Gunner's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

The brown dog wanted its turn now, feet planted, tail high. Gunner knew he needed his warm spot first. Under the ramp, the still boards had steadied him before. Without that calm, the noise would own him again, and he could not run straight. He trotted toward the shade to gather himself for the next charge. But another dog had gotten there first. A strange-looking one lay stretched across the warm boards, offbeat and rangy, one ear flopped. He blinked at Gunner with lazy green eyes and did not move. The best sun fell right on him. Gunner stopped at the edge of the shade. This was his spot. The place that had made his legs work. Gunner tried to squeeze in beside him. He nosed under the ramp and pressed his shoulder against the boards. The other dog shifted, taking more room, not less. His flank pushed Gunner back into the wind. Gunner's ears twitched. A wood chip snapped somewhere. His nerve wobbled. He could not settle here with a stranger sprawled across the heat. Across the park, a trembling black dog crept along the fence, wide-eyed and low, flinching at every sound. Gunner saw himself in it. That was what the noise did to him. That was what he would become if he lost this spot. So Gunner stopped asking. He backed up two steps, fixed his eyes on the quirky dog, and pushed off the way he had learned. Low. Fast. Straight. He hit the dog's side and shoved. The stranger huffed, scrambled, and slid off the warm boards into the wood chips. He shook himself, looked at Gunner, then wagged once and wandered off toward the water bowls. No fight. Just gone. Gunner dropped onto the warm boards. The heat sank into his fur. His breathing slowed. His ears stopped twitching. The park went quiet inside him again. He had held the spot the same way he knocked dogs flat. Push hard, push straight. He lifted his head. The brown dog still waited, braced, tail high, ready for its turn. Gunner watched it and did not flinch. His legs felt sure under him. He was warm now, and steady, and he had learned that a hard shove cleared his path. But the brown dog was not the strange sprawling stranger. It had knocked back before. It wanted the charge. Gunner had won his spot with force, and now force was the only game he knew. He stood, warm and certain, and set his eyes on the bigger dog waiting to hit him back.