By Ahmed Jalali
The bitch, Teresa, whelped a litter. One of the pups was different. His coat was a mix of brown and black, mottled with rings of dirty white. The others could go to family. This one was his.
The summer was hot and the novel was long. He finished the last page the week the pup was born. There was a hero in the book named Wardan. He gave the name to the dog.
For months, the dog was a shadow. It followed him everywhere and forgot its mother. The bond was simple and true.
Then came the cities, and the work, and the ocean. Life pulled the man away.
Ten years passed. He returned to the town at night. Rain fell in the weak light of a streetlamp. Under a tree, chained to a stake, was a beast. It made him stop.
The dog stood. Its tail beat twice against the wet air. Its eyes caught the light.
The man moved closer, wary. The beast rolled onto its back, exposing its belly, squirming in the mud like a pup.
He remembered the old game. A thing from ten years before. He slid his foot from his shoe and pressed it carefully between the dog’s ribs, rubbing. The great animal went limp, a deep rumble in its chest. It was a sound like a man’s soft laughter.
The man made to pull his foot away. The dog shifted, holding him there, and its mouth opened. The fangs were long and yellow in the dim light.
He remembered the end of the game. He moved his bare foot up to the open jaws. He slid his heel between the teeth. The dog did not bite. The jaws closed gently, the great teeth tickling his skin, just as they had when they were needle-sharp and the dog was a pup.
The dog knew. The man knew.
From that night on, for the man, the dog was no longer just Wardan. He was the Master of All Dogs.
