The Gentle Master was sleeping when I awoke from another bad dream. I was happy she didn’t stir, thumping my tail softly even as the lingering nightmares shook through my body. It is quiet out here in the big house in the desert. Hot and dry, even at night. Much different than the rain that often fell on the Big Master’s home, far away.
I knew others of us were around. Friends from before, ones I had fought. I wondered if they were dreaming the same dreams I was. Of being crippled. Of being killed. Of not pleasing the Big Master, the worst dream of all.
The Gentle Master lay on a simple cot, her delicate scent filling my nose. I relaxed against the soft blanket lining the corner of my kennel and tried to go back to sleep. But that was a difficult, even under the dry stars of this new home. Sometimes, sleep wore me out more then the exercises the Gentle Master took me through every day.
My right front leg doesn’t bend very well, and I can’t see clearly out of my left eye. And I know I have bones broken inside that healed poorly, and sometimes it hurts when I squat to mark my space. I feel old. But I know I am not that old. The Big Master took me when I was but a pup, and that was not so long ago. The Big Master…
He played with me from the beginning, and I loved the feel of his giant hands on my shoulders, the way he found the scratch-spot in my ear, his deep rumbling voice. I wagged my tail sore for him. I was so happy to please him. When we started training, it was just another game that funneled all his attention towards me. The weighted collars, the dummies that I’d tear to shreds, the long runs with him by my side. And the treats he would give me, so tasty. The good times, with the Big Master. How could I ever think they would end?
There is a sharp bark from a hidden kennel, and the Gentle Master shifted in her slumber. I silently admonished the one who spoke. We don’t give ourselves “names”, like the masters do. We all know who we are. The Gentle Master is afraid I might fight with the others and they with me. Maybe I would.
I know everyone around me, though. I can still smell.
The masters look at our world differently. It must be a better way than ours, for they are the masters. But I could never understand how they can live without sniffing and touching. What might they be missing, that I could show them if I could?
Masters are strange. But we all love them so.
The games grew rougher, and it began to hurt. The Big Master would urge me to bark, and then bite. No one likes being bitten, so that led to fighting. Then the Big Master would pull me away, and stroke me, and tell me what a good girl I was, and feed me treats. And I would wag my tail, happily addicted to pleasing him. The Big Master would take me places in the long black car, and it was so exciting, with the innumerable scents flying through the open windows. But there was a price to be paid. Our trips would always end up with me fighting. I started NOT liking trips in the long black car… but I knew that is what the Big Master wanted.
So I went.
And fought. And shook myself to unsettled sleep at nights, after the Big Master had tended my wounds. I just wanted to please him. And worried so that I would fail, and not please him. Was I wrong?
Gradually, I sensed the Big Master was unhappy with me. I faked wanting to ride in the long black car and barked my head off before the fights to show how much I still wanted to please. But I knew he was spending more time with others living in the house. I kept trying and trying to please him. What else could I do? I was hurting so bad, but he wouldn’t tend my wounds and comfort me, like he did before.
About then, a pack of Stern Men all smelling cold invaded the Big Master’s home. The Big Master was angry, but he couldn’t make the Stern Men go away They put him in a special car, while we all barked our heads off. The Master was being taken away! What would we do? Who would take care of us? Who would we have to please?
It is so quiet here in the desert. Once in awhile I can hear the yip of a Wild One and catch a whiff of his free life out there in the parched hills and gullies.
All of us here are damaged. We would not last too long out in The Wild, without masters to feed us. But some of us would dearly like to try.
The Gentle Master stirs again, and I wonder if she can dream like I do. And of what would she dream?
Soon after the Stern Men took the Big Master, the Gentle Master came and took us away. I liked her from the start. Her scent was so soft, and she spoke subtle nonsense while holding me for what seemed like days. I was sore and hurting, and she tended me even better than the Big Master had in the beginning. I wagged my tail, and for the first time in ages, I meant it.
And now I am here, far away from fighting and Stern Men, with plenty of food and water and treats. The Gentle Master sleeps nearby me often but not always. I understand that she must go away sometimes, even if I do not like it. But I know she will return and play with me and take me for walks. We all know we are in a better place here than we were before. No one ever will make us fight each other here. The Gentle Master sleeps quietly.
I love her.
And I slowly relax in this kind new world around me and slip away. Knowing that whatever nightmares come to me in the night, I will awaken safe and warm. Free in the love of The Gentle Master.
Michael A. Clark lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, USA and works in industrial automation, while spending as much time as he can outdoors. His stories have been published in Galaxy’s Edge, Liquid Imagination, Mystery Weekly Magazine, and Gypsum Sound Tales, the anthologies Colp and Thuggish Itch, as well as the benefit anthology Burning Love and Bleeding Hearts.