Aris

Main Part

  The sound of thunder. It was approaching fast. No. Not thunder. Upon further listening, it was a loud rumbling of footsteps. Something was headed toward the factory. They sounded like a herd of wildebeests migrating for the mating season. Once they entered, they immediately started barking out orders and strutting around like they owned the place. Aris knew, just by looking at their leader, their boss, that they wouldn't be allowed to stay in the factory much longer. They'd have to move out.

  They had spent a year there, including most of the winter. Aris had been looking forward to staying one more winter. For once, it felt like they had caught a break. They had never been able to stay in one place for more than four months. Someone always found out where they were squatting and kicked them back onto the streets. He dreaded having to tell his family they had to leave—seeing their eyes searching his for answers, for wisdom. He never asked to be a leader, but he was the biggest, and in their family, tradition made him the one to lead.

  Sure enough, when the boss approached, his suit reeking of expensive cologne and smoky steaks, Aris knew there was no negotiating. A man with that much power and wealth would always have his way. He wouldn't listen to anyone. That was just how it was. At least, this man wasn't rough with them. He gently escorted them off the factory premises and out onto the street. They were strays once more.

  Back when Aris first ventured into the streets, he was on his own. He had wandered too far from home, and struggling to find his way back, he decided to keep moving. He figured he didn't need to know where home was if he didn't have one. It was rough at first. He didn't know who to trust. He would stay in public parks, hoping someone would take pity on him and share their sandwich. At night, he would hide in the bushes, scared of people who might get too drunk and had nothing to lose. He had heard stories of others like him being found beaten and in desperate need of medical help. He didn't want that to be them.

  A few weeks into his journey, Aris ran into a golden retriever trying to eat out of a garbage bag. Helping him out, Aris found out his name used to be Argos. They shared the contents of the garbage bag—chicken bones and wings—and decided to stick together, a golden retriever and a German shepherd.

  Looking into his friend's eyes now, Aris knew the years hadn't been kind. Their fur was matted and filthy, and their eyes, once full of hope, now only gleamed faintly in the dark. They walked through the quiet suburban neighborhood, and a man on a bicycle rode past them, a basket of junk rattling on the back. He reeked of booze. Aris turned his gaze toward the rest of the pack. They were all exhausted. All except the little one. Rosa, a small, scrappy beagle, had given birth to a litter during the winter. Only one had survived. In the pup's eyes, Aris saw hope and excitement—emotions he once knew all too well. He had been that puppy once, eager to meet new people, hoping they'd be as affectionate as the ones before. But life on the streets had taught him otherwise. He didn't want the pup to feel what he had felt. He'd do whatever it took to prevent that.

  As they made their way through the neighborhood streets, they encountered more and more of its residents. Housewives watered their plants while their husbands tended the gardens. They noted children running carefree in the streets, tears of laughter streaming down their faces. One child was sitting alone on the dirty pavement, looking down at its feet. One of the pack carefully approached the child, hoping to cheer him up. But when the boy reached out his hand to pet the dog, his mother came screaming, pulling her son away and kicking the dog. One of her kicks landed on his hind legs. Pain surged through the dog's body. He wasn't as strong as he used to be; his legs had grown weak from lack of proper nourishment. Head down, he returned to the pack and continued down the street. Aris observed the mother's behavior and felt another piece of his youthful idealism shatter.

  He couldn't understand why they were treated like that. They had never hurt anyone. They just wanted a place to stay. Hungry and tired, they finally reached the neighborhood square. In the coffee shop, some residents were playing cards. A crowd was strolling around the large tree in the center of the square. The pack decided to rest there, enjoying the shade. They had barely settled down when one of the coffee shop workers approached with a large bucket of water and dumped it on them. The ice-cold water shook them to the core. Aris barked at the worker in protest. They didn't deserve this. His pack didn't deserve this. But the worker simply laughed and pointed. Aris realized they weren't wanted here. Nodding to his group, he led them away, while the worker's laughter encouraged the local children to chase the dogs, throwing stones and sticks. Aris glanced at the little puppy, and their eyes met. In the pup's eyes, he saw a glimmer—fainter than before.

  After many hours on the road, a storm overtook them. It was unlike any storm they had seen before. The rain blinded them, reducing their visibility to the tip of their noses. Clouds had descended from the mountains, heavy with water. Still searching for shelter, they marched on, beaten and afraid. Aris knew they had to find a place fast. As they approached the edge of the neighborhood, one of them spotted a small white building. It was smaller than the factory, but it would do for the night. They sent two of their scouts ahead—old hunting dogs abandoned by their owners when age caught up with their speed. Finding no one inside, Aris led his pack into the building.

  The structure had a large space that seemed to have once been a living room, a smaller room with some bathroom fixtures, and what appeared to be a bedroom. It was hard to tell with all the charred furniture. The bedroom wall was partially collapsed, allowing water to seep inside, but in their current state, they didn't care. This small, abandoned house seemed like a palace to them. One by one, they found their spots and lay down—hungry and cold. Aris drifted off to sleep watching his friend Argos biting ticks off his belly.

  The next morning, when Aris awoke, he made a decision: he wouldn't force the pack to move. They would stay here, on the outskirts of the neighborhood, on the outskirts of the city. No one would bother them here. He would send the older dogs to scavenge for food in the garbage bins at night, while he and the younger dogs would hunt for wild animals. His nose had caught a whiff of hedgehog the previous night. And if any humans came near, he would fend them off—he wouldn't let anyone kick them out again.

  As the weeks passed, life seemed to be improving for Aris and his pack. They were finding enough food to get by, and some humans who passed by the house were kind enough to leave scraps for them. However, those visits were few and far between. One day, as Aris lay under the sun, trying to drift off to sleep, something struck his head. It didn't hurt—probably just a small pebble—but it was enough to annoy him. He tried closing his eyes again. Another pebble hit, this time followed by laughter. Aris looked up and saw two children. He remembered their faces. They were part from the group that chased them off the square.  They were sitting on their bikes, throwing rocks at him.

  He decided to chase them off. He didn't have the patience to wait until they got bored. Aris bolted after them, and the boys' grins quickly turned to fear as they scrambled to pedal away. Despite his age, Aris was still a German shepherd, and he caught up to them easily. He snapped at the pedals to scare them, but in the chaos, he accidentally caught the rider's leg. Aris felt a warm sensation in his mouth as he watched the kids flee, leaving a trail of blood behind them. He had bitten into one of the boys' calves, tearing off a piece of flesh. This wasn't his intention, but he couldn't help feeling victorious. He spat out the meat and returned to the house to continue his sleep.

  A week later, the sound of thunder echoed in the distance. No. Not thunder. Upon further examination, it was a loud rumbling of footsteps. Something—or someone—was headed toward the house. Aris initially thought it was just his imagination and closed his eyes again. But he was wrong. The state had issued an order to put the dogs down after the injury he'd caused to the boy's leg.

  The last thing Aris dreamt of before his eternal slumber was the glistening image of a star. No, not a star. It was the young puppy's eyes, still so full of hope and excitement.