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Phooka: The Bestiary Tales

  By Allison Graham

  Copyright 2011 Allison Graham

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  New York City, New York - 1987

  Sandra Hedley was tired of life.

  She had moved to New York to attend university there, and had hated her choice ever since. She had a professor threatening to fail her unless she slept with him, three classes which were proving too much for her to take, and an apartment with a broken lock which the landlord refused to fix. Some nights, she was too depressed to do much besides sit watching Discovery and downing Smirnoff Ices. Other nights, though, her sense of self-preservation sent her into the hectic, noisy city for food.

  Not that self-preservation helped in the face of gangs.

  She was trying to make her way to a steaming hot Italian meal when a group of five men moved to form a human wall to prevent her from going any further. She groaned inwardly - she knew this group. Not actually a gang, they were just a coalition of cocky jerks. Easily taken care of, but it involved effort she really would have preferred to save.

  Once she got within a few feet, they moved to surround her.

  “Hey, baby,” said one.

  “Bet those clothes look better off you than on you,” another purred with a disgusting leer.

  Similar things were always said, and Sandra usually managed to shed them with a curt affirmation of her lack of interest. “I’m really not interested,” Sandra growled, trying to skirt past the small gathering of oversexed men. “I’m just trying to get some dinner, okay?”

  “I got something for you to snack on,” the first snickered, pawing himself in a less than subtle manner. Sandra’s lips curled in disgust.

  “Hey, what’s with the face? I don’t think she likes you, bro.”

  “Coming on a little too strong, maybe?”

  The leader shook his head. “Psh. Like you’re a saint or something, baby. Come on, I know you’ve done it before.”

  “Sure I have. I just prefer members of my own species,” she said with force, trying to shove through the wall they had made to separate her from the way to her destination. Her comment earned howls of laughter from everyone except the leader of the entourage. He turned red with anger.

  “I bet you think you’re real funny, huh?” he growled, shoving her back.

  Sandra did not stumble, but she removed herself from the reach of a second push. He’d never gotten physical before - none of them had - but she’d die before she’d show how badly his aggression unnerved her. People breezed past, avoiding the group with definite purpose. She silently cursed the passers-by as they rushed on, unseeing and uninterested. No one did anything to help. Whether they were cowards or too busy to care, it didn’t matter - the end effect was the same.

  “Leave me alone,” Sandra said firmly.

  “You know something, I’m getting pretty sick of you blowing me off.”

  “And I’m getting sick of you pestering me every time I walk by,” she responded angrily. “You think you’re hot shit, but honestly, I’ve got enough to deal with in my life right now without having to put up with some blue-balled sack of crap trying to paw me every time I try to go to Olive Garden.”

  There was no laughter this time. None of them liked her statement, least of all their ringleader. He narrowed his eyes and grasped the front of her shirt, pulling her close. Once there, the reason for his new-found courage was obvious; she could small hard liquor on his breath. “You know, maybe I should - “ he started coldly.

  The man didn’t finish his sentence. A deep, throaty growl came from a nearby alleyway. One rarely saw wild animals in New York City anyway, except for birds. Hearing something aggressive and, judging by the volume and depth of the noise, large, was virtually unheard of. Everyone looked over, shocked, but nothing would prepare them for what emerged.

  A huge black Rottweiler, easily the largest Sandra had ever seen, came from the alleyway, hackles raised and muscles stiff with aggression. Its shoulder was around the height of Sandra’s navel, and its muscles stood out in firm, obvious planes of strength. The dog was looking deliberately at the men with narrow peridot eyes, lips peeled back to reveal a truly frightening set of teeth.

  Sandra soon found herself alone as the gang ran away, looking behind them fearfully to make sure the colossal canine wasn’t pursuing them. Her mouth went dry with fear. It wasn’t chasing them. It was looking at her now. She took a step back, trying not to look it in the eyes…

  …but once the men were gone, it trotted up to her with a silly gait, leaning heavily against her legs and letting its tongue loll out as it silently begged to be petted. At first, Sandra started to flee, but when it didn’t bark of give chase, she took a moment to look at it.

  It was enormous and clearly well-fed, but it had no collar, and it hadn’t been neutered. Well, at least that turned the dog from an ‘it’ to a ‘he.’ The beast also smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in years, so he was likely a stray. A recent stray, surely, because he was certainly feeling friendly and personable now.

  “Um…hello, boy,” she said uncertainly. The dog whined and put his nose in her hand. Carefully, she scratched behind one large, downy ear, and was rewarded with a dopey expression. Sandra couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, look at you. You’re just a big softy, aren’t you? Where’d those teeth go?” He licked her hand, panting. Sandra felt a rush of happiness, one of a strength she hadn’t experienced at all since moving to New York. She found that despite the terrifying first impression he made, she didn’t want him to leave now. “Well, you can follow me to Olive Garden, but they won’t let you in, okay? And I’m hungry, so you’ve got to let me up.”

  As if he understood, the dog shifted his massive frame away from her, letting her continue onward. She made her way towards the distant smell of melting cheese and fresh pasta, all while keeping a nervous eye on the Rottweiler. She was concerned, considering he had chased off a group of five, but he didn’t seem even remotely inclined to frighten anyone else. He just kept trotting along at her heels, leaning forward every now and then to give her fingertips a lick.

  At the door of Olive Garden, she turned and gave him another thorough petting. “Thanks for helping me out back there, boy. I guess this is where we say good-bye, huh?” Again, as if he knew exactly what she were saying, he leaned into her stroking, then loped casually away, disappearing between two buildings. Sandra smiled as she went into the building. What a wonderful dog.

  …

  Sandra awoke to the smell of bacon and maple syrup.

  She frowned and sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She didn’t remember bringing anyone home last night. She didn’t drink, either, so she would have remembered. She listened for telltale sounds about where her intruder may be, but was greeted with the silence of an apartment empty of anyone but her.

  Before she could wonder too much where the smell was coming from, a knock came from the door.

  She stood with a sleepy groan. A glance through the peephole showed her a dark-skinned man, skinny and kind-looking, with a takeout bag in one hand. She opened the door without removing the chain. “You’ve got the wrong room. You’re probably looking for the woman a floor up; she always seems to be ordering something from somewhere.”

  “No, ah - “ the man responded, looking at her with shiny green eyes. There was a thick accent to his voice which sounded Gaelic, but also something entirely different. “You see dog. He, ah, scare men for you?”

  Sandra’s eyes widened. “That dog was yours?”

  “You see dog, then?”

  Sandra grabbed her pepper spray from the shelf nearby, just in case, but she let him in. “Wow, come in. I can’t tell you how happ
y I am your dog came over when he did. Those guys were probably going to get violent, you know?”

  “Bad men.”

  “Very.”

  The man blinked at her and held out the bag. “Ah. Breakfast.”

  She looked at it in shock. “Wait, what? Why? If anything, I owe you! I’d usually give someone hell over letting their dog get out, but in this case, I can’t complain. Seriously, that dog saved me.”

  “I give you breakfast, though.”

  “But why?” Sandra looked at him, bewildered. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You, ah…dog like you.” He looked at her seriously. “Dog likes no one.”

  She stared in shock as he deposited the bag in her hands, bowed deeply, and departed without another word. Her jaw flapped uselessly as she tried to urge him to stay. Still dazed, she looked in the bag. A McGriddle meal waited for her inside, complete with orange juice. She blinked, looked up, and blinked again.

  “Thanks,” she called after him