For the Dogs

My buddy, Bruce, patiently waiting for a pup cup.

So, I’ve been going through my short stories to see if I have enough to perhaps pull together a collection, and I stumbled across this ol’ thing. I wrote it for an anthology call, it didn’t get picked up, and, well, the prompt was pretty specific so this doesn’t seem like the type of story that is going to find another home.

Still, I like it, don’t think it’s half bad, and it ties into the last blog post nicely, I think. So rather than let it molder in my slush pile, here, for your consideration, is “For the Dogs.”

If, by chance, you don’t think it’s half bad either, be sure to check out “The Ancient Evil Versus the Good Boy” by yours truly, also about a shelter and some strange happenings.

FOR THE DOGS

BY ZACHARY FINN

“It’ll be starting soon,” said Sarah.  

The sound of harsh, quick panting was the only reply. It filled the room and reverberated off the thick surrounding walls. The musk of wet fur hung in the air despite a giant fan humming in the corner lazily, its blade cutting through the air in slow, rhythmic beats. 

Six sets of eyes peered back at her. Canines glistened and thick strands of slobber hung from jowls before falling to the smooth concrete floor and landing with a splatter. Scars cut across hind quarters and snouts on some, burn marks on others, a few were missing patches of fur. 

Then a few heads tilted. A few more shook, sending their drool flying though the air.

“You’ll get used to it the longer you’re here. Hopefully not too long though.” 

Sarah stood in front of a row of kennels filled with the most recent run of abandoned and forgotten dogs dropped off at the shelter. They were watching her hanging on every word, heads perked in interest. She had a leash draped across her shoulders with both ends dangling in front of her hoodie pocket, which was covered in muddy paw prints. The bags beneath her eyes were so dark they looked bruised.  

They’d all been walked already that day, either by Sarah or one of the volunteers, but a few of the younger dogs started jumping in excitement, the earlier walk forgotten and the site of the leash filling them with joy. A heavyset bully let out a grunt, then spun around in his kennel before collapsing to the ground. 

“This guy gets it--we’re in for a long night. You should all follow his lead and get some rest while you can.”

She looked from kennel to kennel--from bulldog, to pittie, to lab, to another pittie who shared her kennel with the dachshund she’d been found with in an abandoned house, to, lastly, a husky mix--and the corner of her lip crept up in a small, despairing smile. Then Sarah let out a sigh. 

“I’m with you all night though. You won’t be alone.” 

As if on cue, the shelter manager, Gary, poked his head through the door opposite Sarah. He was only two years older than her and already balding, and if she had to place money on it she’d guess it wasn’t genetics causing the hair loss. The stress of seeing people drop off their dogs without a second thought, coupled with the emaciation and scarred ones the animal cruelty officer brought in, probably did it. He smoked a pack a day and was skeleton gaunt, which lended itself to her theory.   

“You know you don’t have to stay, Sarah. They’ll be fine for a night…nothing’s ever happened to the dogs here when they’re left alone that I know of. They’re just a little spooked in the morning is all.”

“I don’t have anything else to do tonight anyways. It’s tough to think of them being alone when…well, you know.” 

Gary let out a deep exhale then pursed his lips and looked towards the dogs. 

“Yea…yea I know. Thanks for sticking around. My office is unlocked if you want to crash in there. It’s not much bigger than yours, but-” he shrugged and didn’t finish the sentence. 

“Thanks. I might take you up on that change of scenery. Otherwise it feels a little too much like I live here.”

“All yours,” he said, then tacked on, “sorry this wasn’t included in the outreach coordinator job description, but…you know. Hiring for the position is tough enough already.”

He glanced back towards the dogs, the pale top of his head glistening beneath the lights above. 

“They appreciate it. They really do.”  

With that, Gary disappeared from the doorway. His scuffing footsteps carried on for a few seconds until she heard a door open with a creak, the digital yelp of the front door security being armed, and, lastly, the front door closing and the jangle of keys as she was locked in. 

“Looks like it’s just us.” Sarah sat down against the wall opposite the kennels then added, “at least for a few hours, that is.” 

She was met with more head tilts. 

###

It started like it always did. Sarah was asleep on the sofa in Gary’s office, wrapped in a donated blanket but she woke up in an instant. The clock on the wall read 3:03 a.m.

A strong gust blew from somewhere beyond, rushing about the shelter and sending papers flapping in the various clipboards pinned to walls or laid out on desks. It was a cold, raw wind that whistled and whipped itself into a frenzy as it filled the space leaving nothing unscathed. The smell of smoke came next; acrid, bitter and strong enough to taste. Then the banging. Angry thuds from within the walls and beneath the floor of the old building, that pounded against century old concrete and brick with reckless abandon. 

The dogs howled and barked and she rushed towards them, still wrapped in the blanket. Sarah kept her head low, trying to focus on only the immediate space in front of her as she made her way out the office, past the main lobby, and finally, into the kennel where she turned on the light.

“It’s okay, you’re safe…you’re safe…” she said, trying to make her tone as soothing as possible even if her voice trembled.   

The dogs scampered towards her, and all of them pressed into the nearest corner of their kennel as if she had a bucket of treats with her. They whimpered and shook and stared at her with pleading eyes.

“They can’t hurt you.” 

Sarah knelt by the nearest dog, the husky mix, whose sky blue eyes were wide with confusion. He was panting, and his tongue hung out the side of his mouth as his glance flittered between Sarah and the wall behind her. Sarah clenched her teeth together, furrowed her brow, and closed her eyes, not wanting to turn around but knowing--at some point--she must. 

But not quite yet. 

Sarah went kennel to kennel, talking in sing-song cadence and providing as much comfort as she could. She told them about their future forever homes, some on farms where they could run and chase other animals to their heart's content, others about hip little flats with a comfortable couch waiting just for them. She told them about future walks they’d go on together as they waited to find those right homes. She told them about the treats that were in their future in the morning once they got through this. 

All of this while, behind her, the sound of pounding fists against the painted white concrete walls transformed to anguished screams and angered threats, and the rush of wind grew colder and more furious targeting her and the dogs. 

After she’d visited the last one, that grumpy bully mix who shook and panted worse than the rest of them despite his massive size and build, she then forced herself to turn and look behind her. There, on the wall as if they’d been painted, were the silhouettes of the dead clawing and climbing and trying to break through. Some were resorting to brute force, their arms windmilling and slamming into the wall with balled fists. Others were scrambling, searching for a crack or weak spot they might shimmy through. They cried out and cussed, damning Sarah for not helping them escape. 

Couldn’t she see they were suffering? Why wouldn’t she help them?   

Dancing shadows they pranced about the wall, all hoping for freedom from whatever held them. 

The dogs resumed howling behind her. Deep, sorrowful bays that filled the air like the cries from the wall and the frenzied wind. Sarah, still watching behind here, moved back and forth, talking over her shoulder and trying to calm the dogs. 

The wall grew dark. It started at the forms’ feet, rising like a fog. Billows of blackness wafted upwards as the silhouettes writhed and cried in anguish, until finally, the wall was no longer, replaced instead by a dark void. A deep, reverberating hum--louder than the screams and the howls--droned for a second. Then, with a shrill squeak like a balloon popping, it was gone. The wind, the yelling, the well-like pit of nothingness…disappeared, leaving Sarah and the dogs staring at a blank concrete wall. 

“It’s over…It’s over…” she said amidst raspy breaths. 

Sarah turned back to the dogs and a deep-tiredness suddenly took hold of her. Within a minute, she was curled up in the blanket asleep on the hard floor in front of the kennels. 

The dogs watched her with love in their eyes, until they, too, succumbed to exhaustion; but for each of them, the last thing they saw before their eyelids were too heavy to keep open was Sarah.   

###

Larry was opening the door as Sarah was leaving. 

“Rough night?” he asked. 

“It’s getting worse…there’s more of them, and they’re louder.”

Larry nodded over his shoulder. “Well…you know. Go get some rest. Take toni-” 

“I’ll be in for the night shift.” 

With that, Sarah exited the shelter. The sun was blinding, and her hand shot to her forehead to cover her eyes. 

She walked towards her car parked in the lot opposite the shelter, her feet dragging and the promise of sinking into her bed the only thing propelling her forward. And, as she passed the blue and yellow historical marker jutting from the sidewalk in front of the shelter, as she always did, she nodded at it in remembrance then continued on her way. 

FORMER PRISON

EST. CA. 1816 BY STATE OF NY. 

BURNED DOWN NOV. 20, 1871

IN TRAGIC FIRE STARTED IN

KITCHEN. AT LEAST 80 GUARDS &

PRISONERS PERISHED THAT NIGHT. 

THE END