We Run Because We Can and Because We Are Free

A fictional short story about a dog and his freedom, and the price he pays for it.

I run and I run fast because I am a really fast dog. I run with no care in the world, not caring where I end up or how I get there because I have the sun and my mate and that is all I need. Yes, my mate running at my side and the sun on our backs and the day is just gorgeous, isn't it? Her name is Lollia and my name is Duke. We run, mates as old as time, and we run and we run. She is fast, but not as fast as me because I am a really fast dog.

We run over plush fields of green and run over cracked sheets of asphalt and run because we can and because we are free. We don't wear those thick belts of leather bound around other dogs' necks, claiming them as something owned by people. We don't tug on the ropes that latch to those belts, that connect the dogs to the people and prevent them from running wild like us, us with no boundaries. We are free, Lollia and I, and that is how we shall stay.

Our claws scratch along the rough concrete of the sidewalk as we dodge past the people. We weave in and out, between their legs or around them to avoid their constantly moving feet, always moving and never stopping. Poor people. They are always walking, walking fast and in a hurry as if they have to be somewhere right that minute, and they can't be late. They should stop and see the world sometime. It is beautiful and gorgeous, with millions of colors, and the poor people are too busy, so busy that all they see is grey.

Lollia is barking, and I know that we are close. She is telling them that we are coming, that we are on the way. They love us and we love them, Lollia and I. We turn into the all too familar alley that we call home. It smells like the people's food and smoke. The sharp barks and yips coming from the back of the alley ease our minds. We see them, and there they are. Our two beautiful and gorgeous pups, their tails wagging so hard and so fast because they can't wait to see us and Lollia and I run to them because we have missed them in the few moments we were gone. This is family.

I stand guard, watching over them as they feed. Lollia is such a good mother and she is beautiful and I love her. We met one night many years ago, at a park where other dogs and I raced, where we were free. She had been bound by one of those thick belts, but we freed her and she began racing with us every night. I loved going to the park each night, and not just to race but to watch her race too and she was fast. I loved watching her run. She ran with such grace and her legs took her as far as she wanted to go and they pounded the earth. She beat other dogs she raced with, but the night it was my turn to race with her I won. She was okay with that though, because she had been watching me run too and she knew that I wasn't just a fast dog, but a really fast dog. From that night on, we only ran together and we knew we would run together until we couldn't run anymore.

Our pups feed from Lollia;s swollen teats. They are only a few months old, but not old enough to eat the food Lollia and I can eat. We eat everything and anything we can find, and sometimes we eat the people's food even when they are still around. I have stolen from half-eaten plates and tossed out carry-out bins and it is delicious. The people don't like us eating the same things, but I've always wondered why because if they can eat it and love it, why can't we eat it and love it too?

The largest of the two pups finishes eating and he is ready to explore. The alley is empty except for a dumpster but it is too dangerous for them to explore past the alley alone. He waits for his sister to finish and when she does, we all leave as one to go explore. It is safe this way and Lollia and I can watch over them better. We run across the road, the people yelling at us to get out of the way and their children waving their little hands towards us. Lollia goes over to one, letting the small child run its hand through her shiny black fur. I just watch, our pups beneath me as they watch too.

When she returns, we run again. Run into the park that lies across our home, the park where Lollia and I used to run. We are free here. Lollia and I run with our children and they run with us. They can run with Lollia but they cannot run with me because their small legs can't catch up because I am a really fast dog. We charge through patches of clover and blooms of wildflowers. Lollia and I watch our children run together, chasing after each other and we are proud because they are fast. Our son is faster though, and he has to slow down for his sister to keep up. He is a fast, fast dog.

There is a loud screech and we all look to see a van parked beside the park. It is large and scary and I know that it is bad. I had seen it sometimes during the nights I raced.

Our children huddle beneath our legs as three big men billow from the vehicle. They carry sacks as tall as them and they start towards us. Lollia wags her tail but I bark. These are bad people. Their eyes are too cold and their walk is too stiff and determined. These are not like the children that hold their hands out to us. These are more brutal and dangerous creatures.

We grab our children and run and we run fast because we are fast dogs. I have to slow down so Lollia can keep up. The men run too, but they do not run as one. They split like a flock of pigeons and go their own way. All we do is run, and I know that we are not just running because we can.

One man jumps out from a nearby tree, holding a stick with a round rope at the end. Lollia drops our daughter to bark. She snarls at the large person in fear, trying to keep him away. Our daughter runs to me, but she is not fast enough. I hear her yelp as another man appears, scooping her up and shoving her into his sack. I let go of my son and charge, my lips curled in despair as my sharp white teeth snap. I manage to get my teeth around the man's ankle and I hear him yell. Before he can swipe at me with his own stick, I jump back. I hear another yelp and I spin around to see the third man holding our son by his scruff. He had snuck up from behind while I was distracted. Lollia and I turn away from the other men and race towards him, but we are not fast enough. We watch as our son is dropped into a sack.

We fight then. Our fangs are bared and our tails are bristled as we fight to save our children. Two of the men swing at us with their long sticks, trying to catch us too while the third hurries away towards the van with both sacks. Lollia gives up first, flattening her tail between her legs and crouching behind me. I fight. I snap at the men's legs as they race towards the van, but I am a really fast dog and am on their heels the whole time. The doors to their big and scary vehicle shut me out and as they drive away I snap at their tires. The van is faster, and I cannot keep up.

I return to my mate with a broken heart and we mourn. We sit in the park in that patch of clover anf blooms of wildflowers and wail into the night for our lost children. I know we will never see them again, but I have hope. I have hope for them, and especially for my son, because he is a fast, fast dog.

Author's Note

In the story, the dogs can see like humans. I realize that dogs do not see color in real life, but this is a work of fiction.