* * * * *
“Platz!”
Harmon felt Horus drop to the ground. That black dog was alert that morning, and Harmon believed that Horus sensed the same danger that prevented Harmon from sleeping through the night. All of Harmon’s ebony dogs lined the edge of the training field, resting on their stomachs and intently watching Harmon put Horus through drills of obedience. The pack was quiet. None of the dogs wasted a bark or howl. The pack possessed a purpose, and the green eyes of all those dogs concentrated on Harmon’s body language, so that they were prepared to act when Harmon commanded. Harmon smiled. The pack’s focus was returning. They were acclimating to John’s absence, and without the boy coddling them, those canines would grow stronger.
Harmon didn’t turn to see if Horus followed his command. He showed the dog the respect Horus deserved by not peeking back over his shoulder. His pack was ready. They were becoming the dogs Harmon always dreamed them to be. His pack would recognize danger. His pack would take their bite to any threat. His pack would not cower, nor retreat. The pack would protect Harmon from what the old streets sent at him. The pack would protect him from the strangers. The pack would protect him from the coming, third man.
He reached the end of the training field, and Harmon turned and saw Horus stretched upon the ground, the dog’s eyes centered upon his master. Harmon took a breath. He counted several heartbeats. He took a breath to admire Horus. He admired the large head, bred so carefully to intimidate potential foes, shaped to possess a bite that couldn’t be broken. He admired the dog’s long limbs, taught with pent energy, ready to churn over the field in an explosion of speed and power. Horus was a magnificent dog, come into his prime now that Harmon worked the animal. Harmon’s heart cracked each time he thought of Tonka, and how he had been forced to put that dog down. But Harmon could find a little comfort at seeing what Horus had become, and in Horus, Harmon saw that Tonka’s life had not been vain.
Harmon no longer missed any of his sons. He was the alpha dog, and to command a pack as fine as his ebony dogs, he couldn’t allow any son to impede on the techniques of his training.
Horus and his pack would only reach their potential if commanded by a free and proud man.
“Here!”
Horus leapt into motion. The dog’s legs pounded the ground, covering the field’s length in great, long strides. The sight thrilled Harmon’s heart.
But then, in that short window of time before the dog reached him, Harmon saw a fire deep within Horus’ green eyes. In that brief window of time, Harmon heard the dogs lining the edge of his training field growl as they broke his command and stood from their positions. An impulse fired within the pack, and they charged onto the training field to join with the mighty, ebony Horus, who so quickly covered the space between himself and that haggard master who believed himself in command of such powerful creatures.
Those dogs were bred and trained to be so sensitive to danger, but Harmon didn’t share that pack’s ability to read threat. Harmon recognized the warning too late. Harmon failed to recognize the real danger until the end. Harmon saw Horus bear his teeth, and he saw the fire burning in Horus’ eyes. But too much ground was already lost, and Harmon had no weapon to raise. He could only lift his scarred left arm and scream before Horus jumped at his throat.
Horus and the rest of that ebony pack were all such well-bred and trained dogs, and so they killed the danger that threatened their world.
* * * * *
About the Writer
Brian S. Wheeler resides in rural, Southern Illinois with his wife Erin and his young daughter Kate in a home shared with three German shepherds and a small cat named Izzy. Brian has worn many hats to earn a living. He has worked as a high school English teacher and community college composition instructor. For many years, Brian worked as a marketing manager and a graphic designer for a very successful auction company. Brian has also freelanced as a designer and consultant, and he has just completed vocational training in the welding trade. Writing is Brian’s favorite activity, and he works to one day realize his dream of earning a living by crafting stories of fantasy and science fiction.
The rural Midwest inspires much of Brian's work, and he hopes any connections readers might make between his fiction and the places and people he has had the pleasure to know are positive. When not writing, Brian does his best to keep organized, to get a little exercise, or to try to train good German Shepherd dogs. He remains an avid reader. More information regarding Brian S. Wheeler, his novels, and his short stories can be found by visiting his website at https://www.flatlandfiction.com.
Visit Brian S. Wheeler Online
Find Brian S. Wheeler’s newest short stories and novels online by visiting his website at www.flatlandfiction.com. Brian always welcomes feedback and thoughts sent to his email at
[email protected].
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