LOVE IS A FOUR-LEGGED WORD

   

 LOVE IS A FOUR-LEGGED WORD

 

A stolen dog solves more than her own abduction.

I am caught unawares while sniffing gophers in the dark near the gate. First lured, then snatched. Wrestled away at the hands of a brutish stranger. I shiver with foreboding as money changes hands above my head and I’m turned over to a muscular woman the brute calls Eleanor. Presently, Eleanor locks me in a cage containing food, water, a mat. My ears pick up soft whimpering all around me.

I think of Annabelle and me, tangled together on the couch watching the box. A woman’s face floating behind a reporter. It’s sad and wet, like when Annabelle skins her knee.

“Another dognapping in Kitrich County! Police have no clues.” 

Annabelle’s arm tightens around my neck. I wiggle free, more interested in the sandwich in her other hand. I inhale its meaty aroma. Ham.

Eleanor smells of stale tobacco and wine. She’s nothing like Annabelle who smells of newly mown grass and sunshine. I have a new name and routine consisting of strict rehearsals toward a goal I cannot see. 

Rain comes and trees drop their leaves. Annabelle feels distant now. I’ve lost her face to dreams. In my old life, when birds return, we languish in the tall grass. Today, Eleanor and I continue our relentless rehearsals. There is no joy or escape.

This morning, Eleanor speaks in a higher pitch than usual. I am bathed, brushed, and led to her truck which will park before a great building. Inside, people weave between loud barks, howls, and yips that echo across the vast space. I pause to greet and sniff as I pass, but am pulled back. 

We enter a small room where a white-coated woman examines me. She holds a cold disk to my chest… its flexible arms travel upwards to block her ears. She nods assent, then signs Eleanor’s card and shows us out. 

Eleanor’s excitement permeates me as she repeats the word “performance” often. Peering through an opening in a low wall, I make a connection. Beyond, is a course, replicated in Eleanor’s corral where our daily rehearsals have taken place. I itch to traverse it! Eleanor strokes me, tells me I am beautiful. I know these words. They belong to Annabelle.

The air here is electric. It ruffles my luxurious golden fur, brushed to a keen shine into waves. This is something fresh! New! I am alive. Waiting. 

My new name booms out loud and clear:

“Rosy Girl O’Rourke”

Eleanor and I prance into the arena. Following her subtle hand signs, my “performance” is flawless. People stand and cheer. Eleanor beams. Bows. 

I’m scanning the crowd, nose up, sensing, when in the corner of my eye, I spy a tot, wriggling free of her mother’s grasp. A watchful man in a long coat approaches her quickly, extending a snowy white pup. The child throws back her head, giggling with delight as he leads her towards the exit. I snap to attention, remembering Annabelle. I know this! 

Crying out in a series of sharp warning barks, I strain hard against my lead as Eleanor pulls me from the spotlight. As the man slips out the door with the child, a mother’s voice rises high above all the rest,

“WHERE’S  MY BABY!” 

Chaos follows. Eleanor struggles to restrain me.

I double my efforts to break free, dragging her several feet before she loses her grip and I bolt.

I rush the mother, nearly toppling her, but catching the child’s scent before lunging away. I snarl at interference while racing to close the gap, knocking people askew as I go. At the door, there is no mistake. The child’s scent is here. I scurry down the path they have taken, nose pressed to the ground. Eleanor shouts at my tail, a posse forming behind her. Still, I press forward, until up ahead, I spot the dark-coated figure hurrying towards a vehicle, something un-moving slung over its shoulder.

My ferocious bark causes him to spin. Now at his feet, I crouch low, meeting his eyes, while emitting a long, low, terrible growl. He understands. I force him backwards against the vehicle. He drops the girl to shield his face from attack. I hold him there as the crowd closes in. 

Now, a stranger’s pat. An avalanche of questions.

“Whose dog is this?”

“What’s her name? Her story?” 

Eleanor snatches up my lead and drags me away.

Back at home, Eleanor leads me indoors. She snaps on the box. There’s video of a dog growling at a man in a parking garage. I pay no attention until startled by Annabelle’s voice.

“That’s our dog, Cupcake! Bad people stole her!”

My old name awakens forgotten feelings inside me. Hope.

Barking, I approach the box to lay my paw against Annabelle’s face. Eleanor yanks me away. I feel fear radiate from her.

“You sure that’s Cupcake?” A reporter chuckles.

“Yes! Ask my daddy!” Annabelle cries.

“Mr. March, if this is Cupcake, how did she come by the skills that located little Christina?”

“Cupcake’s trained in search and rescue.”

“But she’s just a pet. How? Why?”

“I trained her to reduce my wife’s worry about child abduction. After watching a news rep…” 

Men are shouting outside Eleanor’s front door. There is bold pounding, then a pause before it implodes.  Officers lock Eleanor’s hands together before taking her and her papers away.

The man in the box drones on…

“Well, Cupcake’s not only thwarted a kidnapper, but led authorities to Eleanor O’Rourke, leader of a sophisticated dognapping ring in the Kitrich County area. Eleanor forged AKC documents enabling stolen dogs without proper pedigrees to participate in dog shows, internationally.  Happy families all over Kitrich can reclaim their dogs!”

I slip out the door unnoticed. Outside, my instincts and training serve me once more. Now, I wait at the gate for the yellow bus to arrive. From the corner, Annabelle cries out,

“Cupcake! Is it really you?”  Worn and sore, I gallop into the open arms of my girl.

I hope she has some ham.


     ~by taree Belardes

NYC Flash Fiction Comp 2019
48 hrs, 1000 words
Genre; Mystery
Location; A dog show
Object to include; A stethoscope