Sunday, 26 September 2010

Pack Attack

Is it too early to post a Christmas wish list? Cos after tonight there's a whole bunch of things I want from Santa.

Firstly, I want leg extensions to make me taller. Secondly, I want bigger teeth to make me look meaner. And, not lastly, I want to bulk up so I don't pass for a play thing to be teased and toyed before being worn down and ripped apart. That's not the end of my list but I think I'd better explain what happened.

I got pack-attacked.

I was at Barshaw Park minding my own business, sniffing around, when three dogs erupted from the back of a 4x4 in the car park and set off at a sprint across the grass, chasing each other in a noisy game of tag. I love tag so rushed over to join in but wasn't allowed to play as they snarled at me whenever I got close. They were quite rude about it. When they forced me away I showed off my pace and ripped a big circle around them. I could tell they were impressed because the biggest one called me over and introduced himself as 'Tyson'. He was  a black Alsatian/collie cross and the oldest of the three. His adopted cousins were Bodie and Storm, both mongrels. The younger pair continued their game, pouncing and wrestling with each other, attempting to lock upon each other's neck, while Tyson insisted on receiving my introduction. I slumped down to protect my identity. All three dogs were lean and muscular and had four to six inches in height over me. Their roughness was slightly unnerving.

Three adults got out of the car, an older woman with a walking stick and a couple in their twenties. All of them were smoking. They called the trio back, using language I cannot repeat here. They sounded like they were from a bad part of town. I have no idea what my master thought he was doing going over to say hello. 

Tyson knew he was top dog. He stood tall, chest out, tail erect. The other two showed deference to him. He led, they followed. He was also a total ned. I don't mind when Rizza jokes about indulging in some 'doggy' with me because I know I have the final word on the matter, always "No".  When Tyson made rude comments about sex acts that I'd enjoy he made me very uncomfortable. I wanted to get away but was scared of showing weakness. But still our respective owners walked on together. What was he doing? He doesn't even like smokers.

When we got to the pond, Tyson made a show of scaring the swans. With front paws dewclaw deep in the water he barked vociferously at the birds, who hissed and rose up, wings flapping. I joined in too, slightly further back, and that was when things turned nasty. Tyson turned on me, raising accusations, like a mad dog gone wild. "What was I doing? Who did I think I was? Did I want a piece of him?"

I bared my teeth back at him, readying for the tussle. He wasn't the only one who could flip the 'mental' switch. If he wanted a fight he could have one, despite his size. I backed off onto the grass, matching his growls. I was totally unprepared for what happened next. Suddenly from out of nowhere, Bodie rushed at my flank. I spun round and deflected the blow, just as Storm weighed in too from the other side. They were making runs at me from all directions. My angry protests faltered, replaced by yelps of panic. I was trapped, the predators strafing me repeatedly from all sides. I couldn't turn fast enough. No matter which way I faced, the third dog always had a clear run at me. I couldn't stop them. I couldn't get away. It was hopeless. I was helpless.

The younger owners and my master pitched in to separate us but with four dogs, one was always free to attack. Finally the girl grabbed me and lifted me onto her shoulders before passing me back over to my master. I shrieked and wailed and wriggled to see what was below, terrified I'd get a chunk ripped from my rump. I couldn't help but cry aloud as my heart raced in my mouth. When it was safe, he lowered me to the ground, gripping my collar while he clipped my lead back on and I whimpered pathetically, shaking. The other three were being scolded by the woman with the stick, swinging it threateningly enough to make them wince. Their stares still lingered on me, looking for an opportunity for round two. My master checked me over for bite marks and offered me a gravy bone, which I snaffled up between whimpers. We headed for the car. 

The girl apologised from a distance, declaring they'd never done anything like that before, but I knew she was lying, not that the apology was addressed to me. As I scurried away, Tyson howled a final comment, words that chilled me to the core.

"Be careful!"

The same phrase and tone that Percy had used a week ago. It didn't sound like coincidence. Who was this cat and how did he get friends like these?

So continuing my Santa list...

I want my own pack - the 'Dogs of War'.
I want 24hr protection.
And I want Percy out of my life one way or another.

If you can deliver all that, I promise I'll be a good dog till Christmas.

figbane xxx