, roots and rotting fruit. He ate beetles, insects and worms. He learned to kill rabbits, hares and rats, snakes and voles, stoats and ducks. Sometimes
he went hungry. He became hard and lean and tough. The other dogs thought he was crazy, and perhaps he was. Sometimes he missed the comfort of living with the pack, but he knew it would weaken his resolve. Furgul was always preparing for the day when he’d return to Dedbone’s Hole and free Keeva.

Brennus became a great mentor. The wise old Saint Bernard taught him many things about the human world and schooled him in the lore of the Doglands. He showed Furgul how to find his way at night by looking at the Dog Star—the brightest in all the sky. He explained how the phases of the moon might affect a dog’s moods, which meant that certain days were better than others for getting certain things done—or for exploring certain thoughts and feelings. He talked about the theory of the Doglines—“
the paw prints of the ancestors
”—which form a web of invisible pathways that wander all over the earth. These days most modern dogs had never even heard of the Doglines, but Brennus told him all he knew. He also told him legendary tales about the life and times of Argal. Argal had been a king, but Brennus was a shaman, and he instructed Furgul in secrets that even Argal hadn’t known.

When Furgul struggled with the urge to search for Keeva, Brennus would say, “Be patient and wait for your moment. For your moment will come. And remember that you have to see it, for it’s easily missed.”

Various other dogs lived at the sanctuary, and from time
to time one of them would leave to live with a nice new owner. The new owners offered good homes, and if Jodi trusted them, and if the chosen dog liked them, they would take the dog away. That gave Jodi the space to rescue another poor dog. Brennus was a little too old to move on, and Jodi never offered him up for adoption. Lots of people wanted to take Zinni, but in Zinni’s opinion they were never quite good enough, and she always chose to stay.

Because Furgul wasn’t around so much, Skyver appointed himself the ambassador of the pack. He was good at judging people and always took part in deciding which dog should go with which new owner. Because he enjoyed the power and the sense of importance—and, as Brennus once pointed out, because no new owner would be fool enough to take him—Skyver also stayed with Jodi.

Furgul never offered himself for adoption. He didn’t intend to stay at Appletree forever, but he didn’t want to deceive a new owner into taking him just so he could run away. His thoughts of Keeva troubled him more and more. The problem was that Dedbone’s Hole was likely very far away—and he had no idea where it was.

He told Jodi the story of Dedbone’s Hole, of how he and his sisters had been trapped in the box and how he had managed to escape. Jodi was very angry to hear about the greyhound farm, but she didn’t know where it was either. She tried to find it, but ‘Dedbone’ wasn’t a real human name; it was the name the dogs had called him. Then Jodi had an idea.

“Keeva’s a successful racer, isn’t she?”

“One of the best,” said Furgul. “That’s why Dedbone wouldn’t harm her.”

“What’s Keeva’s racing name?”

Furgul racked his brains. He couldn’t remember. To him, Keeva was always Keeva. He vaguely remembered that Keeva had once told him her racing name. But it was long ago, when he was just a puppy, and he hadn’t really listened. It was a silly name, a money name, so why should he remember?

“I don’t know,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“If I knew Keeva’s racing name, I could trace her owner. You see, in order to race at the track, she has to be registered.”

“What does that mean?”

“When the tracks schedule a race, they put the names of the runners in the newspaper. That way, the gamblers can decide which dog to bet on.”

Furgul thought about this. “So, whenever there’s a race, the names of the greyhounds are written in the newspaper.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” said Furgul. “Every time there’s a race somewhere, I want you to read all the names to me. If I hear Keeva’s racing name, I think I’ll recognize it.”

Weeks passed by, and each time there was a race Jodi read out the names of the racers. Furgul listened carefully to endless lists that made little sense to him—“Dust Devil,” “Late Arrival,” “Regency Stuart,” “White Lightning,” “Monkey
Business”—but he never heard a name that reminded him of Keeva.