AN EVENING AT THE DOG TRACK KENNEL

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AN EVENING

AT THE

DOG TRACK KENNEL

A Short fiction

David A. Archer

02/15/1968

09/16/2006

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AN EVENING AT THE DOG TRACK KENNEL – Short Fiction

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.

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AN EVENING AT THE DOG TRACK KENNEL – Short Fiction

“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.

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AN EVENING AT THE DOG TRACK KENNEL – Short Fiction

“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.

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AN EVENING AT THE DOG TRACK KENNEL – Short Fiction

“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.”

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AN EVENING AT THE DOG TRACK KENNEL – Short Fiction

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.”