A Dogged Encounter

Her eyes slowly open as she's stirred from a foul, far too brief night's rest, something nagging at her to get up NOW. Her ears twitch as she sits up, bleary-eyed, a large sheet of soggy cardboard falling off of her. It rained again last night. Despite her makeshift cover, she's soaked. It's not light out yet, but her inner clock tells her it's early morning. A low sound reaches her ears as she shrugs off the remains of a dream. Never a good dream. Ears swiveling and eyes scanning the surrounding alleyway, she hears it before she sees it. A growl. A long, drawn-out growl. She stands up rod straight, eyes locking with a dog - a rottweiler. A stray. It stands but a few feet away, jowls shaking as its loud bark rings in her ears. She takes an instinctive step backwards, meeting the brick wall behind her. The canine takes a step towards her in turn, barking again - even louder this time, baring its teeth at the mare. She freezes, sleep deprivation giving way to adrenaline. Okay. Think, Torch. Why is this dog aggressive? She's never seen this stray around before. She doesn't know this animal. Its turf. She must be on its turf. That means it has no plans of backing down. Her plan of a peaceful resolution dashed, her mindset shifts from freeze to fight. Step one of surviving an animal attack - be big. As big as you can be. Both her wings flare out behind her, the left crooked and angled downwards. Don't back down. Don't run. Don't look it in the eyes. The dog stays in place, poised and ready to do what it takes to defend its home. Even with her wings fanned out, her small stature lets the dog believe it can still win a fight with her. Not big enough. Not enough. Step two - be intimidating. The gears in her head click into place. "BARK! BARK BARK BARK, GET OUTTA HERE! SCRAM!!" She raises her voice at the dog, throat hurting from the volume. She continues screaming at the animal, wings flapping in a defensive display. It barks at her again, teeth still bared. It's not giving up. Step three - the step she never wants to take - fight. Her tan bag lay just off to the side. It's zipped shut. She has a knife in there. But she can't use it. Not now. Turning her attention from the dog to dig it out of her bag would be a fatal mistake. It would take too long. The dog would maul her. The dog finishes sizing her up. It crouches down. She sees that it's ready to pounce. Time's up. In a flash, she picks up her bag, chucking the whole thing at the beast. Her aim is true, the heavy bag impacting the dog in the face. Its contents clatter loudly as it drops to the ground. The dog yelps, scrabbling backwards. Thinking on her hooves, she leaps forwards and scoops the bag back up, ready to throw it again. The dog backs up further, finally intimidated at her show of force. She begins hurriedly edging away, towards the right. Towards the entrance of the alleyway. Staring at the dog, she begins backing up towards the street, unwilling to let it leave her sights. It maintains a set distance from her as she backs away, not having given up. There's something driving it to defend the area. And then she hears it - a noise from beneath the alley's sole dumpster. Soft yaps and yelps drift into her ears as she comes into the safety of the lit street. The sound of puppies, crying for their momma. That's why the dog attacked. She fell asleep not just in its home, but right next to its children. She turns left and keeps backing down the sidewalk, the alleyway locked in her sight. Only when she's backed up an entire block away does she turn and run, throwing her bag over her shoulder. She keeps running, intent on putting as much distance between her and that alley as she can. Eventually coming to a stop, huffing and puffing, she leans against a shopfront's window. That should be far enough. The dog was just protecting its puppies. She thanks Luna that she was unable to draw her knife. She wouldn't have been able to live with herself. Adrenaline fading as the sun starts to come up, she's soon reminded of her needs. Hungry. Thirsty. Soaked. And oh so very tired. She slumps against the window, unzipping her bag to check what she has. Pushing its contents aside, she searches through its entirety. No food. No bits. And an empty water bottle. The only thing she can do now is get some more rest. But she can't think of falling asleep now. Not after the dream she had. It won't let her. Torch sits, alone, with her back to a convenience store. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out her phone. A heavy sigh comes from her as the screen lights up. 40%. Should be enough. She pulls up her favorite social media, Snapchat, looking at all her friends' Snaps. The mare sits there for an hour, trying her best to ignore her needs, until her phone shuts off. It's dead. Putting the phone back into her bag, she yawns. Her most recent nightmare now put to the back of her mind, she lays down atop her bag. Her eyes soon drift shut, and she tries to relax in this uncomfortable position. She'll dream again, this morning. Of the dog. Of the puppies. Of the knife held in her hoof.