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// A bitch dares to rear her head 
// Story: Dogged Determination 
// by kudzuhaiku 
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	Under the cover of the darkest hour before dawn, Shēdo and Conifer fled the town of Rusty Rail. While it was a wonderful place, it was not a place they could stay. They headed west, at least as westward as possible, with the Froggy Bottom Bogg to their north and Dodge City Junction to their south. There was a narrow strip of prairie that existed here, that turned into marsh to the north and desert to the south. Cacti, some of them quite dangerous, were ever-present here. 

A river meandered through the marsh and no doubt originated in the Froggy Bottom Bogg. At some point, the river might have been broad and wide, but the summer had been a hot, dry one and the river was now a shallow trickle. Other than the cacti, the prairie patch was an ideal place to walk, being flat and wide open. 

Every now and again there was a warning sign, which Shēdo could not read, but Conifer could. There were old mines here, opal mines, and they left gaping holes in the ground, holes that the stupid and unwary might fall in if they weren’t paying attention. Most peculiar, Shēdo knew that these holes were there, even without having to see them, because her diggy-diggy claws offered a telegraph-tingle warning whenever she drew near. It took a stupid, stupid dog to fall down a hole, but Shēdo knew it was possible. 

There were stupid, stupid dogs. 



 

The day was much cooler than the companions thought it would be. The nights were growing colder with each passing day and summer was certainly at an end. Shēdo found the cooler temperatures agreeable, as there was a lot less panting. While walking, she kept an eye on a pack of lurking crackle jackals in the distance. 

“Where is home for you?” Shēdo asked to break the monotony of walking westward. 

“Zebrabwe, I guess,” Conifer replied. “Never been there, I don’t think. So I guess as far as homes go, one place is as good as any other.” With a few quick, light steps, the zebra trotted closer to Shēdo’s side, not liking the pack of predators in the distance. He was loaded down with gear, saddlebags, and such, but managed to keep a good pace for a colt his age. 

The crackle jackals were not alone and Shēdo began to notice a pack of jackalopes, though she couldn’t tell if they were the vampiric variety. With a smooth transition, she went from walking on all fours to walking upright, as being taller gave her a better view. She adjusted Limey so he would be ready to draw, but being prepared did nothing to alleviate her tensions. Her sword was silent, and had been since leaving Rusty Rail. There seemed to be no pattern to Limey’s actions, no rhyme nor reason. 

“Things are going to get exciting, aren’t they?” Conifer asked as he had himself a worried look around. 

“Maybe.” Shēdo flexed her diggy-diggy claws and considered the very real possibility of violence. She only had stories to go by with very little paws on experience in dealing with the dangers. Standing upright though seemed to help, as the creatures pacing them retreated a bit, though Shēdo didn’t know why. 

“Well, I hope things don’t get too exciting,” Conifer remarked. “Beware of very public toilets.” 



 

The prairie darkened and one by one, the stars began to twinkle overhead, a tiny, distant speck of light lodged in the purple-blue shroud that was the night sky. Not far away from a yawning hole that was the entrance to an old opal mine, a campfire burned, an island of light and warmth that existed to push the darkness away. 

With the firelight and the remaining suggestion of daylight that filtered through the deepening, creepening dusk, Conifer’s stripes caused his outline to appear distorted, almost unreal, and it gave him an almost spectral quality—more ghost than zebra. Shēdo too, became amorphous in the fading light, her various greys breaking up her outline—causing her to appear more as a looming shadow than a creature of flesh and blood. Solid blacks were terrible camouflage in the night—both Shēdo and Conifer had ideal patterns for hiding in the shadows. 

“Why’d we have to leave in such a hurry, Shēdo?” The firelight reflected in Conifer’s eyes, the flickering outline of flames ghosted in his irises. “Those ponies were nice. The least we could have done is stayed a while. We could have done more to help them.”

Poking the fire with a long stick, Shēdo grunted. 

The zebra’s mane was tugged on by a teasing, playful wind and the fire geysered sparks up into the royal purple dusk. In the distance, coyotes howled, and Conifer scooted a little closer to the fire, unconcerned by the shower of sparks that were coaxed free by the burgeoning breeze. If Shēdo was concerned by the distant howls, she showed no sign. Eyes narrowed, the colt glanced to and fro, wary of the dangers of being out in the open like this. 

“The longer we stayed, the harder it would have been to leave.” Shēdo’s ears tried to perk, but they were a bit too floppy. They lifted just enough to get tugged on by the breeze, and she gave an absentminded but careful scratch to the healing scabs on her girth. “A happy dog grows lazy and gathers moss.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you sound a little smarter.” Conifer blinked at his companion, and curiousity was evident upon his face. “I am starting to suspect that you sound the way you do sometimes because you just don’t put much effort into thinking about what you say. Or maybe you were punished if you sounded too smart. I don’t know.” 

“Shēdo feeling thoughtful. Thinking mood. Sad mood. Might be a howl coming. Feel sad sickness coming on and I fear it. Not want it. Not want to feel pain for those lost. When grief come, it devour I, and eat all meat from bones. I want to feel angry, not sad. Want to avenge what was done to I and others, not weep and howl. Sad sickness saps strength.”

“Are you worried that feeling sad might soften your feelings on your need to punish bad dogs?” Conifer shivered a bit—the growing breeze had fangs of ice—and his eyes watered from the smoke rising from the fire. For a brief moment, when he was squinting in the stinging smoke, the zebra colt appeared wizened, and he became the oft-stereotyped image of a wise, mystical member of his species. For a brief second, he might have been ten years old… or a hundred. 

“Maybe?” Shēdo shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling. “Being angry hides the hurt that comes with the need to punish, a tiny hurt lost by bigger hurt. But when sad, the need to punish feel heavy on heart. Not like the sad sickness that will come, fear it, I do. Too much wickedness that must be answered for.” 

“Shēdo, does it have to be you?” Conifer asked. 

“If not I, then who? Who punish bad dogs? Why must world suffer bad dogs?” Shēdo raised her paw, flexed her diggy-diggy claws, and then rubbed her jowls with her calloused pads. “I bitch, beat down, smashed, soon be used for breeding. I be slave. Shēdo be slave and forced to make more bad dogs. I have puppies someday soon, and little bitches be beaten down, little dogs lifted up and made to hurt bitches. It never stop. The badness happened and then it never stop. Shēdo make it stop! I take revenge for bitches everywhere and bad dogs will bleed.” 

The zebra colt tensed, appearing uncomfortable, and he watched his companion rub her jowls. His mouth opened, as if he was about to say something, but then it closed and he shook his head while making a sad expression. 

“Bad dogs be lazy, take slaves, grows moss.” Shēdo’s voice was a pained growl now, and her eyes shimmered with moisture, reflecting the flames that lapped at the night that sought to engulf them. “Bad dogs take zebras, ponies, others, and make them slaves rather than do work themselves. Or beat bitch and make bitch work. Say bitch weak and smash them, but it be bitch that do all work, raise puppies, and somehow survive bad dogs.” 

This time, when the zebra opened his mouth, words did come out. “I think this is your howl, Shēdo.” 

“What?” Shēdo’s jowls sagged and her eyes went wide. 

“This is your howl. You’re letting it all out, but in words, not howling. Maybe you’ll feel better after this.” Conifer gave his companion a gentle smile and shivered a bit as the prairie wind picked up a little more. Unable to bear the cold, the colt turned to search his gear and pull out his blanket. 

“Don’t want to let it out. Want to stay angry. Need to be angry. Anger like fire for blacksmith. With this hot inside, I can forge self, change thinking, become something more than beat-down bitch.” Shēdo whimpered and her ears went limp against her skull. “Not be weak anymore. Not be weak ever again. Never allow weakness again. Never obey. Never submit. Never bend neck or show belly. Never be some dog’s bitch. Shēdo will kill dogs that keep bitches.” 

Now wrapped in a blanket, Conifer looked pained by Shēdo’s words, and he sat in silence, staring through the flames at his hulking companion. The wind, growing in strength, was tugging at his blanket and rustling Shēdo’s fuzzy hide. Staring into each other’s eyes, something happened between the two companions, though neither could say what. The zebra colt’s expression became one of concern, while Shēdo’s visage took on the exquisite sadness only found on the faces of hounds. 

Throwing back her head, she howled, a horrible, mournful sound, and Conifer shivered. In the distance, the coyotes answered, their own howls changing, now also sounding sorrowful. Again, Shēdo howled, and it was a chilling sound that made the blood run cold. Not knowing what else to do, Conifer, a student of life, did the only thing he could do to share in Shēdo’s grief. 

He howled, joining his companion, and then, he and Shēdo howled together for a time. 



 

Opening her eyes, Shēdo became aware of Conifer, who slept while curled up against her back. They were down in a mineshaft, sheltered from the cold, cruel wind, and wrapped up in blankets together. She was confused, disoriented from having strange dreams, and her first thought was that Limey had played pranks on her. 

“Conifer,” she said, her voice full of gravel. “Wake up… I had strange dreams about a paper pony.” 

“Paper pony?” Conifer stirred a little, but not too much, wanting to remain where it was warm. 

“Shēdo saw paper pony with eyes made of ink. She had wings… horn too… Shēdo was in place made of paper and I was made from paper too. Remember crinkling and ink smell.” 

“Sounds like a really weird dream.” Conifer yawned, smacked his lips, and was just about to doze off when Shēdo continued to talk once more. 

“Paper pony was nice to me. She told me that old diamond dog gods have passed away because we forgot about them. She said a time of new gods was coming.” Shēdo waited for some kind of response from Conifer, and then after a few seconds, she asked, “What you think that mean?” 

“I wouldn’t even begin to know,” Conifer replied while he squirmed, troubled by Shēdo’s words. “It’s just a dream though. I wouldn’t get too worried about it, Shēdo.” He yawned, whining as he did so, then added, “Can we go back to sleep?” 

“She had no name. Just paper and ink. Shēdo can still smell ink. Nameless paper pony say she writing a new chapter for Shēdo, wants to help Shēdo make diamond dogs be good again.” Almost shivering from breathing in the cold air, Shēdo pulled tight her blanket and tried not to move, because heat kept leaking out from beneath the covers. 

“It sounds like standard dream wish-fulfillment.” Conifer snorted, perhaps realising that there was no more sleep to be had. The colt groaned, wiggled a bit, moaned, and then went, “Brrr!” Ears perking, he asked, “Can we make a fire?” 

“We get warm by walking,” Shēdo replied, and she chuckled a bit when her zebra companion groaned.