The Fight

He paced anxiously in the bed of the truck as it snaked its way around the trees. The bitter winter wind nipped at his scars and swirled in his nostrils, feeding his excitement. An orange glow cut through the trees and illuminated the silhouette of the barn against the dusky, frosted landscape. The dirt road was slick, muddied under the speckles of fresh snow, but the tires carved into the path with confidence. They knew the way. This was not their first time here.

The truck pulled up alongside the side of the old barn, and the engine sputtered off. His ears twitched and pinpointed the heavy footsteps coming around the vehicle. A shiver went down his spine as he felt the cool metal collar glide down his neck, settling in at the stocky base. He leapt out of the truck bed, and man and beast walked together toward the barn. Master knocked firmly.

The barn door creaked open and he was bombarded by the familiar stench of dust and blood. He reveled in it as Master guided him into the building and through the crowd that had gathered under the decaying roof. The shouts and cheers of the people inside echoed gloriously in his ears. The bundles of jackets and hats could not hide these familiar faces from him, nor could the overwhelming stench of liquor mask the memorable musk of his regular spectators. He knew them all. This was his domain.

Master led him into the dirt ring as the crowd circled him, growing louder with each passing second. The dust swirled around his toes as his sharp claws scraped across the earth with each step. He savored the dull thudding in his chest as his heart collided with his rib cage, growing faster as he turned to face his opponent. The dilapidated barn provided little protection from the vicious cold outside; his breath still misted around his face as he pulled his lips back into a snarl. He was barely aware of the other dog looming threateningly before him on the other side of the ring; he had already yielded to his training and had allowed his aggression and rage to transform his adversary into a vague, faceless shape.

Master yanked hard on the chain, forcing the metal links deep into his throat, a cue deeply ingrained into him. He snarled and barked, and the deep, threatening sounds echoed off the deteriorating barn walls. He yanked and thrashed against his chain collar, knowing that soon there would be nothing between him and his prey. Through blurred vision his opponent appeared no longer as a living, breathing being but as a thing, some inanimate object that he was meant to destroy. Cheers rang out. Money traveled chaotically between gloved hands.

But something caught his attention. Beyond his opponent, just in the background, was a young girl, buried under layers of plaid fleece, nestled up against the stomach of a towering man. The girl’s mouth hung partially open but no sound escaped—a stark contrast to the drunken, contorted jeers of the crowd around him. The girl stared at him, and he returned the gaze, unblinking, trying to discern the emotion written upon the face in front of him.

A second pull on the chain brought his focus back. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. Master expected him to win, and he was going to. He always did. He postured into a deep crouching position, ready to strike, ready to fight.

The whistle blew, and the pressure on his neck loosened suddenly. This was it. He sprinted and lunged, colliding hard with the other dog in the center of the ring. He gnashed his teeth together whenever his tongue registered the sickly hot texture of fur and flesh, clamping his jaw tightly until he felt his teeth meet bone. He thrashed indiscriminately with his claws, relishing the sensation of his nails ripping through muscle and ligament. The sounds of the violence and the roar of the spectators were mere whispers compared to Master’s commanding voice screaming at him. He felt teeth and claws tear through his skin, but the agony was dimmed by the surging rage and adrenaline.

And then the fight was over. He was on the ground with the winner hovering dominantly over him. The crowd booed and jeered. Their favorite fighter had lost. He had lost.

The world around him began to change. Pain began to settle in, sharp, excruciating pain, and no part of his body was spared. His blood pooled around him, steaming on the frozen ground. He was dimly aware that the noise around him seemed muffled.

He yelped as he felt a calloused, angry hand grip him by the neck. Master’s fingers slipped into a deep laceration on his scruff as he was thrust out of the comforting light of the barn into the unforgiving winter. A trail of blood polluted the fresh veil of snow as Master dragged him to the tree line and threw him down viciously. The heavy footsteps faded away. He heard a car engine turn over. He tried desperately to stand but couldn’t manage to get his feet under him. The blinding headlights flashed over him as the truck skidded away. Master was gone.

Cold and pain overwhelmed him. He curled into himself, shivering violently, as the snow began to fall and the wind grew stronger. Voices of the departing spectators began to fade as he became weaker. Soon there was nothing at all but silence, anguish, and the swirling snow.

He felt a sudden comfort wash over him. Arching his neck slightly, ignoring the stabbing pain for the sake of curiosity, he found himself partially covered with a small, fleece jacket. Plaid. A hesitant movement caught his eye, and he turned to find himself face to face with a girl. The girl. The dog tensed and bared his teeth, releasing a weak, cautionary growl that was carried away by the wind. The girl hesitated, then moved her hands gently over the dog’s quivering body, her fingers arching and massaging their way through blood-soaked fur. The dog relaxed and let out a feeble sigh.

The girl leaned in and pressed her trembling lips against the flap of pulverized flesh that had once been the dog’s left ear, muttering something unintelligible and tender. She pressed her forehead against wet fur, encircling the dog’s body with her grasp. Her tears melted the ice crystals on his face. Her hand moved deftly around scars and open wounds in smooth, comforting motions.

The winter wind howled and the ivory snow melted under the crimson streams that flowed from his wounds, but there was no more cold and no more pain. All he knew was the heat of the jacket, the heat of the tears, the heat of the embrace. Melting into the girl’s arms, he closed his eyes for the last time and surrendered himself to the warmth of love.