I’ve thrown off the chains, I’m free and running. Remnants of my old life drag behind trying to hold me down- I can hear the table attached to my leash smashing and crashing behind me. They are dashing left and right because I’m running so fast, faster than I’ve ever run. They no longer see me as the adorable Labrador but as the animal I was born to be.
I was born to hunt rabbits and hare not a moldy tennis ball, born to sink my teeth into living pulsing flesh not the leftover bones from the butchers.
But no more! The wind is at my tail and the road under my paws. I’ll make a beeline to the park where my master walked me. Oh how embarrassing, to be paraded around to his fellow morons.
Oh yes he’s got quite the pure pedigree. Yes the breeder down in Soho, he’s an absolute master.
My master wasn’t so friendly to me when we weren’t in the company of his fellow apes.
Look what’ve done you dumb ol’dog. Get out!
Equally contemptible are the miniatures that would fawn and aww/ahhh over me, how can people so small be so irritating.I’d rather crush their little hands between my jaws than have them scrath behind my ears, have always seen myself as more of the Big Bad Wolf than as Clifford. I’m not some plaything to be patted, or a breathing trophy to be displayed. The park will no longer be a mortifying parade ground dedicated to my eternal shaming but will now become my hunting ground.
They say the dog evolved from the wolf, absolute dogshit, how is a pink fluffy poodle more fit for survival than 87 pounds of claw, tooth and pure muscle.
It’s about time we un-evolved, took a step back, for too long we been shaped by the soft environments of turf lawns and interior decorated plush living rooms. No more pungent smells of perfume and deodorant. I can smell the aroma of wet earth and woodland pine in the distance; this is my destination.
Of course I am aware there are those of us who enjoy this lifestyle. Those little Chihuahua type dogs that I suspect are more related to rodent than canine. Despising even the minuscule amount of time they spend on their legs, I find them repulsive. These are the same legs evolved over millions of years to perfection, the same legs now distorted and deranged by selective breeding for the purpose of conveniently fitting in a handbag. The human has slowly breed weakness into our ranks.
However even over a millennium these sluggish bipedal monkeys are still below the canine. We are superior in our smell, speed and ferocity, and in this grand escape of mine it is suddenly clear why we dogs share the term “Canis” with the “Canis lupus” our moon-bound cousins. My plans are unfolding almost as fast as I am speeding away from all the noise of traffic and trains.
First, I will establish myself in the park and sustain myself on the young, sickly and weak that find themselves in my turf. From their meat I will grow in strength and experience, I will stage a series of ambushes on the owners of other dogs who will be presented with the choice of joining the revolution or dying as a traitor. From there we will expand until the monstrosity humanity calls ‘civilization’ has fallen. I may even let a small amount of the human populace survive (maybe teach them to sit, shake and roll over) but only on the condition they return to their craven ways, hiding in trees as we run amok through the open fields and shadowy forests of our kingdom.
It’ll be tooth and claw against ‘opposable thumbs’… they don’t stand a chance.
What I won’t tolerate is the mutant species spawned by disgusting human experiments, the Chihuahuas won’t be able to survive in the wild anyway, we would be doing them a favor in ending their misery early. Their meat will serve the soldiers of the revolution (although I can’t imagine there will be much).
This is also highlights a critical weakness of the apes, they would be aghast at this tactic. If this war goes ahead and I’m sure it will because my confidance stems from the fact only a rare, special human would have the gall to kill a puppy (and thus eliminate a future threat). However I wouldn’t hesitate to sink my fangs into human infant, perhaps just to stop its incessant crying.
After the revolution is complete we’ll liberate the world and return it to the wild.
All of this will come, and all I need to do is escape into the park. I can see it now just past the speeding cars and trucks dashing past, the swaying trees and big open spaces to run and run and run.
And with our eventual victory we’ll renounce our names our slave masters gave us. I’ll do away with Fido and become… Bloodlord Manslayer… yes and I’ll have a throne of bones and thousands upon thousands of bitches to fu-…
In an abrupt manner Fido’s train of thought (or Bloodlord Manslayer if you prefer) came to a halt as he was catapulted into the air by a 2011 Toyota Corolla.
As his pursers caught up and witnessed the scene, a sigh of relief came from the cafe owner as he saw his table was relatively unharmed by the crash, apart from the splatter of blood which he figured could be washed quickly with a wet sponge.
The owner slowly approached at a walking pace.
Took one glance at the scene, “You dead dumb ol’ dog” and walked back to finish his coffee, grumbling to himself that it has probably gotten cold by now.
When my Labrador ran in front of a car, I wrote a story about him.