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by Isabella Aguirre 4 years ago in literature
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Short Story

I heard the shouts of the club members around me urging me on.


"I do not fight puppies!" I snarled as I looked down at the puppy. The crowd booed. It was my job to give the club a fight. To entertain them. The gangs and rich dogs paid and I showed them a good time. To do so, I fought. Dogs. "As I have told my managers," I growled, "I. Don't. Fight. Puppies." I glared at the crowd of rich snobs and criminals and I bared my teeth. I watched as the pup cowered in front of me — clearly terrified — from the corner of my eye.

Suddenly, I felt teeth on the skin of my neck. I still had some of my puppy flabs then. They dragged me into the back room where all of the fight dogs were getting ready.

"You need to fight that dog," I heard the demanding voice of my manager. I turned and faced him.

"Except she is not a dog, she is a puppy!" I snapped. Rusty bared his teeth at me.

“You will go into that ring and you will fight that dog!" he shouted. I growled and mumbled under my breath as I trotted back into the ring.

I looked to the dogs seated around the ring. Some stood. There were many different breeds and there were many different sizes. There were even some cats who came to watch that day. I glanced at the puppy who wriggled around on her back in submission. I gave her a sympathetic look and bent down in my fighting stance, my snout close to her ear.

“On the count of three...we run," I whispered. I made it seem like I was about to pounce on her; instead, I jumped over her and shouted, "Three!" She hurriedly got up and started running as fast as she could. When I glanced over my shoulder at her, I could see the Watchers as I liked to call them catching up with her. I sighed and turned around. I picked her up by her neck in my jowls and ran back towards the exit. Security dogs — or the Watchers — ran in front of me in an attempt to block my path. I swerved to the side and jumped over a few of them.

I kept running with the pup in my jaws until I figured we were far away enough from the club to put her down. I set the puppy on the ground and she shook my slobber off of her fur. "Sorry about the drool. You know us German Shepherds drool quite a bit," I apologized; I sat in front of her. She was a fairly big pup, but she still had quite a ways to go until she was around my size.

"It's cool," she said calmly. "Thanks for the rescue."

She sat down across from me after she shook most of the drool out of her flowy, golden coat.

No problem," I said. She smiled up at me. She wasn’t too much smaller than I was, but it was still an effort for her to meet my gaze. I cleared my throat.

“So, pup, what did you say your name was?” I tilted my head to the side.

“I didn’t say, but it’s Sally." I scoffed. It was her turn to tilt her head. “What?” She asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just that I am not surprised at all that your name is ‘Sally.’ Fifi name for a fify pup,” I smiled. She rolled her eyes and straightened her posture.

“Why, thank you, Mr...” she trailed off, not knowing what to call me.

“Mack,” I said. She scoffed. I looked at her with confusion plastered on my face. “What, Miss Sally?”

Ohh nothing. Just that I’m notsurprisedthat you’re named after a big giant Mack truck!” She giggled. I smiled down at her.

“Alright, Fify, let's get you home.” We stood and went on our way into the darkness of the night, our only light the streetlights above us.

“I don’t actually have a home,” she looked up at me, embarrassed. I thought for a moment and smiled down at her.

“Looks like we’re going to find you a home, Sally.” We smiled at each other.

“Okay,” she said, happily. “What about you?” she frowned at me.

“We’ll see.”


About the author

Isabella Aguirre

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