Ridges of Doom

Chapter Four

"This just in...Hitler has officially signed the Nuremberg Laws, depriving any Jews in Germany of their citizenship. Stay tuned for more updates on this breaking news..."

The human on the radio sounded quite concerned about whatever he was talking about that Sunday morning. Neville wasn't exactly peachy about it, either.

"That Hitler's bad news, I tell you!" he hissed from upstairs when he heard the broadcast. "Nothing but trouble for the humans. I may only be a lowly feline..." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "but I know enough to say that no one should be assigned or deprived of their rights based upon their race or beliefs!" He spat, and before I knew it he was snoring again. There was a sort of irony to it, almost. Nearly everyone, including Neville himself, had criticized me for being ridgeless. If that Hitler bloke was wrong for doing such a thing, why weren't they?

My ears perked suddenly as I heard the door twitch. I trotted over to the entrance hall, rather quietly so as not to wake Neville. The doorknob turned, and in came Truman, but instead of his usual content expression, he looked just as concerned as the man on the radio sounded. I cocked my head in curiosity.

"Ah, morning, Yama," he breathed, hanging up his jacket and reaching down to scratch me. "You too, Neville." A single lazy meow came from upstairs.

I wanted to ask Truman everything, what was wrong, why the radio human was so nervous, what Neville was riled up about, and why everyone looked down on me because I didn't have that silly ridge. I whimpered nervously, looking up at my master for answers, for even the slightest bit of understanding.

He only sighed and said, "Ah, don't worry, Yama! I leave every Sunday morning for church. I always come back, I promise. I'm here now, aren't I?"

He didn't understand. He loved me, and I supposed I was growing to love him, too, yet he didn't understand. I had never met anyone that really did, not even my own mum, not Rain or Aranola or Max. I wondered at that moment if there were any other ridgeless Ridgebacks out there, and what they thought of the whole predicament. If they did exist, where were they?

Later that day, Truman took me out for a walk. A collar was slipped around my neck and a leash attached to that, and for the first time my paws met the hard, cold concrete of London. So different it was from the grassy Chilterns, which flattened beneath my paws so that my tracks were left everywhere I walked. Here, the ground was boss.

I never went out for walks with John; he simply let my and my mum and siblings outside to relieve ourselves and play. Because of this, I felt uncomfortable in the leash and collar at first. I kept itching and scratching at my neck, trying to force the tight thing off, or to loosen a bit at the least. But after simply walking down the hard streets, taking in the infinite smells of the city, I could barely feel the pressure anymore.

It was a sunny day, windy, but nice all the same. The wind rustled my short fur as I walked, being sure to stay close to Truman. The farther we went into London, the more humans began to appear, walking in and out of buildings, talking with friends and family, and even walking their own dogs, some of which barked a hearty "hello", while others gave me a strange look when they saw my back. I had never been around so many creatures in my entire short life; part of me liked the rush, but I also felt a little nervous, understandably.

We rounded a corner and came across a large gathering of humans, many of whom had dogs on leashes similar to mine. They looked excited and awestruck, but why?

Truman must've been wondering the same thing, for he stopped suddenly, pushing through the crowd to see what the excitement was all about. We came to the front of the gathering, where on a store window a poster sat, one full of dogs performing all sorts of tricks with their masters. Each one looked perfect, with shining fur and glimmering eyes. Show dogs, I knew almost immediately. They looked almost as gorgeous as—