Buddy (A dog's view of the ZPAW)

[Regular Guy]

Am I the only one thinking this would be an awesome short film? Wow, DM, this is great.

[eatatjoz]

As far as the critter interaction is concerned, I just rolled through it and pretty much defined it in my mind as an interpretation of tail wags and the communications that are normally offered by different animals. No problems at all. I didn't give it a second thought.
Keep it up. It's good stuff.

[gtflash]

Tagged, Great story by the way.

[Mister Dark]

Wow. Just, wow.


Keep doing what you are doing, I am loving this story!

[AeroRat]

Thanks for the replies, folks. I'm seeing the view count tick up, but not hearing much back. I'm a complete sucker for feedback - - let me know what you think of the story!

You have my attention. I'll be here until you quit.

And as has been said...wouldn't worry about the view-count vs. replies. Keep at it long enough and people get talkative. But you've probably noticed that by now.

[by-the-throat]

I have been more and more impressed with your work in the fiction section of this forum, DM.

Your stories are lucid and they flow well from point to point. In this story in particular you are doing a great job dealing with the overflow of olfactory input, something I think gets pushed to the side when people write from perspectives that are not human. I'd keep a thesaurus dog-eared to 'smell' 'odor' 'miasma' et al by the table if I were you.

Tagged for more. Can't wait!

(Also, there may be fiction forum riots if the dog gets ol' yellered. I'm just saying.)

[DannusMaximus]

A large group of the sick/dead things was clustered in the road directly ahead of Buddy. Since the humans left Buddy had only rare interactions with the sick/dead things. There was the incident at the fence (Buddy could still recall the horrid taste of the things hand), and several other times one of the things had wandered up to the windows or doors of the house, bumping into the glass, scraping along the brick and wood as if searching for something just out of reach. Always before Buddy had sensed the creatures were oblivious to his presence - - but something about this group was different. They smelled different. They were ACTING different, staring directly at the small dog instead of ignoring him, and had stopped their aimless movement as if to better focus on the object which had gotten their attention.

Buddy had been so focused on following the trace scents of his humans that he had simply not noticed the subtle change in the odor the creatures were giving off. There was still The Sickness odor, but there was something else now as well. Several years ago, when Buddy was still a puppy, a rabid, dying raccoon had crawled over the fence in the Martin’s backyard. Thick ropes of saliva hung from the mouth of the filthy animal, its eyes were glassy with madness and fever. The smell coming from the animal was horrifying, a miasma of disease and hunger, a desperate need for food, an odor of horrible infection and certain death. Buddy had been terrified, crouching against the back door and whimpering until finally The Man had come out to see what was the matter. Men in coveralls and a blue van had come and taken the dying animal away, but the smell lingered for weeks in the corner of the yard where it had sat. Buddy could smell the same mad starvation on the sick/dead things now, and he sensed on a very basic level that it wasn’t just cats and humans the things were interested in eating anymore.

Buddy began to back slowly away from the group, baring his teeth. A deep growl had boiled up from the small dog and his head was low, large ears slicked back, pupils dilated but eyes drawn to a slit. A human or other animal would have immediately noticed the dangerous change in Buddy - - this was a dog getting ready to fight for its life. If the sick/dead things noticed the posturing they paid it no attention. First one, then another began to slump towards the dog, arms raised towards him, faces working into a feral snarl of their own. Sounds were coming from the sick/dead things now, a low pitched groan that Buddy had never heard before. He continued to back away, beginning to look around now for an escape route. He was only a few blocks from his house, but nothing looked familiar to him. Buddy suddenly noticed that more of the things had come in behind him while he had been focused on the group ahead. He spun, snarling, to confront the figures to his rear when without further warning both masses suddenly surged forward

[majorhavoc]

Run, Lassie, run!

[leadpulaski]

When I started reading this, i will admit, I was skeptical and didn't think I would like it. I really did not like the premise and I may have rolled my eyes . For the first two chapters the only reason I kept reading was because your writing was very good. Now I am very glad I kept reading, this story is turning out great!

The part about dogs being tear sponges for their people was very insightful and gave the dog a lot more character as far as I am concerned. I thought the limited character of a dog would be a hindrance to your story but you are doing a great job developing him.

Keep up the good work

[MVegas]

This is really good Dan. Seriously.

[Regular Guy]

Where's a Damn student film maker who needs a senior project.

[DannusMaximus]

Buddy sprinted between the legs of the closest of the figures, darting around another and bouncing off the legs of a third, abruptly changing directions back towards the first, larger group. The shambling things were not quick, but they weren’t slow, either, although their lack of coordination cancelled out any advantage their moderate speed might have given them. The things milled about attempting to change direction and follow the dog. Many of them fell while doing so, setting off a chain reaction of stumbling, lunging figures that tumbled into one another and onto the pavement. The dog was a dingy gray blur zig-zagging between the collapsing creatures, and he was using his small stature to its fullest advantage, bounding between the legs of the upright things then rapidly springing towards the next opening. Now, however, there were nearly as many of the sick/dead things on the ground as there were upright, the downed figures also crawling towards the dog, grasping.

Buddy was running out of space as the figures closed in, and the escape openings were becoming less and less frequent. He was also running out of energy, his sides were heaving and his legs were shaking from the life or death game of tag he had been engaged in for the last several minutes. Buddy had run into a nearby yard and was backed onto a small front porch facing the street. A mass of crawling, lurching figures was in pursuit, with more visible in the street and side yard of the house. Looking desperately, he finally spotted an opening between two of the things. Just behind them was a car that had jackknifed over a curb. There was open space beyond the car, a clear path that would take him out of the danger zone and hopefully into cover. He bunched his rear legs under him, muscles screaming with fatigue, readying himself for one final sprint. Buddy’s tracking ability had been pushed into overdrive, but there were so many of the things in pursuit that he didn’t notice one of the crawling figures had slithered into the overgrown shrubs which bordered the sides of the porch. A filthy, gore streaked hand suddenly reached through the vegetation and grabbed his tail.

Buddy spun in a fury, snarling and bending himself in a ‘U’ shape to try and break the things grasp, pulling ferociously in a lethal game of tug o' war. The sudden pull and the slimy texture of the things flesh caused the furry appendage to slip nearly free, but the sick/dead thing still had a thumb and one finger wrapped around the base of Buddy’s tail. Panicked and sensing that the other creatures were nearly upon him, Buddy sank his teeth into the things thumb and bit down as hard as he could. He could hear and feel the bones and tendons snap, the rotting flesh peeling away. A similar injury in a human would have resulted in a yelp of pain and a rapid withdraw of the offending digits, but the creature merely stared at Buddy with flat, clouded eyes, mouth twisted into a hungry grimace. Luckily the damage he had inflicted made it physically impossible for the creature to maintain it’s grasp, and with one final desperate tug he was free, darting under one of the things hands as it lunged towards him on the porch, sprinting for the gap near the car.

[DannusMaximus]

Within seconds, Buddy had crossed the yard and slid underneath the car, dashing around the few remaining creatures which had managed to turn around in time to confront him. They crashed to the ground as Buddy raced away, the wind whipping by him washing away the smell of their rage and hunger. For long minutes Buddy ran nearly mindlessly, easily outpacing the large group and outmaneuvering the small clusters or individual sick/dead things he came across. He ran down deserted streets, past wrecked cars and smoldering houses, past piles of bodies, navigating alleys and sidewalks choked with debris. He leaped onto and over a sandbagged checkpoint which was surrounded by dead soldiers and dead creatures, piles of empty shell casings and shattered entrenching tools a mute testament to the desperate last stand held there many weeks ago. He ran until his lungs and legs burned like fire and finally could run no farther, collapsing into a heap under an overgrown hedge which bordered a deserted city park.

Buddy was quaking with exertion and adrenaline aftershock. He laid there in the cool mud under the shrubs, alternately gasping for air and vomiting from fatigue and nausea. The taste of the sick/dead things finger coated his tongue and mouth with an oily, horrible film. He crawled out from his cover and slunk towards a large puddle located underneath one of the swings on a nearby swingset. Buddy gulped huge mouthfuls of the cold, muddy water, vomited again, then drank more. The taste in his mouth was at least tolerable now, and he crawled back to the hedge, head pivoting in all directions. Several of the sick/dead things were wandering through the park but Buddy could sense that they weren’t aware of his presence. He was safe for the moment, but he couldn’t stay here. Night was beginning to fall and a chill breeze had begun to blow. His spiky fur was thin and short, and he had expended a tremendous amount of energy over the long day - - without better shelter there was a very good chance he would die of exposure

Buddy only had average vision for a dog, and even though canine night vision was optimized for dusk and dawn he was beginning to have trouble discerning movement and objects in the growing dark. Dark clouds skidded across the darkening sky, adding to the gloom. Buddy peered intently into the twilight, his ears forward, nose working. He smelled…something. Shelter perhaps. A dry spot, out of the way. A good place to hide. He began creeping towards the smell, stopping frequently to listen and test the air with his nose, padding as quietly as possible across the grass, leaves, and litter which surfaced the park.

He followed the scent to a culvert which ran underneath a dead-end residential street a few blocks from the park. The culvert was overgrown with weeds, blocked at one end with a rebar grate, and partially blocked at the other with sandbags. Buddy peered inside, pupils wide, piercing the shadows. Despite the recent rains the culvert was dry. A man was also inside the culvert, but Buddy could smell that he had been dead for some time. Buddy worked his way around the sandbags and quietly made his way to the still figure. The man was slumped against the side of the culvert, lying on one blanket and wrapped in another. Buddy could still smell the sadness and fear coming from the man. There was a horrible wound on the man’s arm (a bite mark, although Buddy couldn’t know that) which still smelled of The Sickness, but that rank odor was not overwhelming. A revolver was clasped loosely in one of the man’s dead hands, the last shot it had fired still lodged in the man’s brain. In his other hand was clutched a picture of a boy dressed in a little league uniform, the man smiling next to him, summer sunshine illuminating wide grins on both their faces. A smiling woman stood behind the two, holding a trophy triumphantly so the photographer would not miss it. The child was not much older than The Little Girl.

Buddy could make no sense of any of these items. He dug his nose into the blanket, wadding it up and turning in circles in the peculiar manner of dogs. After circling several times he laid down against the dead man, finding some small comfort in the human smell still lingering on him. Scant minutes later Buddy fell asleep. His large ears continued to twitch and pivot in an unconscious search for danger, his nose flared from time to time as a slight breeze brought new odors into his shelter. An occasional whimper emanated from the sleeping dog, but the sick/dead things which stood silently nearby were oblivious to the small, exhausted canine. As the night chill deepened frost began to form on the slowly swaying figures, rimming their slack faces with a glittering dust. Silence reigned in the dead streets.

[SimonZayne]

Great story man, keep up the good work.

[Snapshot7.62]

I just had a chance to read this and i'm enjoying the story a lot. I not only like the fact that it told from the dog's perspective(the "conversations" between animals was well done IMO) but that the dog itself a smaller dog, not the bad-ass type of dog usually to be found in ZPAW/PAW settings. (German Shepard, Rottweiler, Doberman, etc.)

Looking forward to more!

[Mister Dark]

... As the night chill deepened frost began to form on the slowly swaying forms, rimming their slack faces with a glittering dust. Silence reigned in the dead streets.

Wow. That is some powerful imagery. Keep it coming, dude. Love it.

[Hammer31]

Just stumbled onto this. Great story and wonderful characterization!

[nathat]

Really enjoying the story. Keep it up man! Still not decided on the talking but I can overlook it for the jewel that this story is. Simple communication of anger, sadness, etc. I can understand. Dog to dog I could tolerate it more as in if a dog saw a cat get eaten (big tough dog/military mentality maybe) and explained the problems. Cross species I just haven't decided yet. With that said, I will continue to read and am enjoying this very much. I also think you have the personalities of the animals down! Don't let me discourage you at all because I'm nitpicking, and it is personal preference.

P.S...I like singing and dancing animals. Just hard in a PAW situation to tie my brain around it.

[DannusMaximus]

Buddy awoke just as the sun was creeping over the horizon. He stretched and shook, muscles and joints aching from the past days activity and the long, cold night. He was hungry and dehydrated but otherwise undamaged. Buddy sniffed the morning air and listened for sounds of the sick/dead things, but the only signs he heard or smelled seemed far away. Cautiously, he crept from the culvert and into the morning light.

It took several long seconds for his eyes to adjust to the relative brightness outside the drainage pipe. Satisfied that he was in no immediate danger he began to backtrack along his trail from the night before. The cold morning air dampened the smells of decaying bodies and garbage which hung over the city, allowing him a clearer scent picture. The cold air also meant sounds traveled farther - - at the highest pitches of his hearing his auditory range had nearly doubled and even lower pitched sounds were sharper and more distinct. After a few minutes of walking he was back to the park. Staying low in the tall grass he made his way across the formerly busy playgrounds, ducking under swings and teeter-totters and stopping occasionally to search for scraps beneath the picnic tables and near garbage cans. He fussed for a minute with a stuffed turtle that had been abandoned in a sandbox by its former owner, batting it around half-heartedly before continuing on towards the hedge line. Squirrels chattered around him, busily gathering food for the upcoming winter. Against his better judgment he asked one of the rodents if she had seen any humans nearby.

I’m collecting food! The squirrel offered brightly.

Goodbye, squirrel.

It took nearly an hour for Buddy to find his way back to the spot where the swarm of sick/dead things had cornered him the day before. He was moving more cautiously now, no longer simply walking down the middle of the street. Any sudden noise or movement caused him to freeze, statue-like except for the frantic twitching of his ears and nose. The sick/dead things had moved on from the scene of the confrontation, and after a bit of searching Buddy was able to reacquire the faint scent of his humans on the cold asphalt and began following it again.

Buddy spent the rest of the morning tracking. The scent was thin, nearly nonexistent in places. More than once Buddy had lost it altogether and had been forced to retrace his steps until he could find it again. The day was growing warmer and it seemed to make the sick/dead things more active. Buddy was constantly hiding under cars or shrubs waiting for them to pass an area, and several times one of them had attempted to chase the dog down, shuffling awkwardly after him. At one point Buddy actually caught the scent of humans, even though he never actually saw or heard them. The smells were faint, reeking with fear and starvation. The humans were hiding in their house. Buddy stopped briefly in front of the house - - the urge to try and find the humans was nearly overpowering. A very primitive part of his canine brain sensed that these humans might be as dangerous to him now as the sick/dead things, however, so he passed by instead, hackles raised, a feeling of being watched creeping over his subconscious mind.

As midday approached the empty gnawing in Buddy’s stomach had become too severe to ignore so he broke away from the road he had been following towards a human food smell. His nose led him to a looted grocery store. Buddy gingerly stepped over the shattered plate glass and walked through the aisles. There were a number of dead humans in the store, but none of the sick/dead things. The freezer cases full of rotten food were dark and silent and rats and mice skittered along the mostly empty shelves. Buddy found a half-empty box of cereal and ate it, then made short work of a package of donuts which had tumbled into the walkway and split open. He pulled a package of hot dogs from an open shelf and tore open the plastic, greedily downing half the contents before finally stopping, head swimming from the sudden influx of rich food. Save for the sound of the rodents the store was quiet. Stomach full, Buddy stretched out in the weak sunlight coming through the shattered store windows and dozed off.

[by-the-throat]

Hope they weren't chocolate donuts.

Good update.

On a side note, given the way your last story ended I expected Buddy to freeze to death in that damn culvert already.

[Fenris]

Tagged for MOAR!

[DannusMaximus]

Buddy awoke after his brief nap and spent the remainder of the day continuing to track. Even if a human would have possessed the olfactory ability to attempt such a task, most would have quickly talked themselves out of such a mad and likely hopeless pursuit or eventually abandoned it to frustration and monotony. The thought of stopping never crossed Buddy’s mind. He approached the task with a sense of purpose and determination that only canines seemed to possess. Buddy’s entire world had narrowed to the faint scent trail and he continued with single minded focus, stopping and starting, hiding or running from the sick/dead things, slinking past, over, or under obstructions, weaving and circling back and forth to catch the merest slip of odor.

The sun was beginning to set when Buddy caught a different scent, one which forced his attention away from the task at hand. He had smelled and heard dozens of dogs since he began his journey the day before. Most were dying, slowly wasting away from starvation and dehydration, trapped in their houses or kennels or backyards when their humans had died or left. This was the smell of another dog, but one that was outside like him and close by. Another dog nearby might mean food or water or a safe place to stay for the night. He stopped for a few seconds to isolate the direction of the odor, then unhesitatingly moved off the road and towards the smell.

Nose to the ground, he ducked around several wrecked vehicles and passed a police cruiser which had flipped over on its side. A long smear of human blood was clotted across the outside door and trailed away from the patrol car and away from the road, the ripe scent of the blood mixing with the smell of the other dog until they were conjoined completely. Buddy continued to follow the smell, stepping around the bodies of unmoving sick/dead things which were scattered along the same trail he was following. Empty shell casings glinted in the grass along his route. Buddy was not visually tracking but he could tell by the scent signature the injured human had fallen at one point, even though the trail continued beyond. He followed the trail to an alleyway a few hundred feet from the road then paused, peering into the gloom. The smell was strong, but the narrow brick walls were blocking out the light of the fading sun and made it impossible to see into the passage. A jumble of the sick/dead creatures was lying at the entrance to the alley. At least three of them had been torn literally to pieces, the rest were more or less whole, all of them were stiff and unmoving. Buddy had begun cautiously moving deeper into the alley when a low growling stopped him cold.

Stop. No closer, little dog.

Buddy began to back away from the entrance, stumbling over the bodies of the sick/dead things. He could hear canine footsteps on the broken pavement coming towards him and could sense a dangerous change in the air. Running was pointless. He stopped and waited, heart pounding, head and tail tucked submissively, a dribble of urine puddling underneath him on the asphalt. The source of the growling came slowly into view, illuminated by the dull red glow of the sunset.

Dogs don’t differentiate between breeds, at least not like humans do. The world of dog interaction is enormously complex, but categories by which dogs recognized each other are very basic when broken down into human terms. Buddy saw and smelled a dog which was female, big, dangerous, and dying. A person looking at the same dog would have filled in the blanks with similar details but also added elements of importance to humans. The dog was indeed big, especially for a female German Shepard, and she was filthy, her coat streaked with blood and dirt. The police K9 kevlar vest she was wearing was similarly stained and ragged, and hung loosely on her emaciated frame. The dog was limping, one back paw nearly torn off, and she was suffering from dozens of other minor and major wounds. One ear flopped loosely, held on by a mere strip of skin, and her eye on the same side was missing, a clotted bloody socket in its place. Her teeth were bared, exposing her canines. Two of those killing teeth were broken off at the gum line. A search would have revealed the tooth fragments buried in the skull and spine of one of the nearby creatures.

Despite the horrific injuries the dog was alert, her posture aggressive, and her scent gave Buddy no doubt that she would be more than his match if she chose to fight. The dog WAS dying, though, and it was only a matter of days, maybe hours before a combination of slow blood loss, starvation, infection and dehydration killed the animal. Until that moment she was a force to be reckoned with. It was not Buddy’s place to initiate, but after several long moments of silence he nervously broke protocol.

Hello, dog. You are the Alpha.

Both animals knew this, it was merely a formality. In a normal interaction this recognition would have initiated the mutual sniffing and pawing and nose-bumping that any human would have recognized as basic dog greetings. This was not a normal interaction. The big Shepard continued to stare at the small dog, her gaze drifting in and out of focus.

Alpha, you’re hurt. You’re starving. You’re dying.

I must not leave my human, little dog. I WILL NOT leave my human. I will protect her. Come no closer.

Buddy’s eyes had adjusted to the twilight and he could now see a uniformed woman behind the Shepard, slumped against the wall of the alley several feet inside the entrance. She had been dead for weeks, but her pistol was still locked in her grasp. Dried blood covered her legs. Buddy was puzzled.

Alpha, the human is dead.

The human is mine to protect, little dog. I WILL protect her!

Buddy suddenly realized the dog was delirious, either unable or unwilling to realize the woman had died. He could feel fevered emotions pulsing off the dog, shimmering like a mirage. The combination of scent and energy baking from the dying animal played like a ghostly movie in Buddy’s subconscious.

…the squad car swerves violently, flipping on its side and skidding to a stop. The dog crawls from the wreck uninjured. The human isn’t so lucky. Jagged metal from the twisted door frame has torn a huge gash in her thigh, the severed artery pumps bright red fluid. With shaking, blood-slicked hands she has twisted her belt around her leg, pulling it as tight as possible to try and stop the hemorrhaging. She staggers from the car, the dog following closely. Dozens of the creatures are already moving their way. The next few minutes are a haze of gunfire and snarling, biting fury. The woman has fallen, still firing, the dog is now dragging her by her vest. The sick/dead things are still coming. The woman and the dog are in an alley, hemmed in by another car wreck which blocks their exit. The woman’s scent is rage and death. She is still trying to shoot, but her hands are numb, fingers refusing to work. Her pistol locks open, empty. Her head slumps. The sick/dead things move in. The dog backs up to the dying police officer, turns towards her and gently licks the woman's face a single time, then spins back again and launches herself at the shambling creatures…

Both dogs continued to stare at each other. Finally, the Shepard seemed to have a brief moment of clarity.

You should leave this place, little dog. The sick/dead things are all around. I can’t protect you both. You should find someplace safe.

I’m trying to find my humans, Alpha. My humans left me.

The bigger dog paused as if searching for a recent memory.

Follow the road, little dog. I’ve smelled humans on the road. Your humans might be with them. Be wary. The sick/dead things are attacking everything now. THEY can smell US.

Thank you Alpha. Goodbye.

Goodbye, little dog.

The injured animal turned back towards the alley, stumbled to her knees, then slowly regained her footing. Her head was still upright, held there through sheer force of will. She limped back to the dead officer and laid back down, facing towards the alley entrance. Buddy turned and walked away, glancing back once at the Shepard as she laid there quietly, head resting in the dead woman's lap, her good ear upright, nose working, searching for danger, protecting her human to the end. The vision faded away in the dark.

Buddy spent the night curled up in the tall grass underneath the loading dock of an abandoned factory. His tail covered his nose. His sleep was dreamless.

[AeroRat]

Epic. Tragically so. But epic.

[Smü]

... The dog backs up to the dying police officer, turns towards her and gently licks the woman's face a single time, then spins back again and launches herself at the shambling creatures…

Dude, you can't do that to me before giving the slightest word of warning.