The Red Hound

We lay side by side underneath an old, incredibly tall and wide oak tree at the back of the farm. It was situated at the top of the hill, and its roots were spread deep but hardly showed on the surface but for the occasional rise and fall of a hill of bark. Its trunk twisted and knotted up to sturdy branches wider than my body, reaching for the sky to better soak up the sun. We basked in the shade of its many green leaves that rustled in the light breeze and cherished its refreshingness while it was still there. Soon, we would have to leave this place and go back out to work the animals and herd the sheep. But for now, we stretched out and dozed.

She was laid on her back, half supported by the oak, with her straw hat shading her almond-shaped eyes. She toyed with a piece of straw in her mouth, so I knew that she wasn’t asleep. Her hands were folded behind her head, and her ankles were crossed in a position of comfort and relaxation. I could see her two black pigtails trailing from underneath her hat, and a few strands were beginning to stray from the braids from a long day of work.

I was on my stomach, only inches away from her, gazing at her. I was in love with her, but the feeling wasn’t something that was easily expressed. I admired what I saw of her face—only a mouth and a nose and two rosy cheeks—and saw that she was beautiful. It was unconventional beauty, for her eyes were a bit too narrow and long, and her lips maybe too thin, but it was her confidence and her personality that shone through all of the slight imperfections she had so she possessed a perfect beauty. I was so very in love with her.

I heaved a content sigh and watched her with adoring eyes. I had lived with her for two years now, and she would only ever leave my side when she went to school, and when she did, I would nap beneath the trees near the end of our long driveway and wait for her to come home. She would greet me excitedly with hands rubbing up and down my thick fur, and I would leap and bound around her, grinning and glad that we had reunited after the long hours of her school day.

She picked up her hat from her eyes, and turned her head to look at me, her eyes glinting at me mischievously, as they always did. I longed to see the colour of her eyes, but there are many colours that I can’t see, and her eyes are one of them. A smile teased her red lips, and she took out the piece of straw from her mouth to say, “that was quite some sigh. I hope I’m not boring you, boy.”
I brought my head up and looked at her in the eye, grinning at her and using my paws to edge a bit closer. My tongue lolled out of my mouth as I panted, and I said, “this is better than herding sheep.”

She laughed at me, and scratched at the fur on the right side of my neck. When she went to pull away, I licked her wrist, and gave her a beam of adoration. She returned the smile then said, “you know, you’re a really good dog. I’m glad I chose you from the kennel.”

“There was no way you would’ve left there without me, anyway. You’re too beautiful to let slip through my hands. Or paws. I love you,” I said.

“Then again, you were the only breed that was good for herding sheep. It was a practical decision, I guess. But a good one,” she said. She turned her head so she was back to staring up at the bluer-than-blue sky that was plagued only by a few big and fluffy white clouds that looked as thick as cotton, then put the piece of straw back into her mouth. She paused for a moment and looked thoughtful, so I dropped my head, not expecting her to continue. But when she did, my chin was up immediately with anticipation, and I watched and listened intently as if the words rolling from her tongue were pure pieces of gold.

“You’re a smart one, though. I’ll give you that. You weren’t so good at herding sheep at first,” she laughed at the memory, “but you got used to it. Listened to everything I said.”

I remembered my first few attempts at herding sheep. I had never seen a sheep before and thought that the easiest way to herd them was to be polite, so I had simply asked them to move. I soon found out that sheep are some of the most impolite farm animals, however, and they merely laughed at me in loud bleats. After that I learned that the truly best way to get them where they belonged was to threaten them, and when they didn’t listen, to nip at their flanks and snarl after them so they ran away in fear. I suppose the dog in me just needed some awakening.

“It’s actually a bit scary, you know. How you listen to what I say, and do what I ask. Like you can understand me. But that’s crazy. I guess I’m crazy for talking to you,” she said. I whined at her, “I can understand you”, but she only heard the whine and not the words. She glanced at me in amusement, teased, “trying to tell me something, boy? Is Jimmy trapped in the well?”

I huffed and put my head back on my paws, looking at her dolefully. She laughed, and began massaging the top of my head, between my ears. My eyes closed and I revelled in the feeling of her soft and gentle hands running through my long fur, scratching lightly against my skin. There was no other feeling in the world quite like getting pet by your master.

Though my eyes were closed, I could feel her gaze as surely as I could feel the grass beneath my body. I heard her rustle as she sat up and peeked an eye open to look at her, one hand propping her up, her other hand in her lap holding her hat.
“Good boy, Red,” she murmured.

She looked down the hill and to the sheep, who were lazily grazing in the green fields, bald in the harsh summer sun. From the hill, we had a view of the whole farm. The pasture for the sheep stretched out below us, spreading all the way to the barn which seemed misplaced in the green and flat countryside, then gently rolled toward the horse pasture to our left, and finally came to an end all the way to the end of the lot that was marked by a thick and brushy forest. The small house lay to our far right, the driveway fading out of view behind it where it reached the gravel road lined with silver maples much less impressive than the oak we lay under, but by no means less magnificent. All around the house was shaded with mature, bushy red maples that no doubt turned such a vibrant orange in the autumn that their leaves looked like liquid fire. How I wished I could see the colour of the fall.

I noticed the dust from the road to the right of the house rising like a line of dirty clouds, and pricked my ears, faintly hearing tires upon gravel. I stood to my feet which made her glance at me and follow my gaze, slowly standing to her feet as well. A faded green pickup truck rolled up the lane and then pulled in to the left of the house, but its passenger door faced us so we couldn’t discern who came out of the car and walked to the front door.

“That isn’t... that looks like Martin’s truck,” she said. She squinted her eyes and looked harder, then exclaimed, “that is Martin’s truck!”

She then proceeded to throw her hat on the ground with an ecstatic laugh and run as fast as she could down the hill toward the truck, stumbling over herself a little because of the steep slope. She leapt over the fence into the sheep pasture, the quickest way to the house, and tried to push her way through the obstinate sheep, who merely baaed at her and refused to budge. I had no clue who this Martin was, but he sounded important to her and I knew that she needed my help to get to him faster.
I gently picked up her hat in my mouth and chased after her, sailing over the fence with ease and landing with such grace that I smiled proudly to myself. There was no dog as loyal and as magnificent as I! I nearly pounced on the sheep, growling with a deep rumble in my throat that made them skittishly trip over each other to get out of my way. I overtook her, running steadily in front of her and growling and snapping at the sheep who dared get in our way. I cleared a sufficient path for her to sprint headlong for the truck and this Martin she was so desperate to reach.

She reached the other side of the sheep pasture, ignored the gate and hopped over the fence, yelling, “Martin!” and rushing to the front door. I followed her lead and loped after her, her hat still held in my mouth.

“Hey, Cara” a deep voice crooned, “where were you?”

I had never heard a smoother voice than Martin’s. If I could put a picture to it, his voice would be melting chocolate dripping over the most delectable of desserts. He had the kind of radio voice that made girls swoon.

“Sorry, I was way out under the oak tree,” she gushed, out of breath, “I thought I recognized your truck, so I came over.”
She was just around the corner of the house, right out of my view, so I trotted closer and rounded the corner with eyes only for Martin.

He stood a good head above her and he was wearing some sort of designer clothing brand that I’d never heard of and probably was too expensive for me to afford—if I bought clothes, anyway. His wrist was adorned with a flashy gold Rolex, and he sported Nike running shoes that didn’t even look a day old. The price of his entire outfit probably rivalled the price it was to run the farm. His chest was puffed out proudly and he had a cocky smirk on his lips, and I knew with just one look that he was a complete and utter asshole.

“It’s not my truck. I’m just borrowing it until my corvette comes back from the shop.”

At the comment I snickered to myself and decided that he needed to be put in his place. So, with a steady resolve, I did what dogs do: bark frantically and jump up on his fancy clothing with my muddy paws.

“Hey! Red!” Cara scolded with a sharp blade in her voice, throwing a swift kick into my ribs, “down!”

I had been kicked playfully by her before, but never before had she ever meant it. Shock burned in my heart, my side ached, my tail sank, and I couldn’t help but edge away from her in fear. She had kicked me! Not even once had she raised her voice at me, let alone hit me. The worst I ever got from her was a few words spoken with mild annoyance. So there it was, then: she had chosen Martin over me. She didn’t even see the heartbroken look on my face as I watched the two of them, and my spirits drifted lower and lower until I was pressed to the ground, and even then they continued to drift through the grass beneath me.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “he doesn’t normally jump. He won’t bite.”

I could smell his fear, and even see it poorly concealed behind his perfectly clean-shaven and square jaw. It seeped out of him like a sticky slime, ugly and cowardly, and in his scent I smelled the true nature of his character—and it wasn’t pretty, unlike his naturally rugged face and scrupulously groomed body. Under normal circumstances I would’ve taken his fear and the discovery that he was a despicable person as a victory, but my losses were too great. He had won her over, and now, instead of her devoted and dutiful guardian by her side, she had the conceited boy who would end up breaking her heart. I whimpered inaudibly at my thoughts, and even if she could hear it she wouldn’t notice.

“Just make sure he doesn’t do it again. This shirt is Hugo Boss,” he scowled snootily. His voice was different than before in that it was icy and dark, and I knew that he wasn’t new to using it. I sensed that many times before he had used that voice, and every time it worked. And Cara didn’t even notice.
“Don’t worry. He won’t,” she assured him.

He brushed off his clothes, said, “anyway,” grabbed her hand, then returned to his trademarked manipulative croon,“how’ve you been?”

If I could see colour, I’m sure her face was flushed so red she would put tomatoes to shame. She gave an abashed little smile, stared at their connected hands, and scuffed her boot against the ground. She was so innocent and pretty at that moment that, despite the blow she had just dealt me, I could barely pull my eyes off of her.

“Well, I—” she began.

“So, what are you doing right now?” he asked, cutting her off

“Oh, well, nothing.”

She was a liar. She had a day’s worth of chores left to do—chores that couldn’t just be put off like she was about to do. She was a necessary staple in the running of this farm, and if she skirted her responsibilities someone, somewhere, would pay for it, and not only that; if her father found out, he would yell so loud the house would begin to shake from its foundations up. I wanted to speak up and tell Martin that she couldn’t go wherever he was about to ask her to, grab her wrist and pull her away, but I didn’t have a human mouth nor did I have human hands. So I did the best that I could do, and whimpered at her and tried to tell her to stay. With my tail between my legs, I cautiously crept up closer to her and risked an attempt to lick her hand, but she only swatted me away, reaffirming that she cared more about Martin than she did for me.

“Do you want to go to the movies or somethin’?” he asked, like he already knew the answer and was just going through a formality. And it killed me to see that he was right.

“Oh! Um, yeah. Yeah! Should I...? I should go change.”

“It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. You look great, either way.”

She just ate it up. She swooned and nearly melted to the floor, looking up at him with eyes as starry and vibrant as the north sky. If I knew that he’d meant it I would’ve given him some slack, but by the way he eyed her and the slight sneer that he gave when he looked down at her muddy boots, I knew that he was just schmoozing. She would never be enough for him, I realized. She was so beautiful and so perfect in every way, yet despite all of that, he’d still treat her poorly and go sniffing around for something better. I’ve seen it before many times—more than seen it—I had been in the same situation. At the thought, I slunk away to the open garage and cowered, feeling sorry for myself.

“Oh. Sure,” she said dreamily, nearly floating away to join the clouds above.

“Alright. Let’s go. Maybe we’ll get a bite to eat first,” he said, wrapping an arm around her and leading her towards his big, filthy truck. As soon as he started it, the engine drowned out their conversation and, with a rev of his engine, he peeled out of the driveway so fast a pebble was caught beneath his tires and was flung in my direction, where it struck my side and pushed an involuntary yelp from me. I watched after them sadly, trying not to imagine all the terrible and manipulative things he would say to her that she would hang on to every word of.

She deserved better.