The Bitch’s Estrus
A Short Story
Canines have their own laws. A species friendly—for the most part—and protective toward man, yet at times revealing the wolf within. Attacks by stray packs upon humans do occur, several of them proving fatal. But where they exhaust their utmost cruelty is against their own kind. Not many days have passed since I stood witness to a shocking scene during an unexpected canine fray...
There was a black and savage bitch in heat. For days she had been scattering into the air that particular scent which only the male hounds perceive, and which drives their senses to distraction. They followed her wherever she went, as if she were a princess. They would sprawl around her when she lay down, rise when she rose, scenting her, turning fierce toward one another, often baring their teeth in menace. Others even bit, contesting who would mount her haunches. And they were all of massive build, great shepherd dogs.
Yet, on that midday, there appeared among the circle of suitors a brown male, small-bodied, long-muzzled, with short legs. He bordered on the reptilian, for his belly almost brushed the earth. He must have been a youth, for, following his instinct unsparingly, he did not consider into what company he had entered. He claimed the princess on equal terms among the other monstrous shepherd dogs, showing a total ignorance of danger. At first, the hounds ignored him as an unworthy rival, but he was so relentless in his pursuit that soon the first warning growls began against him. Yet he was undeterred. He was so intoxicated by passion that, ignoring his formidable rivals, he crowded in to scent and mount the bitch, though he was but half her size...
I was on the veranda of my house, watching with interest the unfolding of the affair in the street, particularly the fate of that aspiring, small-minded suitor amidst the other beasts. It did not take long for disaster to strike. The signal was given by the bitch herself, who suddenly turned snarling, baring her teeth to repel the small-bodied dog as he attempted to mount her. Instantly, the others fell upon him. Two of them seized him—one by the scruff of the neck and the other by the hind legs—pulling him Procrustean-style in opposite directions. The wretched dog began to howl piteously. He resembled a mere rag in the teeth of the beasts. It was a matter of seconds before they tore him asunder. I began to shout and descend the stairs of my house, heading toward the fray to save the foolish dog who was in dire straits. The beasts, however, were deterred neither by my cries nor by his woeful shrieking. They continued to pull him in opposite directions without mercy. Only when I reached their side did they abandon him and move away together with the bitch, with a slow, dignified pace, standing a little further off. The unfortunate dog slumped to the ground and remained there for a few seconds, gasping like a fish. I thought he was giving up the ghost, but he recovered somewhat, and sensing me near—fearing my presence—he rose and began to run swiftly away. He had a deep wound high on his left leg, but fortunately, he was alive. In the end, he survived.
In the days that followed, I saw him again, limping, following the assembly of hounds from a distance; not daring to draw near, yet unable to wander entirely away from the circle of that magical scent which the bitch scattered into the air, promising to the males mysterious wonders and vows...
George Pyrgaris
