Chapter 3: A knock in the night

The office window rattled in time with Tyron’s thunderous snoring. The sun had long set but Runt was still up and working. Several of the dogs went on a hunt the night before and their wiry fur was thick with prickles. Carefully, he combed through Fang’s hair, trying not to pull too hard or fast. The wolfhounds grumbled and nipped if they felt they were being brushed too roughly.

What Gunther said was true. Runt was adopted. He appeared on the doorstep of the kennels one night, alone, wrapped in rags, with no note or any sign of who the baby belonged to.

“What in blazes have you got there?” Gunther asked, incredulously.

“Dunno. A baby?” Tyron mumbled, with a puzzled expression.

“What kind of maniac would give you a baby? You didn’t nick it, did you?”

“It was on the doorstep. Heard it squawking. Looks hungry.” Tyron peeked beneath the rags that wrapped the baby from head to toe.

“You should get rid of it. What are you gonna do with a flippin’ baby, eh? You should feed it to the dogs!” Gunther grew more and more agitated as he spoke.

“Yeah?” Tyron turned a puzzled glance towards the office window that overlooked the kennels. He stood, rocking slightly left and right, running that thought on loop.

“Go on. Just chuck it in there. You won’t even know it’s done. I’ve seen how quick them dogs eat a rabbit. It’ll be gone in seconds. Vanished. Looking after a baby is a massive pain in the arse, mate. You don’t need that hassle.” Gunther whined, tugging nervously at his shirt.

The kennel master straightened up from his usual slouch.

“Nahhhh,” he said, finally, “don’t reckon. You know what?” his eyes glimmered with mischief. “Feed a baby to the dogs and they’ll eat for a day. Teach the baby to feed the dogs and I’ll never have to do that stinking job anymore.”

Gunther argued some more but it was no use. Once Tyron made up his mind about a thing he became like a stone statue. Unmovable. The baby stayed and, true to his word, once Runt grew old enough to walk and carry a bucket, Tyron never fed the dogs again.

The window continued to rattle and shake with Tyron’s snoring as Runt replayed the story in his mind. He looked down the row of kennels and sighed. He was nearly done with Fang. Next would be Bruiser, then Gash, then Shank. It was going to be a long night.

Runt knew what the word ‘slave’ meant but it never occurred to him that he might be one. It was only later, after getting a small taste of freedom, that the truth of his position became clear.

The thundering snores were interrupted by a frantic banging at the office door.

“Bug’r’off” the giant man mumbled from his bed.

The banging repeated. “Open up!” A man’s voice yelled out, “It’s an emergency!”

“Said bug’r’off.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Runt heard Tyron roll over, not to get up, but to get more comfortable and fall into a deeper sleep.

The banging intensified. The dogs up and down the kennel began barking and howling and jumping against their cage doors.

Runt, frozen by indecision, tugged on one of the curly ringlets in his mop of hair. The man began yanking on the door, now, as if to break in. Runt put down the brush, left Fang’s kennel, passed Tyron curled up in his nest, and crept towards the door.

“Who is it?” he asked in a tiny voice. The yanking stopped.

“It’s Jeffrey. I’m sent from McGregor’s farm. There’s a wolf about and our sheep are lambing. Please let me in!”

Runt unlatched the door and a gangly young man, all arms and legs, stumbled in with a lantern clutched in one hand and a terrified look on his face.

“Mr McGregor normally comes himself, or sends Harvey.” Runt whispered. But then, none of this was normal. Runt never talked to the clients. He always hid in the shadows when others were around. Talking to people was Tyron’s job. Probably the only job left in the kennels that Runt did not do himself.

“Harvey’s at the other farm. They’re lambing there, too. And McGregor’s laid up with his bad knee. He sent me.” It almost sounded like an apology, but the gangly lad continued.

“And there’s a wolf about and it’s only me and I heard they sometimes attack people and I’m not even fully grown yet and – wait, you’re very short. And your hair!”

Runt just shrugged as if to say “do you want a dog or not?” and walked back out to the kennels. Jeffrey followed behind. His lantern cast crazy shadows against the walls as the dogs redoubled their howls.

“Gosh, it’s dark out here.” Jeffrey’s voice wavered. Runt shrugged again. He could see just fine in the dark and Tyron never allowed a lantern, so the kennels were always like this.

“Fang’s ready to go,” Runt indicated. The dog leaped against the cage door growling and flashing its teeth. Fang’s shadow loomed and danced monstrously against the far wall.

Jeffrey took several steps back. “N-n-no. Not that one. Too mean! I need a nicer one.”

Runt paused.

“That’s… not a thing. They’re killers. They’re trained to be nasty. They don’t bite people, though. Well, not a lot. And if they do bite people, they don’t mean it. Mostly.” He looked down at his hand, still red from the nip Fang had given him only a few minutes ago when he’d pulled the brush too hard.

Jeffrey goggled at the bite mark and looked around wildly.

“That one!” he pointed frantically, “I’ll take that one! He looks alright. I’ll take him! He’s not barking.”

The sign above the cage door read “Daisy”. Jeffrey was half right.

“Daisy’s a female dog. Our dam. For making puppies. She doesn’t go out much. But, yeah, she’s nice.” She was, in fact, Runt’s favourite. Each night he curled up in her kennel to sleep.

“I’ll take her! I’ll bring her back first thing in the morning. Thank goodness you answered the door! If that wolf kills any of our ewes it’d be my head on the chopping block.” Jeffrey gushed, as he took a dog lead off the door post and handed it to Runt.

“I… I don’t know… Daisy’s not supposed to… You’re only meant to…” The words shrivelled and choked his throat. Arguing was not in Runt’s nature. He spent his whole life doing exactly as he was told. Moving on auto-pilot, he reached up and clipped the lead onto Daisy’s collar and handed it to Jeffrey. Daisy bent her head down to lick Runt on the nose before ambling out the door. Jeffrey tugged on the lead and coaxed her out of the yard, through the office, and beyond.

“Thanks so much,” Jeffrey yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll bring her back directly. First thing in the morning. You’ll see!”

Wincing, Runt tugged at one of his curls as he watched her leave. Then his heart surged, thinking: Tyron will wake up. Tyron will see Daisy going out and he’ll yell and stop Jeffrey taking her. Tyron will fix it.

The window rattled again as another snore heaved up out of the giant’s body, and the outside door slammed shut. The faint sounds of Jeffrey, running now back to the farm, faded into the darkness. Daisy was gone. Runt stood still for a minute, then sighed, and went back to the kennels. It was Bruiser’s turn for the brush.

Runt didn’t know it at the time, but that one small action, sending Daisy to the farm, would set a chain of events into motion that would change his life forever.