“I know of a way out, but I can’t do it by myself.” She leads me over to a floor air vent that has been torn up and pulled away enough for someone my size to get through. Without hesitation, I squish my slightly overfed body (don’t judge me! I’m working on it) through the hole and begin exploring. The vent leads to the next room, where two men are talking. I don’t stop to listen, especially since they’re preoccupied right now. I move on to the next room where the floor vent isn’t even there. I pounce up and out.
Thieves taught me a few sneaking tricks during our daily conversations, to which I now want to thank him. I creep along the wall, close to the open door where the two men are still chatting. One of them laughs a good hearty laugh, and I take advantage of the noise. Across the door way, I move unnoticed. At the end of the hall is the prison door. I don’t know if these guys are just dumb or what they were thinking. The door has two buckets stacked in front of it, but the door clearly opens inward. Even I know better than that. I use the buckets to get to the door handle. It’s one of those ball shaped ones, but I have to try. My paws grasp at the knob and try to turn. When that doesn’t work, it’s time for the old jaw to have a try. I clamp on with ferocity, and use my weight to move it. Then the shouting begins. The two men have caught me, and now our escape has failed.
That’s when the latch clicks, and the door swings inward with me still hanging on for dear life. Everything begins to happen in slow motion as my new friend bounds out of the darkness with a ferocious roar that I someday wish I could muster. The two men turn heel and run like the cowards they are. She pursues them down the hall, and I hear another door open and slam.
I drop down and listen. Sirens are close, and I can still hear my friend barking from somewhere outside. I follow to investigate. On the way out, I can smell several other pups from beneath their own doorways. They call to me, and I assure them that everything is going to be alright.
Outside, the protector men have the two pupnappers in the back seats of their cars. I guess they don’t like it any better than I did. Serves them right. One of the protector men scoops me up and reads my collar. Then he talks to something on his shoulder and lets me go.
My friend trots over to me, seemingly very satisfied with herself.
“Not bad for a little guy,” she thanks me. “What’s your name?”
“Well, that name’s not brutal enough. You should change yours to something more vicious…like Snake Bite. I changed mine to The Grinder a while back, but my companion won’t listen to me.”
I thought about it for a moment. “No, I like my name. The old man likes it, and so do I. Your companion probably named you something special, too.”
“She calls me Veronica. I guess it’s cool,” she answered after a few moments of thought.
Then I’m scooped up by some very familiar hands. I turn to see Christy who also seems a little proud of herself. Her words are jumbled, but I understand: Good, Saw, and Car. I thank her as she hands me to the old man who is possibly more excited to see me than I am to be free. He hugs me tight and rubs my neck. I give him a few kisses on the cheek, and he doesn’t even wipe them away. I look back to see Veronica’s tail wag as her own companion hugs her. There might not seem much in a name, but that’s how we know who we are, and I guess that’s how everyone else does, too.
Jason Duron is a short story writer and author of several fiction stories. Curious and lovable as dogs can be, the Adventures of Rocky give you a chance to see daily life from a “dog’s eye view” and share in their thoughts. Please enjoy, and we hope that you’ll feel free to comment and give us insight into your dog’s very own Rocky Adventures.