Chapter one
The December morning sun rose slowly over the town, lighting the tops of the buildings while bathing them in the morning soft yellow light. Traffic began to increase, the start of another busy weekend. Steam rising from the sewer grates huddled close to the ground as passing cars caused it to swirl and then settle down again. The plumes of exhaust from the home and factory chimneys were making their way up through the air slowly. After only a few meters, they were bending as if there was an invisible force blocking them from traveling further through the crisp morning air.
The sun was high enough now to shine into an alley releasing it from darkness. A winter thaw had brought heavy rain that flooded the delivery area the previous day. The rains melted most of the snow leaving slush behind. Now with the temperature dropping once again the footprints and the delivery truck tires that had tracked through the slush left sharp edges, some razor sharp. Snow had slid from the steel roof off the into the buildings rain gutters plugging the downspout. As the temperature dropped, the freezing ice snapped as it contracted. The snapping ice opened a pair of brown eyes that were in hiding below.
The heavy slush became too much; the gutter spikes were pried away, separating the gutter from the building's face board. A section came crashing down; the ice hit the asphalt sending exploding bits of ice shrapnel throughout the yard. The remaining gutter dangled, began to bend its contents emptied down on an overfilled dumpster below. A dog yelped, as the cereal box that he had been sleeping in was repeatedly hit with the falling ice and filth. After the last of it had hit the box, a dog came out of hiding. He limped from under his crushed corrugated shelter, soaked and shaken.
The dog was a Border Collie; his name was Billy. He was about five years old 21 inches high at the shoulders a black face with a white line running between his copper coloured eyes. Black covered his back and a white underbelly that continued down his four legs. His front legs were covered in black spots as if mother nature in her humour was cleaning a paint brush as he happened by. The loyal friend to an old farmer that had raised and trained him from a pup was now on his own. His former shiny well-groomed coat was now dull. The white coat around his neck once a brilliant white was matted and caked with blood. He was covered in burdock’s and hitchhikers. His tail a matted mess of burdock filled hair. Billy had no street sense; he was out of his element, lost and for days fending for himself was looking for his home.
The dog shook the frozen leaves, ice, and gutter filth from his coat. He turned and looked at the crushed cornflake box that was once his bed, he shook again. He stretched painfully, sniffed the air; his eyes squinted, his senses taking in the smells of his surroundings. Instinct told him the direction he needed to travel, southeast, but the collie had no concept of time or distance. Time with its minutes, hours, and days, it all eluded him. A dog lives in the moment, on this day, this hour, this moment he was wet again, cold, in pain and very hungry. He knew it was morning and his friend must be somewhere ahead. Billy's compass was telling him his home was southwest. How far he didn't know, he only was aware it was now morning, and it was time to begin another day, a day of searching for his master and home.
The pads of his feet had been cut by the frozen slush running from a pack of dogs he had encountered during his search for scraps the previous night. A half-eaten chicken snack that had been tossed in front of him by a passing car was on the menu.
The attack came swift and sudden. Billy was concentrating only on gaining access to the take-out box that smelt so delicious. He did, however, feel the weight of the Shepherd that struck first, the tackle put him on his side. He was aware of the teeth that began ripping into him. His pleas for help were that of yelps and whines.
The smaller of the three dogs, a Pitbull mix began tearing at his side desperately wanting the collies throat. A female lab was in front of him, She had not taken part in the attack but was staring intently at Billy's meal. She began barking at him and in reaction to the of the other two dogs attack. She darted in, took the box of chicken first chance she got and slinked away with it. Seeing this, the shepherd broke off the attack in pursuit of the treasured morsel. The Pitbull stayed behind. He was streetwise, wiry thin and grey. He and his small pack had claimed the street for their own. This unwelcome intruder needed to be taught a lesson to respect territory without an invitation. The gray was content and very willing to give up the meal for this bit of pleasure. The old gray began closing his jaws cutting off his victim's windpipe.
A car horn sounded, the sudden noise startled the attacker and he released his death grip he had on the collie. The car came to a sliding stop in just front of the two dogs. The pit called off his attack as two teenage males opened their doors charging out of the car shouting and waving their arms at the Pitbull to get.
“Get, scram,” the boys yelled.
The gray backed off reluctantly, ran a few feet, then turned in defiance. He sized them up and sensed their fear. He began once again to edge closer to the Collie; the dog was his. He began growling, willing to stand his ground. He bared his teeth at the teens as they slowly backed up at his advance. The gray stepped more boldly towards the teens, regaining his territory. The driver of the car jumped out to join his friends. He picked up a chunk of frozen snow hitting the Pitbull on the side of the head. The dog shook his head and backed away slowly growling. He stood looking at them for a moment. With the driver now taking charge, the fear in the human pack had left. Now out-numbered he backed off growled barked then turned slowly, darted off in retreat in the same direction as the other two dogs.
Billy was dazed from the attack. He had regained his footing quickly during the boys intervention. Pain rushed in his neck and side; he shook himself off. He looked around gaining his bearing. He ignored the calls from the teens to come to them. The ice was like razors that cut into the cold and tender pads of Billy's feet. The road salt was stinging them, his side and neck throbbing his white undercoat now beginning to show red as his wound's blood began to leach blood throughout his white undercoat. He dashed toward an alley across the busy street missing the front wheel of a delivery truck. He raced behind the store and found a hiding spot and took refuge in a large corrugated box, laid down inside and began soothing his wounds licking them. Stopping from time to time when he would hear a horn or a sudden noise that startled him. He curled in a ball resting his head on packing material that had been tossed in the discarded carton.
He needed sleep now, water and food would have to wait till the day was once again light. Exhausted the collie's eyes began closing slowly and fell into a pitiful troubled sleep. He was not dreaming of chasing rabbits or running from crazed dogs, but of his warm bed by the old cook stove, and the man they called old Tom.
The December morning sun rose slowly over the town, lighting the tops of the buildings while bathing them in the morning soft yellow light. Traffic began to increase, the start of another busy weekend. Steam rising from the sewer grates huddled close to the ground as passing cars caused it to swirl and then settle down again. The plumes of exhaust from the home and factory chimneys were making their way up through the air slowly. After only a few meters, they were bending as if there was an invisible force blocking them from traveling further through the crisp morning air.
The sun was high enough now to shine into an alley releasing it from darkness. A winter thaw had brought heavy rain that flooded the delivery area the previous day. The rains melted most of the snow leaving slush behind. Now with the temperature dropping once again the footprints and the delivery truck tires that had tracked through the slush left sharp edges, some razor sharp. Snow had slid from the steel roof off the into the buildings rain gutters plugging the downspout. As the temperature dropped, the freezing ice snapped as it contracted. The snapping ice opened a pair of brown eyes that were in hiding below.
The heavy slush became too much; the gutter spikes were pried away, separating the gutter from the building's face board. A section came crashing down; the ice hit the asphalt sending exploding bits of ice shrapnel throughout the yard. The remaining gutter dangled, began to bend its contents emptied down on an overfilled dumpster below. A dog yelped, as the cereal box that he had been sleeping in was repeatedly hit with the falling ice and filth. After the last of it had hit the box, a dog came out of hiding. He limped from under his crushed corrugated shelter, soaked and shaken.
The dog was a Border Collie; his name was Billy. He was about five years old 21 inches high at the shoulders a black face with a white line running between his copper coloured eyes. Black covered his back and a white underbelly that continued down his four legs. His front legs were covered in black spots as if mother nature in her humour was cleaning a paint brush as he happened by. The loyal friend to an old farmer that had raised and trained him from a pup was now on his own. His former shiny well-groomed coat was now dull. The white coat around his neck once a brilliant white was matted and caked with blood. He was covered in burdock’s and hitchhikers. His tail a matted mess of burdock filled hair. Billy had no street sense; he was out of his element, lost and for days fending for himself was looking for his home.
The dog shook the frozen leaves, ice, and gutter filth from his coat. He turned and looked at the crushed cornflake box that was once his bed, he shook again. He stretched painfully, sniffed the air; his eyes squinted, his senses taking in the smells of his surroundings. Instinct told him the direction he needed to travel, southeast, but the collie had no concept of time or distance. Time with its minutes, hours, and days, it all eluded him. A dog lives in the moment, on this day, this hour, this moment he was wet again, cold, in pain and very hungry. He knew it was morning and his friend must be somewhere ahead. Billy's compass was telling him his home was southwest. How far he didn't know, he only was aware it was now morning, and it was time to begin another day, a day of searching for his master and home.
The pads of his feet had been cut by the frozen slush running from a pack of dogs he had encountered during his search for scraps the previous night. A half-eaten chicken snack that had been tossed in front of him by a passing car was on the menu.
The attack came swift and sudden. Billy was concentrating only on gaining access to the take-out box that smelt so delicious. He did, however, feel the weight of the Shepherd that struck first, the tackle put him on his side. He was aware of the teeth that began ripping into him. His pleas for help were that of yelps and whines.
The smaller of the three dogs, a Pitbull mix began tearing at his side desperately wanting the collies throat. A female lab was in front of him, She had not taken part in the attack but was staring intently at Billy's meal. She began barking at him and in reaction to the of the other two dogs attack. She darted in, took the box of chicken first chance she got and slinked away with it. Seeing this, the shepherd broke off the attack in pursuit of the treasured morsel. The Pitbull stayed behind. He was streetwise, wiry thin and grey. He and his small pack had claimed the street for their own. This unwelcome intruder needed to be taught a lesson to respect territory without an invitation. The gray was content and very willing to give up the meal for this bit of pleasure. The old gray began closing his jaws cutting off his victim's windpipe.
A car horn sounded, the sudden noise startled the attacker and he released his death grip he had on the collie. The car came to a sliding stop in just front of the two dogs. The pit called off his attack as two teenage males opened their doors charging out of the car shouting and waving their arms at the Pitbull to get.
“Get, scram,” the boys yelled.
The gray backed off reluctantly, ran a few feet, then turned in defiance. He sized them up and sensed their fear. He began once again to edge closer to the Collie; the dog was his. He began growling, willing to stand his ground. He bared his teeth at the teens as they slowly backed up at his advance. The gray stepped more boldly towards the teens, regaining his territory. The driver of the car jumped out to join his friends. He picked up a chunk of frozen snow hitting the Pitbull on the side of the head. The dog shook his head and backed away slowly growling. He stood looking at them for a moment. With the driver now taking charge, the fear in the human pack had left. Now out-numbered he backed off growled barked then turned slowly, darted off in retreat in the same direction as the other two dogs.
Billy was dazed from the attack. He had regained his footing quickly during the boys intervention. Pain rushed in his neck and side; he shook himself off. He looked around gaining his bearing. He ignored the calls from the teens to come to them. The ice was like razors that cut into the cold and tender pads of Billy's feet. The road salt was stinging them, his side and neck throbbing his white undercoat now beginning to show red as his wound's blood began to leach blood throughout his white undercoat. He dashed toward an alley across the busy street missing the front wheel of a delivery truck. He raced behind the store and found a hiding spot and took refuge in a large corrugated box, laid down inside and began soothing his wounds licking them. Stopping from time to time when he would hear a horn or a sudden noise that startled him. He curled in a ball resting his head on packing material that had been tossed in the discarded carton.
He needed sleep now, water and food would have to wait till the day was once again light. Exhausted the collie's eyes began closing slowly and fell into a pitiful troubled sleep. He was not dreaming of chasing rabbits or running from crazed dogs, but of his warm bed by the old cook stove, and the man they called old Tom.
