Alphabet Soup

Beholden

Beholden

        The chicken coop had been raided last night about an hour before dawn; Hank and his master had been rudely awakened by the cries of the terrified birds as a fox made its entrance. The cunning creature had managed to slip through a small hole in the back of the coop that the farmer had been planning to fix that day; stealing away with one chicken in its stomach and another in its jaws as the pair rushed out to see what the commotion was. The farmer fired at it with the rifle that he had snatched from next to his bed only to miss the fox as it ran off into the tall prairie grass for cover.

        Barely able to see past his nose since the sun hadn’t risen yet, the farmer was forced to rely on his dog to track the critter down, but he wasn’t worried. Hank, a mix between a beagle and something the farmer couldn’t quite put his finger on, was a faithful dog. He always obeyed orders and had been the eternally diligent guard of the chickens every day for the last five years. The farmer had owned the dog ever since he had found it as a lonely, half-starved puppy on one of his countless trips to the market. When the farmer sent his faithful companion to track down the thief, he was confident that he would be able to make a fresh fox fur cap soon.

        After taking a moment to inhale the fox’s scent and commit it to memory, Hank set off on its trail. He quickly disappeared into the vast sea of knee high grass, paying little attention to the rodents that squeaked in terror and scattered as he plowed through their homes. The faint scent of blood that tainted the fox’s odor infuriated Hank. How dare this little criminal steal from his master? Hank barked furiously after the murderer, challenging it to stop and face him like a real canine. Being shot would serve this thief right, but that wasn’t enough for Hank. No, the perpetrator had to suffer properly for having the nerve to steal from his owner. He would kill his enemy himself if he got the chance.

        Hank’s paws began to ache as the chase dragged on. He usually had plenty of stamina to spare, but the hound was particularly tired this morning. Not only had he fallen hours short of a good nights rest thanks to both this fox and a handful of fleas that had apparently decided to throw a party on his back in the middle of the night, but he hadn’t even had the time to eat his morning kibble before starting the hunt. Hank’s legs began to throb, but he pushed himself to keep going. He refused to disappoint his loving master even if it made him sore for the rest of the week. Besides, he was so close to the fox now that he was sure he had her.

        Hank came to an abrupt halt as he nearly crashed right into the fox. She had come to a stop and had dropped her kill a few feet away from her as she tried to catch her breath. Hank lunged at her, snarling as he bared his slightly yellow teeth at the vixen. The fox, winded as she was, still proved to be a vicious fighter. She narrowly evaded Hank’s jaws before sinking her own into one of Hank’s front legs. Hank let out a high pitched whine of pain before tearing the creature off of his now throbbing limb. The fox quickly wriggled out of his grasp. She began using less risky tactics, darting in to ip her adversary before jumping out of harms way, doing much more damage than she received. 

        Despite the wily fox’s best effort, Hank still managed to turn the tide of the fight. Not only was he much more muscular than his vicious opponent, but the vixen’s movements quickly began to slow down, leaving plenty of openings for Hank to strike. Bruised, battered and bleeding from several nasty wounds, the fox decided that this was a fight she could not win Once again, she would have to rely on her wits to get out of this mess. 

        The fox cried out as Hank briefly paused to catch his breath. “Have you no mercy? You have a master who feeds you so that you never have to go hungry, but I must hunt for myself and for the kits I am carrying. Please, I beg you, spare my life and I will leave your farmer’s chickens alone.”

        Hank, poised to attack the vixen once more, took a moment to examine his opponent. It was clear that he cold beat her; not only was she exhausted, but the multitude of bloody marks surrounded by torn fur were bound to be taking their toll. Yet Hank hesitated. The fox’s belly truly was swollen. It looked like she would give birth within the week. The last thing his master needed was for more foxes to raid his chicken coop; he was poor enough as it was. Yet Hank couldn’t bear to deliver the killing blow himself. 

        Memories of nights tormented by an empty belly and by the heartbreaking sight of his emaciated mother and siblings paralyzed him. He had watched his own mother resort to theft herself in order to provide for her precious pups. He couldn’t blame the vixen for trying to provide for her soon to be born offspring. Just the thought of his own little sister, little more than a tiny skeleton with bones as skinny and fragile as toothpicks when she died, almost made Hank let the fox go. But he couldn’t. He owed his master for all of the cozy nights spent with a stomach full of kibble, a roof over his head, and a hand gently scratching him behind the ears as he rested his head in his savior’s lap.  

        Hank allowed his muscles to relax. The best he could do with a clean conscience was to give this vixen a head start. “Run,” Hank barked. The vixen fled into the grass without the other chicken she had killed, stealing glances behind her to make sure the hound wasn’t following the bloody trail she left behind. Once the fox was out of sight, Hank bent his head back towards the slowly brightening sky and howled for his master.

        Later that morning, the farmer returned home with Hank limping by his side. The man patted the exhausted dog on the head with one hand and held the body of the fox in the other. She had been quite a sneaky little rascal, but good old Hank had pulled through once again. “Nice work, champ,” he said as he carried his prize into his house. Hank licked his master’s hand.