Dog days (Orion Michaels)

[Mac]

Fall 12, 513 “Hey, get out! Get back!” The small, pink haired young woman’s voice held a menace that her delicate looks belied, as she tried to shove her boot into the face of the speckled cur. Nehru was growling deep in his throat, his ruff raised in a warning, his legs stiff and tail bent high over his back. MacMac was well aware what all those signals portended, and she wasn’t trying to be extra mean to the speckled mutt as she kicked at it viciously. She was trying to save it from one massive pile of hurt, because Nehru was about twice the other dog’s size and he could bring down a deer on his own. He wasn’t a mean dog. But like his owner, he just didn’t take any nonsense off of others of his kind. He was a great guard dog for that very reason, and at the moment he was MacMac’s one and only friend, as they’d just hit the docks of this city no more than a week ago. The pink haired girl wasn’t trying to rescue or protect Nehru. He could sure take care of himself. She just didn’t think it was a great idea for her dog to be ripping the throat out of some city dog, not that he hadn’t been provoked. They’d been minding their business, Nehru walking sedately at her hip, when this stupid mongrel had come flying out from behind a stack of crates, yelping and growling and barking like he was king of the whole darn city. MacMac realized that it was just normal canine territoriality. But honestly, this smaller dog must be insane, or blind! It had already made one lunge at Nehru, and MacMac had told her beast of a hound to stay put. She knew, though, that that was only going to last so long, before Nehru had had just a little too much, and fought back. So she was yelling at the spotted cur, waving her arms almost in its face, risking being bitten herself as it snarled and snapped at her. If it really attacked her, that would definitely be the end. Nehru would be going directly for a kill then. In near desperation, the girl kicked again, this time landing the toe of her heavy boot squarely under the mutt’s chin. It let out a pained yelp, and then a series of high pitched yelps, as if she herself had been skinning it alive. But at least it backed up. MacMac was just going to grab Nehru’s collar and drag him onwards, and away from the little craven hound, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t light, and it wasn’t gentle. In fact, it spun MacMac around, and she came eye to eye, no, eye to belly with a huge, fat, greasy man. She had to look up, way up, to see his face, and it was as ugly as the rest of him was. His face was snarling, like the dog’s had been, and he practically yelled in her face, with his lovely rotted fish and garlic breath, ”Here! What’s this? What you doing kicking my dog, huh girl?” His hand tightened, his sausage fingers gripping hard into her shoulder, and he shook her, like a child. With one hand still holding tightly to Nehru’s collar, MacMac was greatly afraid the dog would now launch himself at this new threat. She could feel him tense and ready to spring. “Stay, boy. Stay!” she almost pleaded, not wanting her dog to get hurt, simply for protecting her. Instead, her free hand went to her boot and in an instant she had out her hunting knife, holding it where the man could easily see it, though not actually acting like she meant to use it. “Let me go!” she demanded, her eyes hard and her face set like stone. “Your dog attacked mine. I was only trying to save its sorry hide. If I hadn’t kicked it, it was going to attack Nehru again. I think you can easily see what the outcome of that would have been! You need to keep your cur tied up, and not let it harass those whose simply want to walk by.” The man had his eyes on the knife, but he didn’t let her go. He said in a low growl, “Think I’m afraid of you, little girl? You and your little knife, and your big, stupid dog?” He looked like he was going to raise his beefy hand and strike Nehru in the chops. “No!” MacMac yelled, this time seriously pointing the knife at the guy. “Don’t! He’ll attack you, you....!” The term she used to describe the man was highly colorful, if anatomically impossible.