Beyond the Hedge
By
Phoenix Hocking
Rita Hayworth lay half-in, half-out of her doghouse, her long snout resting comfortably on her paws. Her eyes were mostly closed, but she wasn’t sleeping. She was thinking.
Rita was a cross between a Whippet and an Irish Setter, with short hair and built like her father, but with her mother’s coloring. She was long and lean and built for speed. Sometimes, after her pack left in the morning, she would run around her enclosure (her people called it the yard) pretending she was chasing something large and fast, though her genetic memory had lost what that might have one-time been.
The yard was Rita’s domain, and she was both Queen and Enforcer. It was quite large, with plenty of grass, shrubs, flowers and trees. The yard was surrounded on three sides by a high green hedge, tall enough that Rita couldn’t jump over it, and thick enough that she couldn’t see through it. The other boundary was the side of the house where her people lived, and a gate through which they entered and left.
She was adamant about keeping the pesky squirrels at bay, barking madly when they had the nerve to invade her territory. Nasty little creatures they were, who seemed to take great pleasure in taunting Rita by running along the branches of the trees, just out of reach. She tolerated the rabbits, though, as they were just pleasant neighbors who went about their own business and never bothered anyone. She ate the gophers, when she could catch them.
Her pack were these: the Alpha Female was called Mom, and the Alpha Male was called Dad. The female pup was called Shelby. They loved her and she loved them, though she often wished they were home more often. Every morning, Mom would leave the house, followed closely by Dad. Then Shelby would leave, and nobody came home all day.
Which meant that Rita was alone most of the time. She spent much of her time sleeping. But when she was tired of sleeping, she would patrol the yard, looking for intruders, or sometimes, when it was hot, she would jump in the small pond that was filled with large fish. This was not allowed when her people were home, but Rita suspected they knew she did it, since they would cluck their tongues at her as they brought out a large towel and rubbed her down, saying, “Rita Hayworth! What did you do?”
She’d only been out of the yard on a few occasions since she was brought here when she was six weeks old. Once she had been put into a cage, then brought to a place that was freezing cold and smelled funny. There, a person she didn’t know looked into her eyes and her nose, checked her teeth, put something hard up inside her butt, and then poked her with something sharp. She didn’t like that at all.
The next time she was put into the cage and brought to this place, the strange people poked her with something sharp again. She went to sleep, and when she woke up, she had a nasty plastic cone around her neck! Her belly was sore, and she just wanted to sleep some more. Eventually, the plastic cone was taken off, and she forgot about it.
On this particular occasion, one morning after all the other members of her pack had left for the day, she was resting in her doghouse when she heard a noise. The sound of an engine came to a halt just outside the gate. She looked up eagerly, expecting to see Mom, or Dad, or Shelby.
But it was not. The person who entered the gate was a stranger, and something about him made the hackles on Rita’s back rise. A low growl came from her throat. She jumped up and began to bark. Rita ran around to the door that led into the house, and stood in front of it, baring the way. This startled the stranger, who backed away slowly, his hands held out in front of him, saying to another person who was just entering behind him, “Not here. They’ve got a dog.”
“Screw the dog, man,” the other person answered. “This house is prime.”
“Not me, man,” the first person said. “I like dogs, and this one will tear your heart out from the looks of her.”
Rita stood her ground, stiff-legged and teeth bared, barking and growling.
“I don’t know. Let me try. Here, doggie,” the man said, extending a hand. “Nice doggie. Just let us by, okay?”
Rita wasn’t fooled for one instant by the second man’s tone. She didn’t budge.
“Damn it, man,” said the first man. “Let’s just get out of here. There are other houses, and I don’t want to mess with this one.”
The second man turned to leave. “Pussy,” he said disdainfully. “If I’d known you were a wuss, I’d have picked another partner.”
“Pretty dog, though,” the first man said as he left, looking over his shoulder at Rita. “That’s a really pretty dog.”
Rita couldn’t hear what the other man said. She just heard their footsteps as they went away, then heard the engine of a car start and drive away.
They left the gate open.
Rita went to the gate and looked out. She didn’t see anyone. She raised her nose into the air and sniffed the breeze. The bad men were gone. She started to step outside the gate, but instantly remembered the last time she had tried to exit the gate without a member of her pack.
“No! Rita! No!” Shelby had yelled at her, which made Rita cringe. She had slunk away, her tail between her legs.
“I’m sorry,” Shelby said later. “But you’re not to out the gate. Do you hear me? You’re not to go out the gate!”
So now, Rita Hayworth lay half-in, half-out of her doghouse, eyes mostly closed, thinking. She opened her eyes and looked at the gate. It was still open.
What was out there, beyond the hedge? she wondered. She knew there were other dogs in the neighborhood, because she could smell them, but what else might there be?
She got up and walked to the gate again. She sniffed the air, and heard noises she didn’t recognize. She put one foot outside the gate, and stopped. Her heart beat faster. She put another foot outside the gate. She stopped.
Nobody yelled at her. Nobody was home. Maybe she could go exploring, just for a little while. Just to see what wondrous things might be beyond the hedge. She left the gate, walked slowly down the driveway and stood on the sidewalk.
She looked in both directions, listening. She waited for someone to yell at her, but nobody did. In fact, there didn’t seem to be anyone around. In the distance she heard barking, and she headed toward the sound.
But up ahead, Rita saw a cat. The cat saw Rita and began to run. All Rita’s instincts kicked in and she gave chase. Her Whippet lineage seemed to give her speed and she ran as if she was chasing that unknown beast of long ago. The cat went around the corner. Rita took the corner at a dead run, then came to a stop. The cat was gone.
Well, she was out now. She might as well explore. Rita put her nose to the ground, following the scents of various dogs who had left their marks on trees and bushes by the sidewalk. Even though she had no experience, she knew instinctually what each marking had to say – the size of the dog, the health of it, the gender. One female was in heat. A male was ill. She wandered through the neighborhood, enjoying her freedom.
She came to a street, busy with passing cars. Rita had only ever been IN a car. She didn’t know anything about how loud they were, when there were so many of them together. She tried to cross the street, but a horn blared and a car swerved around her.
“Get out the street, you dumb mutt!” Someone yelled at Rita, and she cringed. She was confused, and frightened as she realized she was lost. All she wanted was her own yard again, but she didn’t know how to get there. Suddenly, there was a screech of brakes, and Rita went flying through the air. She found herself on the side of the road, hurting all over.
People came and stood over her.
“I didn’t see her,” a crying woman said. “I didn’t see her.”
“Does she have a collar, or a tag?”
“How badly is she hurt?”
It hurt to breathe, and her leg hurt something fierce. Rita cried.
A man came with a blanket and gently picked her up. “Come on, sweetheart,” the man said. “Let’s get you to a vet.”
He placed Rita in the backseat of his car, and Rita whimpered a little with every bump in the road.
The car stopped and the man pulled open the car door. He picked her up, and Rita saw him wince when she howled.
She recognized the place as the one where she had been before. The hands that had poked her with sharp things were the same hands that treated her so gently now. Rita heard conversation, but she paid no attention. She just wanted the pain in her leg to go away.
She felt a sharp poke, and this time she didn’t mind when she went to sleep.
When Rita woke up Mom and Dad and Shelby were gathered around her. Mom and Shelby were both crying. Shelby buried her face in Rita’s fur, saying “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave the gate open.”
Rita couldn’t tell Shelby that she hadn’t left the gate open. She couldn’t tell her about the bad men. She just licked the salty tears from Shelby’s face.
Rita’s leg was covered in something hard, and she couldn’t move it, but she could walk. It was difficult, but she managed okay. She could breathe, but she was still kind of groggy. Mostly, Rita just wanted to get back to her yard, and her rabbits, and even the pesky squirrels.
Dad carried her to the car and gently placed her in the back seat. “Come on, baby girl,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
What felt like many days later, the hard thing was taken off Rita’s leg. She walked with a limp after that, but it didn’t slow her down any when she raced around the yard, chasing those imaginary beasts. She still barked at the squirrels and remained friendly with the rabbits. When it was hot, she still jumped in the pond.
The gate was never left open again, not by her people, nor by any bad men.
Rita Hayworth remained Queen, safe and protected from the dangers that lurked beyond the hedge.
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