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Chapter 1: How about Blackbeard?

I had a good life and I am grateful. I lived in a house right in the outskirts of Portland. That house was a such a good place. It kept me warm in the winter, gave me shade in the summer, but being Portland, kept me dry all year round. I shared that house with my master and three other humans, Ernie, Will, and Fred. Ernie was a welder. He was a round looking fellow with squinty eyes and a toothy smile. His hands were course with burns and scars. His petting wasn't that great but he always shares his leftover tuna with me. Will was a carpenter. He was the opposite of Ernie. All skin and bones with eyes that pop right out, and he hardly ever opened his mouth. But he built me a bed to sleep in and filled it with crumpled old newspapers. Fred... well... I wasn't sure what Fred did. All I knew is he was good with these cards, and little marbles with cups. He moved his hands so fast. I never understood what he did, but I could tell he was good at it and won lots of paper. He had smooth hands to pet with. Then there was my master, Ben.

Ben worked with electricity. I have no idea what it is, but it makes those balls of light shine, and wooden boxes talk. I loved Ben the most. He feeds me, sleeps with me, runs with me, eats with me, everything. But most importantly, he saved me as a pup. I remember that day. I don't remember much, but I fell into a river, and I was swept downstream. I could barely keep my head above water, I was yelping and crying out for help. My muscles were burning and weakening. My mind kept telling my body to keep fighting and my body was losing. I let go. Then there was Ben. I submitted myself in his arms, I was so exhausted. I remember his words,

“Holy mackerel... you're alive. What's a pup like you doing in the river?”

He wrapped me in a spare shirt he had to dry me off,

“I was expecting to catch a salmon... not a dog.”

He was examining me, but gently.

“You took quite a beating from the river. Your eye is cut. But it looks like the eyeball is fine. You should be alright. I'll just patch it.”

He took out some fabric and wrapped my head. It was cool and soft as it soaked up the blood on my face. Ben put me down, stood back, and chuckled as he spoke,

“You're an interesting piece of work. That patch makes you look like a pirate. That black mark on you makes it look like you have a long black beard. Heck, I know what I'm going to call you already! How about Blackbeard? Hmm? That's a good name for you, you scurvy dog!”

Ever since then, I've been Blackbeard and my master was Ben. Nothing could change the bond between us. Nothing can, nothing will.

Ben took me to camp with the rest of his friends. I could smell tobacco smoke, a fire, alcohol, chattering, and singing. There were about 5 other men there, all of them knew Ben somehow. They all said, “Hey there!” or “Speak of the devil!” or “Hi! Catch anything?”. Ben had the widest grin on his face and held me out of sight.

“Boys. I didn't catch salmon. But I caught something else.”

The men rolled their eyes,

“Aw come on Ben. We don't care if it's largest sturgeon in the Columbia. It's salmon or nothing! I got the grill ready and my grandfather's sauce.”

Ben still maintained that grin. He looked down on the ground and thought about what he was going to say.

“Not quite, Ernie. It wasn't a fish at all. But this,”

He pulled the blanket off from me and displayed me to his comrades. The men went silent and whispered amongst themselves. Will the carpenter spoke out,

“Jesus, Ben! We can't keep that! It's gotta be a wolf or part wolf at least. That mom is going to be cranky when she sees us with him. Hell, she's probably out there right now looking for him!”

The men talked amongst themselves even louder,

“I don't want get attacked by no wolf!”

“Ben is bonkers to keep that thing! It's a natural killer!”

“I'm sleeping with my gun tonight. That's for sure.”

Ben raised his hands and quieted down the men. He talked with that smooth reassuring voice. It cools the nerves of anything with a pulse.

“Fellas, this pup is far from his mom, his pack, or where ever he's from. I found him in the river half-drowned. There's no way anything will find him. He probably traveled for miles on that river and any scent of him would be swept away. I'm pretty sure no wolf is going to come into our camp tonight.”

The men groaned but understood. Ben's tent mate Fred confronted him,

“Alright Ben, but you're going to keep a tent to yourself tonight. So if something comes, you're the one who is screwed, not your tent mate.”

Ben heartily laughed,

“Nobody is going to get eaten. I promise. Trust me Fred, you're going to like him.”

“Who's him anyway?”

“What?”

“The pup. The pup's name.”

“Oh. I called him Blackbeard.”

“Ha! He does look like a pirate. That's a good name.”

“See? You like something about him already.”

Ben took me into his tent. He wrapped me up in a sweater he had and looked at me straight in the eye.

“You're a cute thing... for a wild animal. Well, you're mine now. Me and three other of those guys own a place outside of town. You're going to love it there. They'll learn to like you. They love dogs. You being a wolf and all is too exotic to them I guess.”

As a puppy, I didn't have the slightest idea what he was saying. But I like the sound of that voice. It reminded me of water going flowing over a creek. It was so smooth.

“Boy... I'm so inspired right now! I'm a bit of a poet. I think I'll jot something down.”

Ben pulled out a flashlight, pen, and paper. He begun to write. Throughout the night I heard him muttering to himself, and the scratches of the pen. Eventually he spoke,

In the beck I heard a cry
I couldn't let it by
It was lost and sad
Mud ridden and blood clad
I carried it away from a certain fate
Any longer, it would be too late
Nobody loved it for it was wild
By I did, for I saw it was mild
This was a good creature by our Lord
It knew the ways of love, not by the sword
I swear an oath this love will continue
Until one of us is lost of our sinew

(more to come)

Chapter 2: A Killer Inside

I was sunbathing in the window, that afternoon. I loved how the soft rays warmed my black fur against my belly. I would lay there for hours and reposition myself as the sun's view through the window changed throughout the day. Nothing like soaking the rays on a cool spring morning. Besides, getting sun in Portland is rather unusual. I take advantage of it. So did my friend, Cleopatra, the house cat. Her job in the house is too catch mice. I could never understand the thrill of the kill, but She's obsessed with it. I could talk to her and randomly, the killer comes out. Such a strange instinct that cat has.

Cleopatra batted her paw on my head. I squinted and saw that feline face in my view, with those green, luminous eyes starting right at me. I suppose if I were a rodent, I would be terrorfied of that sight, but waking up to her is not unusual. She speaks with a sarcastic tone constantly. Talking to her for extended periods is can give any animal a headache. She greeted me,

“Good afternoon, ya lazy mutt.”

I stretched out my legs and body and gave out a yawn. I licked my mouth and lazily looked towards Cleo. She has a smirk on that face,

“Afternoon to you too Cleo. What's happening?”

She rolled those eyes and pounced right on the window sill, blocking the sun. All I could see of her now is a feline shaped back lit. This silhouette talked,

“Not a whole lot. I killed only one mouse this week. I must be getting rusty.”

I sniffed the air for mouse droppings or a mice scent in general. I sensed nothing. I think Cleo is not rusty at all. I think Cleo is just a killer and is good at it. But, I learned to always agree with a cat, even if it's self-criticism.

“Yeah you might be getting a little rough.”

Cleo swore and continued,

“These mice are getting clever. The little suckers know how to hide. But it makes sense that all the clever ones are out there. I must've killed all the stupid ones.”

I shook my head,

“You're all about killing aren't you?”

Cleo gets a twinkle in her eye when I mention killing. To be honest, it's actually kind of disturbing.

“I am a killer. I hunt, I chase, I kill. It's what I do.”

I was about to ask a question that I never thought of. I was wondering if I'll get an answer at all.

“What turned you into a killer anyway. I never have an urge to kill. I might chase a squirrel or two, but actually killing them... never crossed my mind. Why you?”

Cleo paced around the room, thinking. I could tell that was a good question. Normally Cleo is quick with answers, but this one has her.

“It comes naturally to me I guess. When I was a kitten, I was the same as you. I loved to chase. But then, when I caught my first mouse, I had a power take over me. It was this irresistible feeling that that surged through me. I knew I was the predator and that mouse was prey. I confirmed this by taking that mouse's life. I couldn't believe it at first but I felt like a god. I was hooked. The thrill of killing is so addictive. But I won't turn back.”

That was probably the most complicated answer I got from Cleo. I now understood why she loves it. The power of life and death is an addictive feeling to her. To feel like a god must be exhilarating, but I can't comprehend that. She interrupted my train of thought,

“Blackbeard, why don't you kill something? You have a wolf in you. Wolves are killers but noble creatures. Nothing to be ashamed of killing.”

That phrase passed through me like ice, “nothing to be ashamed of killing”. Would I be ashamed if I killed, or would I shrug it off like Cleo? I've been with Ben fishing. He brings the fish to land, they gasp for water, then Ben chops their heads off. Ben doesn't shed a tear about it. In fact, I see him smile about it. He normally says things like, “We're going to have good fish tonight, boy!”. Not a sense of guilt as the blood if the fish cover his hands. I understood that it's the food chain at work, but I am outside of that chain. All the food that has been given to me has been killed by someone else. That's why I have no urge to hunt. Ben goes to the trouble of giving me food.

But then I realized something that Cleo said. She said wolves are noble creatures. How does she know anything about wolves?

“Cleo, may I ask you something?”

She crouched down. Her tail whipped in a hypnotic fashion. She gave me that same smirk with those luminous green eyes,

“Why, sure Blackbeard. What do you want?”

I asked immediately,

“You mentioned that wolves are noble creatures. How do you know this? I hardly ever see you outdoors!”

She rolled those eyes again,

“Oh... I have connections.”

“Connections?”

“Yup, I keep in touch with a lot of feral cats who roam about.”

I choked a laugh. Cleo narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

“What's so funny?”

“Oh nothing... that would explain the kittens last year.”

“That's my business alone, mutt!” She hissed. She licked her paw and groomed the fluff on top of her nice coat, then continued,

“Back on topic, those wolves are good creatures. They have a code of chivalry. They'll never do anything without a reason. Plus their loyalty is very tight.”

I found this unusual. I've heard about lone wolfs and storming chicken coups or killing a goat. Doing something like that doesn't seem too noble at all. I always picture wolves as wild thieves, always taking what's not theirs. Since I was a pup, I was disciplined into not stealing food. But now I hear of them being honorable? I don't know. This is coming from Cleo, a killer. She would look over such facts such as stealing people's animals.

“I'll take your word for it Cleo. But I hear of lone wolves that raid farms. I don't think stealing people's animals is right. Doesn't sound noble.”

Cleo was quick to answers as she was quick with her feet,

“Say that you haven't eaten for days with no Ben to feed you. That red rooster behind the fence would look very appetizing. Would you move in?”

I laughed at such an idea,

“Don't be silly. Ben would never leave me in the first place.”

Cleo gave that sassy look,

“Oh well. I guess you're not the type for rhetorical questions.”

Cleo hopped down from the window sill and bushed by me. She walked away murmuring,

“You don't know it yet, but you have a killer instinct. An instinct to be indifferent to another's living. Just like all of us.”

I pondered those words as I went back to my sunny spot by the window. I dozed off into a deep sleep. I thought about what Cleo said. Kill. Killer. Those words haunted me. I was imagining that rooster, my empty stomach and seeing a hole in the fence, inviting me. My dream seemed to go automatic. I approached the hole and saw the oblivious fowl. As soon as I darted for the rooster, I woke up suddenly to a door slamming and footsteps. It was Ben.

I trotted towards Ben with a wagging tail. Ben was all smiles. He was talking enthusiastically with Will, Ernie, and Fred around the dining table.

“Fellas! I was offered a job and it will pay good!”

Ernie asked,

“What kind of job, Ben?”

Ben puffed up his chest and talked proud,

“I, Benjamin Howard, will be a senior civilian electrical engineer at Dutch Harbor in Alaska.”

The men raised their eyebrows and scratched their heads. Fred raised a question,

“Uh... Ben? Isn't that a bit dangerous?”

“How so?”

“Well lots of reasons. First of which, the war is still on. The Japs bombed Dutch Harbor before, and got pretty close to invading too.”

Ben waved his hand in dismissal,

“Aww, that's back in the early days, of this war. We have the Japs on the run now. We have a good hold of the Aleutians. I won't be in any danger. They want me there to help with electrical equipment on the airfields. But it pays better.”

The men understood. I wagged my tail. Ben seemed so pleased. Will asked,

“So when are you leaving?”

“Sometime in early April. I should leave for Seattle very soon. I'll take Blackbeard too. I think he'll like Alaska.” He reached down to pet me, ”Won't you boy? ”

Ben's friends shook hands with him and gave him best regards. I stood by his side as he packed. I could tell that we're leaving and leaving for good. I was excited for an adventure. I loved Ben's fishing trips, but they were always the same. This time it will be new and remote.