The Best of Sport and Game

Dodger’s cocky mug went from heroic to horrified real quick. And it wasn’t just because his folded ears caught the second time his favorite bandanna had ripped that day. His half of the scarlet rag hung from a slackened jaw beneath eyes that locked blankly with Tod’s as the fox was swept away.

The Dodge had never been one to sit still for long.

”Woah, hold on!” The words were breathless and rushed, much like the terrier’s movements. Legs the color of his city’s streets scrambled backward along the log, twisting as soon as he had room to get some forward drive going. Then the dog was back to sprinting, dashing through the mud and trees. He’d only stopped looking at the river for a second, but his stomach bottomed out when glances assured Dodger that Tod was no longer above the waterfall.

Breath raking through his mustache, Dodger picked his way down the slope. A muddy drop here, a clumsy slide there. The decline alongside the waterfall was long, not easy on the legs, and a little treacherous. Better than falling from it, though.

For once, the party canine couldn’t focus on looking cool or making each slippery surface he descended his own personal dance floor.

”Yo, Tod!” Huffed the New Yorker. There was no mocking in his voice. The spray of orange fur on his head bounced as he swung it back and forth frantically, finally at the pool beneath the falls. He waded in, ignoring the cold around his white stomach.

Any second now, he’d see the country bum’s weasley head bobbing like sewage on the water. Even if he was conked out, Dodger could play water-rescue dog. He’d done it for Tito once or twice when the little numbskull has shocked himself into the harbor.

Ah, come on, where was he?

A flash of red, like a flag, caught his eye. Too close to the base of the drop.

Dodger sprang toward it, a small wave breaking around his chest. There was a big boulder where his bandanna had landed. The fox would be banged up pretty bad if the water had dumped his sorry tail that close to the stones, too. Unease grew like a steadily increasing amp, pounding along the terrier’s spine. What was he supposed to do if that was the case? Go get a vet? Did the Wings have medics? No way he was going to the Suns.

He tried to figure the safest way onto the rock that was so close to the slamming liquid. It was the biggest one; he could look for the fox from there.

When he finally pulled his front half onto the rock’s surface, the panting dog froze. There was no lid over the stare that fastened itself to Tod’s body.

As quickly as he’d stalled, the gang leader was in motion again. He was at the fox’s side with two sliding steps, dropping into a nervous half-crouch. ”Hey, hey...hey, you good? Come on, man...” Large flat nose scooped down and nudged the orange shoulder. It didn’t move under his prodding correctly, or roll back into place when he let go. ”Ahh, jeez—“ Was everything under the furry coat broken?

”Ah, come on...” Dodger tried to walk around to the fox’s other side, but he slipped again. Looking down on instinct, Fagin’s champ stilled. Dark red was staining his toes, filling his snout.

Dodger’s chest puffed as he hissed in a silent gasp and swung his eyes to the other animal’s face. For all the toughness of the streets, he hadn’t seen death often. Brushed shoulders with it, sure. Smelled it on a certain Doberman’s breath tons of times. But he knew in his gut, very suddenly, that Tod was gone.

”Aw—oh, no.”

Ears that were normally cocked became sagging flaps on the side of a tawny head. The curl of a tail drooped lifelessly, and Dodger found his head lowering and his eyes refusing to focus on the red rock underneath him. The poor kid.

Calling him ‘Red.’ His goofy accent. Those eyes, jumping out at The Dodge like a lost kid wandering into traffic.

Everything was discordant.

The pounding of the water against the rocks was filling his brain. It was a beat with no melody, no sad song, no resolution or fade. It just went on and on, like how the blood kept coming.

Blood. Dodger wanted more than anything else to get away from it’s smell. Eyes still wide, and unable to look away from Tod, the leader backed up a step at a time until he felt his hind legs press the edge of the boulder’s surface. Then he twisted, grabbing the thin strand of bandanna without thinking and whirling to spring into the pool below in one movement.

When he reached the bank and shook himself, the spotted mutt’s next glance was at his paws. Still bloody. The streetsmarts Dodger had lived with kicked in, working to move on from the image of the broken creature on the rock behind him. He couldn’t let anyone know he’d been here. That was what he knew, and he didn’t care right now why he knew it. He hadn’t left footprints; the spray would wash them away. And he had the bandanna.

Without a final look at the body, Dodger gathered the two halves of the rag Jenny had given him between his teeth and focused on hopping up, and up, and up, to the top of the waterfall again. He left the morbid scene and plodded through the woods. 

Dodger could fill his nose with Esther’s scent and fill his brain with the goal of following it back to the Duckling...but the ears that stayed sagging to either side of his skull could only be filled with the pounding drumbeat of that waterfall.