Fighting Dog

11

Weeks dragged by. When I wasn't fighting I was training, always, I was tied up in the garden, weights around my neck and other dogs around me. No shelter from the cold, often left without food and water. The other dogs were just out of my reach and I was just out of theirs. We tried many times to get to one another, neither of us were tolerant of the other and we all had the same thought of self survival, I had been pitted a few times and each time I was the better fighter. Tactics were learnt in the pit. I learnt to be the quickest to leave our keepers grasp, for a moment of hesitation or second thought could leave you for dead. Fights ranged from minutes to hours, often both of us were lying weak on the blood stained carpet, pawing each other claiming a scratch, our owners so involved they lay beside us encouraging us. There was one time when one of the Pit Bulls had got the better of me but I refused to give up, my back legs were ripped open, my eye had been clawed with so much force that it squelched in it's socket, then as I struggled against my opponents barbaric grasp the oddest thing happened. The dog released me, and ran back to its owner jumping out the pit, declaring me the winner, everyone watched confused at the dogs strange choice of fleeing. The punishment for him was a severe beating, I later heard from his owner that he lost a later fight against a new fighter, who was a much smaller build, and the result, he had been given to his owners other dog as bait. Word went around the dog fighting sport about me. My given name now 'Solja Boi' becoming a phenomenon among the fighters, my muscles worked and toned more than they had ever been before in Tom's hands. Pictures of me were placed in the fighters underground booklets like The Pitt Journal, and Your Champion Dog, my stats were printed below, with stud fees. At one of my fights I had won in minutes. The dog I was pit against refused to fight, but after two turns it took up the courage and fought like the rest of us, blood splattered across the ply boards and the scratch line that had been made was almost indistinguishable against the amount of blood, I had got my jaws nearly around the dogs entire neck, and as it struggled ruefully with its legs I tensed my jaw gave a firm pull and ripped the jugular. People cheered as the dog below me stopped, I was declared winner, now a Grand champion, unbeaten for five consecutive games. The ref, a small smelly boy who looked no older than twelve spoke up as onlookers squabbled with each other over bets they had placed.

'I announce this dog Solja Boi as a Grand champion. Undefeated for five games straight. Well done to his owner Sam for training such a Grand dog.' People whistled, cheered and screamed as Sam put me on a lead, then Tom stormed through the crowd shouting, appearing in the ring by the ref.

'This is a hoax!' He roared 'That man,' He pointed to Sam, his face blushing with anger. 'Has a bred champion, that dog belonged to me!'

People looked at Tom as though he was stupid, muttering among themselves as he continued. 'That is the puppy of an Ace.' He pointed at me. 'His father is Ace Jack, though the lot of you seem to young to have any idea what an Ace champion is.'

Someone shouted out from the watchers, out of sight but loud enough to hear, 'Ace Jack, YEAH!'

Many spectators looked confused at each other, as though they had just heard a mad man talk.

Tom rolled his eyes. 'Ace Jack has won fifteen consecutive games, he was a Grand when this pup was born, This dog was a runt!'

Sam shouted over Tom 'My dog is a Champion, anyone who wants to prove otherwise, arrange a fight with me.' He narrowed his stare at Tom and stalked away, I followed behind him, the crowd separating to let us through. They lingered for the next dogs to fight, I caught a glimpse of one of the opponents, a large sturdy American Bulldog, people were crazed with excitement talking of the two fighters being unevenly matched. As we exited the building a woman in leather was taking in the second opponent, a Rottweiler, short and stocky. Stiff with anticipation, Sam hesitated as he watched them disappear inside, shook his head and spat on the floor taking me back to the abandoned house where I lived. To be chained up with untreated wounds.