permanent damage, but Spike shook and snapped and bit until he had Top Dog’s snout in his mouth. Though it had cost Spike a bloody tear under his ear, he now had the advantage over Top Dog, forcing our leader’s head lower and lower toward the ground.
The pack did nothing, could do nothing but pant and circle anxiously, but the gate swung open and Bobby came running in, pulling a long hose behind him. A jet of water hit both dogs.
“Hey! Cut it out! Hey!” he shouted.
Top Dog went limp, acceding to Bobby’s authority, but Spike held on, ignoring the man. “Spike!” Bobby yelled. He thrust his nozzle forward and blasted Spike right in the face with it, blood flying into the air. Finally Spike broke away, shaking his head to get it out of the spray, and the look he turned on Bobby was murderous. Bobby backed away, holding the hose out in front of him.
“What happened? Was it the new one?
“
Senora joined the men in the Yard and, after much conferring, they called Top Dog over and tended to his wounds with a sharp-smelling chemical that I instantly associated with the nice lady from the cool room. Top Dog squirmed and licked and panted, his ears back, when Carlos dabbed something on the small cuts along his face.
I never thought Spike would allow the same treatment, but he stood without protest when they worked on the cut under his ear. He seemed accustomed to it, somehow, accepting the chemical smell as something that happened after a fight.
The next several days were agony. None of use knew where we stood anymore, especially the males.
Spike was unquestionably the leader now, a message he enforced by challenging every single one of us, head- to-head in the Yard. Top Dog had done the same, but not like this—for Spike, the most minor infraction was cause for discipline and most punishment included a swift, painful nip. When play became too boisterous and too intrusive on Top Dog’s area, he had always issued a cold warning in the form of a stare, perhaps a growl. Spike spent his day on patrol and would snap at us for no reason whatsoever—there was a black energy in him, something strange and mean.
When the males jockeyed for new positions in the pack, challenging each other, Spike was there and, too often, would himself get involved, seemingly unable to hold back from plunging into the fray. It was unnecessary and distracting, causing so much tension that minor skirmishes began breaking out among us, fights for things that had been long ago decided, such as position at the food trough, or who would next get to lie in the part of the Yard turned cool by the leaky water faucet.
When Coco and I played our game where I had the rubber bone and she’d try to steal it, Spike would come over, growling, and force me to drop the prize at his feet. Sometimes he would carry the bone back to his corner, ending the play until I could find another toy, and other times he would sniff at it contemptuously and leave it lying in the dirt.
And when Carlos brought in his sack of bones, Spike didn’t even bother to run over to see if he’d be given one. He’d wait until there were no men in the yard and then simply take what he wanted. Spike left some of the dogs alone, such as Rottie and Top Dog and, oddly, Fast, but whenever I was lucky enough to sink my teeth into one of Carlos’s delicious treats I was resigned to the fact that Spike would soon be chewing on it instead.
It was the new order. We might be having trouble figuring out the rules, but we knew who made them, and we all accepted them, which was why I was so surprised when Fast took Spike on.
It was, of course, because of Sister. In a rare coincidence, the three siblings—Fast, Sister, and I—were standing by ourselves in the corner, investigating a bug that had crawled in from under the fence. Being in such free and simple association with my old family was so relaxing, especially after the stress-filled past few days, that I pretended that I had never seen anything more fascinating than a tiny black insect raising microscopic pincers as if daring the three of us to fight.
Thus distracted, none of us noticed Spike until he was upon us, and his quick, silent attack on Sister’s haunches drew an instant frightened whelp from her.
I instantly slunk to the ground—we’d been doing nothing wrong!—but Fast couldn’t take any more and he lashed back at Spike, teeth flashing. Sister darted away but I, propelled forward by a rage I’d never felt before, joined Fast in battle, the two of us snarling and biting.
I tried to leap up and grab a hunk of Spike’s back, but he turned and slashed at me, and as I stumbled backward his jaws clamped down on my foreleg, and I let out a scream.
Fast soon found himself pinned to the ground, but I wasn’t paying attention—the pain in my leg was agonizing, and I limped off, still crying. Coco was there, licking at me anxiously, but I ignored her, making a beeline for the gate.
Just as I knew he would, Bobby opened the gate and came into the Yard, his hose in his hand. The fight was over; Fast had made peace, and Sister was hiding behind the railroad ties. So it was my leg that drew his attention.
Bobby knelt in the dirt. “Good dog, Toby. Okay, boy,” he told me. I gave my tail a feeble wag, and when he touched my paw, sending a searing pain all the way up to my shoulder, I licked him in the face to let him know I knew he hadn’t done it on purpose.
Senora went with us to see the nice lady in the cool room. Bobby held me down while she poked me with the same chemical-smelling needle she’d used on me before, and then the pain in my leg didn’t bother me anymore. I lay drowsily on the table while the lady tugged on my leg, listening to her voice as she spoke to Bobby and Senora. I could feel her concern, her caution, but couldn’t make myself care as long as Senora stroked my fur and Bobby leaned into me to hold me still. Even as Senora drew in her breath when the nice lady in the cool room said “permanent damage,” I didn’t so much as raise my head. I just wanted to lie on the table forever or at least until dinner.
When I got back to the Yard I was wearing the stupid cone collar again and I sported a hard lump of something encasing my wounded foot. I wanted to tear into the lump with my teeth, but not only did the collar look ridiculous, it also prevented me from getting at my foot! I could only walk on three legs, which Spike seemed to find amusing, because he came over to me and knocked me down with his chest.
My leg hurt all the time and I needed to sleep, and usually Coco came over and rested her head on me as I did
