"Left Holding the Bag" (July Writing Prompt 2012), JWP # 11
Title: Left Holding the Bag
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Animal AU)
Rating: G
Warning: Disturbing subject matter (animal abandonment and abuse)
Word Count: 1,059
Summary: Shock and Johnny find something. Set in my "Dogs and Cats Living Together" universe begun with this story, and continued here, here, and here.
Author's Notes: For the
watsons_woes 2012 July Writing Prompt #11 - July 27: picture:
The noise that came from the skip was not the squeak of the rusty lid as Shock landed upon it, and he went still as a stone cat. My ears had shot straight up, too. A moment later Shock had leaped off to the bricks and I scrabbled at the metal lid with my teeth and my one foreleg. I'd gotten very good at scrounging since becoming a lamed stray dog, and it clanged open with a scrape and a spray of rust as I dropped down to the alley floor.
Shock, who'd leaped back to balance on the wobbling lid-edge resting against the wall, looked into the skip. His tail waved very gently. "Two of them," he said. "Pups, no more than two weeks old. Most likely fighter crossbreeds."
I'd scrabbled back up and gotten my front half into the skip, rooting around in the wet smelly bags and boxes, and managed to set my teeth into the bag that squirmed but made no more noise. Out, the bag bumping hard against the skip's side, and down. I tore the bag with my teeth, my ears back with rage, for death-stink was in that bag along with the stink of pup-shit.
Shock was right. The sack was full of dead pups, a whole litter of them. But two were pressed close together, still breathing, blinking up at me - the only two that mattered. Their muzzles and the shape of their shoulders confirmed what Shock had predicted; they were part fighter, possibly Chow or Keeshond. One was noticeably bigger than the other, and she stared right back into my eyes, her ears up; the smaller one pressed close, nearly too weak to sit up.
I immediately put on my welcome-face - mouth open, tongue out, teeth covered - though everything in me wanted to bristle in fury, track down the worthless human who'd done this and show my teeth. I was no mother bitch but every dog born knows not to hurt a pup. "Don't be afraid and don't worry," I said. "You're safe now. I'll take care of you."
They stank of death and feces and urine and fear and hunger and thirst. But the big girl refused to drop her challenge-stare. "Want mum," she said.
"Mum," the smaller pup whuffed.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," Shock said coolly from behind me, sitting on a covered dustbin and speaking as if they were clients asking for his help. "Your mother is no longer part of your life. You have been strong and brave enough to survive so far."
"Mum," the tiny pup murmured, nestling hard into his big sister.
I ached from the inside, and I was shaking.
"Johnny."
Shock used my name so rarely that the novelty of it made me turn to face him.
The black rag-eared cat reclined on his dustbin lid; his whiskers twitched and bristled and his tail waved nonstop. "You knew this was part of city life, but you've never seen it before. It is a particular plague among people who wish to breed fiercer fighting-dogs; they destroy pups for being too friendly and gentle."
I knew. I'd heard there were humans so cruel that they threw away pups they did not want - often did not even mercifully kill them first, but abandoned them to starve and die of thirst, like this bag full of death.
"They." I shook my head hard as if trying to dislodge my ear-ticks. "They need water. Milk, surely there's a nursing bitch you know that could feed them."
Shock leaned up and wailed up at the sky. Moments later a similar cry echoed back, and an even fainter one further away. The message traveled through Shock's knot of fellow strays - mostly cats, but I was not the only dog in his circle, and there were even one or two rats - and would return when it was answered.
Relieved, I returned to what I could do for the little mites. The puppies' reek offended me, and I lowered my head to give them both a good tongue-washing.
"Ssssstop!"
I froze at the vicious hiss.
"I need every dirty hair and every scent on them right now." Shock dropped to the ground and approached the pups, still leaning against each other and their dead littermates, tail waving. "I won't hurt you, but you must let me come near."
The pups looked at the cat. "Mum," "Mum," they yipped.
"I'm not your mother, you stupid things," Shock said shortly.
"Watch your mouth, cat!" I barked, furious at his callousness as I hadn't been in so long.
Shock's ears went flat against his skull but he did not turn around. His tail, that had never stopped waving since we'd heard the cry, was now still and stiff. And only then did I remember that cats wave their tails when they are very angry.
"Licking their heads won't help me find out what beast did this to them," Shock said, as gently as his tail had moved. He still did not turn away from the pups. "Learning what happened will. When I do that, I can stop many more like them from turning into rat-food."
He was right. How I hated that he was right. It took every ounce of will to lower my tail and cover my teeth once again. I grunted in my throat - a concession-growl - and Shock walked up to the bigger of the pups.
"Hungry," the bitch-pup said.
"I expect you are," Shock said calmly, leaning forward, whiskers bristling. His tail was still now; he was utterly consumed in his learning - smell, taste, sight. Even his ragged ears switched back and forth as if he could hear what had happened and who had done this.
I sat back, promising myself that after this, both of them would get the most thorough tongue-bath I could give them - make them feel clean and warm and safe and cherished, the way pups should. Shock and I would get them to a safe place with good people. And only then would we track down the vile human and I'd -
My bared teeth clicked in startlement when a long high yowling sound echoed back from the alley.
"Excellent," Shock said, now sniffing down the smaller pup's back. "Meg's had another litter and she has a few spare teats. I'll carry the little one, army dog."
…TBC?
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Animal AU)
Rating: G
Warning: Disturbing subject matter (animal abandonment and abuse)
Word Count: 1,059
Summary: Shock and Johnny find something. Set in my "Dogs and Cats Living Together" universe begun with this story, and continued here, here, and here.
Author's Notes: For the
watsons_woes 2012 July Writing Prompt #11 - July 27: picture:
The noise that came from the skip was not the squeak of the rusty lid as Shock landed upon it, and he went still as a stone cat. My ears had shot straight up, too. A moment later Shock had leaped off to the bricks and I scrabbled at the metal lid with my teeth and my one foreleg. I'd gotten very good at scrounging since becoming a lamed stray dog, and it clanged open with a scrape and a spray of rust as I dropped down to the alley floor.
Shock, who'd leaped back to balance on the wobbling lid-edge resting against the wall, looked into the skip. His tail waved very gently. "Two of them," he said. "Pups, no more than two weeks old. Most likely fighter crossbreeds."
I'd scrabbled back up and gotten my front half into the skip, rooting around in the wet smelly bags and boxes, and managed to set my teeth into the bag that squirmed but made no more noise. Out, the bag bumping hard against the skip's side, and down. I tore the bag with my teeth, my ears back with rage, for death-stink was in that bag along with the stink of pup-shit.
Shock was right. The sack was full of dead pups, a whole litter of them. But two were pressed close together, still breathing, blinking up at me - the only two that mattered. Their muzzles and the shape of their shoulders confirmed what Shock had predicted; they were part fighter, possibly Chow or Keeshond. One was noticeably bigger than the other, and she stared right back into my eyes, her ears up; the smaller one pressed close, nearly too weak to sit up.
I immediately put on my welcome-face - mouth open, tongue out, teeth covered - though everything in me wanted to bristle in fury, track down the worthless human who'd done this and show my teeth. I was no mother bitch but every dog born knows not to hurt a pup. "Don't be afraid and don't worry," I said. "You're safe now. I'll take care of you."
They stank of death and feces and urine and fear and hunger and thirst. But the big girl refused to drop her challenge-stare. "Want mum," she said.
"Mum," the smaller pup whuffed.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," Shock said coolly from behind me, sitting on a covered dustbin and speaking as if they were clients asking for his help. "Your mother is no longer part of your life. You have been strong and brave enough to survive so far."
"Mum," the tiny pup murmured, nestling hard into his big sister.
I ached from the inside, and I was shaking.
"Johnny."
Shock used my name so rarely that the novelty of it made me turn to face him.
The black rag-eared cat reclined on his dustbin lid; his whiskers twitched and bristled and his tail waved nonstop. "You knew this was part of city life, but you've never seen it before. It is a particular plague among people who wish to breed fiercer fighting-dogs; they destroy pups for being too friendly and gentle."
I knew. I'd heard there were humans so cruel that they threw away pups they did not want - often did not even mercifully kill them first, but abandoned them to starve and die of thirst, like this bag full of death.
"They." I shook my head hard as if trying to dislodge my ear-ticks. "They need water. Milk, surely there's a nursing bitch you know that could feed them."
Shock leaned up and wailed up at the sky. Moments later a similar cry echoed back, and an even fainter one further away. The message traveled through Shock's knot of fellow strays - mostly cats, but I was not the only dog in his circle, and there were even one or two rats - and would return when it was answered.
Relieved, I returned to what I could do for the little mites. The puppies' reek offended me, and I lowered my head to give them both a good tongue-washing.
"Ssssstop!"
I froze at the vicious hiss.
"I need every dirty hair and every scent on them right now." Shock dropped to the ground and approached the pups, still leaning against each other and their dead littermates, tail waving. "I won't hurt you, but you must let me come near."
The pups looked at the cat. "Mum," "Mum," they yipped.
"I'm not your mother, you stupid things," Shock said shortly.
"Watch your mouth, cat!" I barked, furious at his callousness as I hadn't been in so long.
Shock's ears went flat against his skull but he did not turn around. His tail, that had never stopped waving since we'd heard the cry, was now still and stiff. And only then did I remember that cats wave their tails when they are very angry.
"Licking their heads won't help me find out what beast did this to them," Shock said, as gently as his tail had moved. He still did not turn away from the pups. "Learning what happened will. When I do that, I can stop many more like them from turning into rat-food."
He was right. How I hated that he was right. It took every ounce of will to lower my tail and cover my teeth once again. I grunted in my throat - a concession-growl - and Shock walked up to the bigger of the pups.
"Hungry," the bitch-pup said.
"I expect you are," Shock said calmly, leaning forward, whiskers bristling. His tail was still now; he was utterly consumed in his learning - smell, taste, sight. Even his ragged ears switched back and forth as if he could hear what had happened and who had done this.
I sat back, promising myself that after this, both of them would get the most thorough tongue-bath I could give them - make them feel clean and warm and safe and cherished, the way pups should. Shock and I would get them to a safe place with good people. And only then would we track down the vile human and I'd -
My bared teeth clicked in startlement when a long high yowling sound echoed back from the alley.
"Excellent," Shock said, now sniffing down the smaller pup's back. "Meg's had another litter and she has a few spare teats. I'll carry the little one, army dog."
…TBC?