AN EVENING AT THE DOG TRACK KENNEL

AN EVENING
AT THE
DOG TRACK KENNEL

A Short Fiction

By

David A. Archer
02/15/1968

09/16/2006

I have always kind of wondered how they did it? How they managed to deal with the constant failure and lack of fulfillment in their everyday lives.

I finally found out one evening when I happened to spend the night just outside of the dog kennel at the race track. I stayed close to an open window which let me in on something many people will ever suspect.

The cyclone fenced door clacked shut, and the lights dimmed leaving no lighting except for that which leaked from the hallway beyond the cage like entrance. I could see through the small area of the window I allowed myself to peep through, the shadows and silhouettes of anxiousness.
“O.k.” we all then heard, “let’s get things underway so maybe we can all get a little shut eye this evening. Blazing Star… why don’t you begin this meeting.”

“Alright” you then heard in an odd voice with a thick accent that was not entirely foreign. “Hello, my name is Blazing Star…. And I’m addicted to chasing furry, electric bunnies” the voice began, “I can’t really say when it all started for me…but all what I know now, is that I can’t keep from wanting to just rip that little furry bunny bastard apart!”

“Easy with the language” we all again heard interrupt slightly, “there’s no reason for vulgarity.”
“Yeah... O.k.” the odd accent said again, “but that just means that you obviously don’t know what we go through every day…… you’d be cussing, too if you could really relate…. Every Day, The Same Thing!” The voice exclaimed in a way that made me realize at that point that it didn’t matter if dogs really couldn’t talk. This was just getting far too interesting.

“I even dream about it!” The voice continued with an emphasis many humans would envy.

“Yeah I dream about it, too” came another voice from somewhere near, in a similar accent but a slightly more tin like tone.

“You know the rules, Zippo Click….” Said the voice which was obviously some form of moderator in expediting the verbal transactions, “Introduce yourself, first.”

“Hello…” the new voice said in a rather removed way, as if tiring of the same routine in the same environment far too consistently, “My name is Zippo Click…but as everyone else knows….. besides ‘dat nosey broad obviously… ‘dat name thing can change faster than that stinkin’, furry, rotten ‘lectric rabbit…” it said beginning to build into a frenzy.

“No need for hostility” said the moderating voice again… now truly showing that it had no idea, much less actual concern for what it was that these racing dogs had to cope with.

“O.k. O.k.” the new, higher pitched voice said again in a calmer tone. “I have dreams like ‘dat, too… dreams where ‘der ain’t no end to all the running… it won’t quit goin’ ‘round and ‘round ‘da track…an’ ‘der ain’t notin’ I can do ta’ help myself from wantin’ t’ chase it down.”

“Chase what down?” You could hear the moderating voice ask as if it had no clue as to what they were talking about.

“’Dat stupid, stinkin’ ‘lectric bunny!” exclaimed the higher pitched voice again with droves of yipping and barking in a supportive response, now nearing a fury that rattled the cyclone fencing in its part of the kennel, “what do ya’ think I’m talkin’ ‘bout?” the voice continued as if it would chew through the linking metal wires and make short business of the moderating voice source… where ever it actually happened to be.

“I hate that stinkin’, stupid fake rabbit!” again a person could hear exclaimed in a rather hateful manner. “It ain’t fare ‘dat it is fake…an’ we still want to catch it an’ eat it! And we can’t catch it! We never get to catch that stupid fake bunny!” the voice said now in a fervor that could only be described as frothing rage.

“How do you know it is fake?” Again asked the moderating voice, “You just said that you never caught it… how do you know it is fake?” the voice again emphasized in a manner that was obviously meant to stoke the rage of every dog present. “What if it is a Super Bunny or something like that?”

“Lady!” replied the initial voice of ‘Blazing Star,’ will you quite makin’ it worse for cryin’ out loud! I ain’t exactly in here for my health, you know!”

“It’s a fare question” responded the moderating tone, “it is a fact that none of you have ever caught it… so in that, it is a possibility that it might not even be a fake bunny…. Just maybe a bunny that none of you have ever managed to catch…which then leads perhaps, to the need to justify in your own minds with some other reason for your own failures? And it is very well possible that you simply think the one bunny that none of you have ever caught, is a fake. It is just as much a possibility that it is a Super Hero Bunny.” She then concluded to the deafening silence of the room so tense with pent wrath that the lights again began to flicker.

“I’m gonna ef-ing kill that bunny!” screamed a voice that was so distorted it was not possible to discern exactly which dog had emitted it. Though the room again shuddered with the vibration of fence being pressed to its stress limits for containment.

“Why can’t any of you simply admit that perhaps… just maybe it is a real bunny and it is your own failures that you are mad at” again questioned the moderating voice. “It seems to me that you can’t even begin to consider the possibility…” she concluded.

“Will you just freaking shut up, lady!” again could be heard from a near anonymous origination. “It’s bad enough that we can’t catch the little son of a bitch….. you don’t have to make it all the worse…”

“What if I told you that I actually met it once” she again continued….”would you believe that it might be real, then?”

Again the room fell silent with a sense of either disbelief or perhaps the sort of furious hatred that no one should ever have to know.

“No, really” she said, “what if I told you all that… what would you think?” she again pressed the issue.

“Well?” she again posed.

“None of you have anything to say to that?” she now stated in a manner that was nearing a danger level I had never before felt in one contained area.

“THAT FREAKIN’ RABBIT AIN’T REAL YOU LYING BITCH!” came in a scream which curdled the blood and nearly set of a riot of howls and growls so longing for blood of any sort at this point that a person had to wonder at the surreal aspect of it all.

“That is it!” exclaimed the feminine moderating voice. “This meeting is officially over as it is obvious that none of you are willing to use my time constructively. And until you can be a bit more self sufficient in addressing your own feelings, you can all just continue to live in the depth of denial which is obviously more acceptable to you than good company and opportunity to work through your problems” she finished as if to suggest she had been offended.

“I will bring a photograph of myself and the mild mannered bunny you all have come to hate so much from your own ill dispositions” she then added, “that should show you all a thing or two.”

Again was silence for the longest moment. Then, without warning as if to be a bursting seem finally pressed to its maximum resistance level, the entire kennel erupted in a form of noise that could have been spewing from the mouth of hell, itself.

It was sheer horror.

There is no other way to describe it.

It was the voice and manifested entity of every hellish demon ever conceived.

If any other person would have heard it, I would imagine them mistaking it for the long awaited warning signifying the arrival of the Four Horsemen, themselves.

My skin crawled and my blood froze.

“If that fake bunny ever got caught” I then found myself thinking, “there is no way to describe the hellish things that would befall it most certainly.”

I then further found myself considering a rather comforting thought, “Man, am I glad I don’t have to chase that thing…. I suppose some of us just have all of the luck.”

Copyright 2006 David A. Archer 02/15/1968