Victro, Chapter Two

The 2nd and the last chapter of Victro

 

Chapter Two:

 

 

     He howled out his frustration, and suddenly light showed in the windows of darn near every home on the block.

 

     “Shut up, you mangy mutt!”, and, “Go home!” were just two of the screamed epitaphs hurled into the dark.  Victro had no idea what the first thing meant, but he knew what, ‘Go home!’ meant.  He was once again freezing and hungry.  The days since he’d left Sally’s house were okay, because the sun warmed the winter air, but the nights?  Burr!  Just then, he heard a loud voice, immediately answered by another, as two drunks staggered out of the tavern, and headed for home.  Victro didn’t know any of this, of course, after all, he was a dog!  All he knew was the people entering the door across from where he lay, concealed in the shadows, strode confidently up and opened the door, and the people leaving it staggered and acted like they were dancing with the sign posts, and the smells coming from there were heavenly!  They were why he’d settled on this spot.

 

 

     He didn’t pay the people leaving much mind, until these last two.  One of them was saying,

 

     “Wait up; wait until I finish this burger.  A few more bites--oh, forget it; you’re not going to listen,” and he threw something into the vacant lot next door.  Then, he hurried to catch up to his acquaintance, who was staggering quickly down the sidewalk.

 

     “Hold up, Tom; what’s your hurry?  Is there a rerun of ‘Dicks’ on B.A.A.D. T.V. tonight?”

 

     And from there, the sound of their voices faded away from Victro’s ears.  The man had thrown something away, and he was going to check it out.

 

     Victro got painfully to his paws, and listlessly started across the street.  God, was he ever hungry.  He reached the other side of the road, and found the bag the man had thrown away.  It contained something that smelled wonderful to Victro’s nose.  Of course, he was so hungry, he would have wolfed down a grease-covered cleaning rag; but this was 1/2 of a hamburger.

 

 

     He had devoured the burger in three slobbering gulps, the way a dog eats, and his desperate hunger had abated somewhat.  Then he went back across the deserted street and back into the shadows, where he did his best to sleep.

 

 

     He stiffly got to his paws, feeling more miserable after a never-ending night of napping and freezing.  He just had to find someplace warm, where he could get some rest.  He painfully made his way out of the alley where he’s spent the horrible night, and tried to decide which way to go.  Right, would be taking him into unfamiliar territory, and left, would also be taking him into unfamiliar territory.  He decided on right, and sluggishly started putting one paw in front of the other; until he had left the city far behind. 

 

 

     He was shuffling listlessly along, when a van pulled up and stopped.  The sound of mournful baying came to his ears.  A man stepped out with a long pole with a loop at the leading edge, and started towards him.  Victro didn’t understand exactly what it all meant, but he figured it wasn’t good news for him, so he galloped away.  Behind him, he heard,

 

     “Hey, dog, come here.”

 

     He didn’t pay any attention to the voice; he was out of here.

 

 

     Animal Control Officer Bobby Crenshaw had already had a long day, and it was still morning.  His wife had nagged him about yard work, until he had been looking forward to work, and he hated his job.  So he had been in a lousy mood when he spotted the black and gray dog walking along the road.  He was going to cause problems, and might get hit; Bobby sighed deeply and pulled his van off the road, grabbed his control stick, and exited the truck.  The dog was just sitting there, watching him approach.  After watching him for a few more steps, the dog turned, and started trotting in the other direction.  S**t, he sure wasn’t in the mood for this!   He screamed at the dog, which only seemed to increase the dog’s gait.  Soon, he was gone.

 

 

     Victro figured he had to get off the road, so he veered off into a field, which stretched away into the distance.  He was soon loping, at least as much loping as a s**t night’s sleep would allow, through an un-mowed field.  He came upon a farmhouse, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  A man was sitting with his legs up on the side of a deck.  The man had spotted him.

 

     “Hey dog, come here.”

 

     Victro knew that meant to come closer, and he trotted about halfway towards him, keeping a wary eye on possible escape routes.

 

     “Well, look at you; aren’t you a cute one!”

 

     Victro could see the man was eating something, and heard his own stomach growling in protest.  Man, was he ever hungry.  It had been hours since the hamburger the dude had thrown way, and he was famished; so he trotted closer still, and the man could follow the path of his eyes.

 

     “Are you hungry, boy?” he spoke, and tossed something into the grass at his feet.

 

     Victro gratefully sniffed at it: bacon.  Immediately, his mouth started watering, and he wolfed it down in a single gulp.  Then, he fixed his gaze like a laser on the man’s empty hand.

 

     The man chuckled, and said, “Looks like that’s not going to be enough for you.  That was the last of my breakfast, but let’s go see what we can find.”

 

 

      Victro had been here two weeks, and had wanted for nothing.  Food, shelter, water, human companionship; he had it all.  He knew how lucky he was; the man was incredibly nice to him.

 

 

     Daryl Wiseman had just found a new performer in ‘The Wiseman Animal Circus’.  The dog looked to be trainable; the key was to be nice to the dog, and then he would do exactly what he wanted.

 

 

     Victro was happy, except for what Daryl wanted him to do.  He was supposed to pull around a little red wagon, into which went the droppings of the more exotic animals in the circus.  It was humiliating work, but when he considered the alternative, which was basically being a stray, it was a small price to pay for a little sense of permanence.

 

 

     He had done exactly what Daryl wanted in practice, but gazing out at the crowded circus tent, Victro decided that this was b******t.  Sure, he wanted to do what the man was asking him to do, but, come on; he wouldn’t be the cute little dog hauling the s**t wagon.  So when Daryl, working with an elephant, called for ‘the cute little dog’ to come out to the center of the ring, so he could scoop up the elephant dung and put it in the wagon, and have ‘the cute little dog’ pull it out of the ring, Victro just sat looking at Daryl.

 

     “Come here, boy,” commanded Daryl.

 

     Victro just sat there, staring.  Daryl got angry, and stomped over to the wagon, and again commanded Victro to get out there.  He didn’t move, and an angry Daryl unhooked the wagon, and pulled it out in the ring by himself.

 

     “You worthless mutt, out you go; hit the bricks, you good-for-nothing dog!”

 

     Victro didn’t quite understand, until the man’s size 11’s showed him clearly; he was once-again a stray.

 

 

     This was getting very old.  He shuffled his paws forward with listless sameness.  He just had to keep moving, but why? he thought.  Gray clouds spit freezing drizzle, which covered him in a gray veil.  God, was he ever hungry.

 

 

     He cut through the yard of a big house.  Suddenly, a big dog came out of the night, and was on Victro before he had time to think.  It was a nightmare of slashing fangs.  He never fought back; just broke free and ran.

 

 

     He thought of himself as a fairly tough character, but the pain was unbearable, and a crimson stain covered his leg where the attacking dog had sunk his fangs.  He had nowhere to go, and now he had to get there on a bum leg.

 

 

     He limped painfully along the road.  His stomach growled painfully, and his leg burned.  Up ahead was a house, lights blazing.  He was wary now before approaching a house; his weary eyes scanned this way and that for a mean dog, but the coast looked to be clear.  He started by the house when the front door opened, and a little girl started walking the sidewalk towards the street.  Victro could do nothing else but stand there and watch her.  She caught site of him, and said,

 

     “Oh, what a cute dog; are you lost?”

 

     Victro just sat staring, as he had no idea what she’d said.  His damaged leg was killing him.

 

     “Are you hungry, is that it?”

 

     The word ‘hungry’, he did understand.  He wagged his tail; even that hurt his leg.

 

     Unbelievably, she turned back towards the house without another word.  She was just going to leave him here.  But after she’d taken a few steps, she turned and looked at him, where he sat looking miserable, and said,

 

     “Well, come on dog; let’s go back to my house and I’ll ask my mom if she can’t find you something to eat.”

 

 

     Victro just knew that as soon as the girl’s mother got a look at him, he’d be flung back into the void of straydom.  The very thought of more aimless walking, and on his bum leg, was unbearable.  But when the got to the house, and the little girl explained, the mother looked sympathetically at him, and said,

 

     “Oh, you poor thing; I’ll see what I can find for you to eat, then I’ll take a look at that leg; it looks bad.”

 

     Of coarse, Victro couldn’t understand the words, but read the sympathetic look on her face; and was happy.

 

 

     Two weeks had past; two weeks of good food and a lot of attention.  The little girl and all the adults referred to Victro as Elvis, which he didn’t quite understand, but was slowly getting used to his new name.  He fattened up with regular food, and his wounded leg was healed, thanks to the wrapping of clean gauze, and regular cleaning the mother had given him.  On day, he heard the little girl say,

 

     “Mom, since nobody answered the lost-dog ad we put in the paper, can we keep him?”

 

     “Yes, Clara, as long as you understand that taking care of an animal is quite a responsibility.  You’ll have to feed him, wash him, and see that he’s not out running free.”

 

     “Yes Mother, I can do that.”

 

     “Okay, then, I’ll get him tags, take him to the vet to see if he’s fixed, vaccinated, and see how that leg’s looking, then Elvis will be YOUR dog.”

 

 

     “Come on, Elvis, let’s go to bed,” the little girl named Clara said, patting the mattress.  The dog formally known as Victro leaped onto the bed, and curled up at the foot, after being petted by Clara.   Life was good!

 

 

The End