Rover hated the Pink Pony. He hated her pups, he hated her queer, above-ground den with all of its vile stinks and offensively bright colours, he hated the uncomfortably familiar strain of a collar strapped round his neck and most of all, he hated this rancid, green stuff that ponies called food.
When the Rarity Pony's mother had come striding through the door, Rover knew that she was the head of this pony pack. Rover had spent the majority of his life bowing to top-dogs and pack leaders, so the recognition of an alpha was almost instant. He'd risen himself to his full height and put on his mean-face, determined to show just how little he feared this puny pony alpha-
And then she casually punched him in the balls, ruining his fearsome composure and showcasing her superiority in front of everypony in one, fell swing of a foreleg.
"That one was for my daughter, you son of a bitch." she'd whispered in his ear as he slumped to his knees. Rover had yelped, Rarity Pony made some weird squeaking noise and that Sunny Spots Pony or whatever his name was had covered the Sweetie-Pup's eyes.
Rover had been pretty compliant after that.
And so, with all five of them acquainted and the sun setting outside, Rarity had chirpily led him to his new quarters...
He was sleeping outside.
On the lawn.
Under the sky.
Rover shivered. It was a foolish idea to sleep in such an exposed place. He remembered the last dog who did so- a young, cocky dog named Rex. Spot had bet him two rubies that he couldn't stay above ground for one night. Rex accepted.
Rover found him two days later, missing his bottom half and most of his guts.
The night was a dangerous place for a diamond dog.
Rover sniffed at the air, searching for the scent of a predator, but the overwhelming smell of baked bread, sugar and pony masked everything. It was as if the entire settlement had a cloud of stench hanging over it. It was sickening. The darkness had stolen his sight, and the revolting reek of Ponytown or Ponyplace or whatever they called it, his smell. He was blind in every way that mattered, a terrifying concept, even when hidden in the safe confines of a tunnel. Out here, coddled by the dark and the cold and the threatening winds, it was nothing short of a death sentence.
He wasn't afraid, he was too angry to be afraid. He should be bathing in a sea of rubies right now, courtesy of those stupid pony-banks. Yet here he was, trapped on Rarity pony's territory, trapped without even a simple chain to restrain him. It was humiliating in a way. He was big, he was strong, but one little collar around his neck rendered him completely and utterly helpless. His name had been something that other dogs had spoken with fear. Now it would be nothing more than a punch line to a string of cruel jokes. No doubt he'd be met with endless ridicule for this.
A diamond dog enslaved to a pony. He'd laugh if he wasn't the one enslaved.
Of course, he'd tried to run. That ended as well as you might expect. By his sixteenth try the air was beginning to smell of fried dog, and his filth-matted fur stood on end. Ridiculous. Now not only was his pride ruined, but his fearsome image as well. What would the others do if they saw him like this? Keel over and laugh, probably. He could picture Spot's condescending smile perfectly. He'd seen it so often that his smirking jowls had all but emblazoned themselves into his brain. Stupid Spot. He hoped, wherever the stunted little shit was, that he was suffering just as much as he was.
Spot had endured a great deal of suffering as of late.
Where to begin? The rest of the pack were in an uproar. He'd promised them gems, and all he'd gotten them was dirt. Lucky for him, They hadn't been merciless enough to gut him over it. He had, after all, been an effective leader over his two years in power. Well, he liked to think he was, at least.
Secondly, they were low on supplies. Spot had intended to use part of the funds gathered from the heist to barter with some of the southern packs for food. Seeing as the heist went tits up, they'd have to double their efforts at hunting.
And finally, as if fate had decided to spite him, Rover was still alive.
Rover, the swine. Why couldn't he just lie down and die like a good boy?
He sank his head into his hand and growled. The life of an alpha was a difficult one, especially for one such as he. He had no strength, but he had brains, and at the end of the day the semi-retarded masses that were his pack needed someone to lead them. It was good fortune that they had enough sense between them to pick the most mentally advanced for the job.
But if they thought he wasn't up to the task of leading, challengers would soon start sprouting up...
Spot flexed his feeble arms and grimaced. The position of alpha was something that was often fought over in diamond dog culture. If somebody got the idea into their head that they could do a better job at it than him, he doubted he could do much to stop them.
He plucked a newspaper up from the ground beside him- a couple of their scouts had snitched it from a pair of wanderers. He looked at the front page and smiled. "Diamond Dog felled, sentenced to public service." beneath the headline was a dazed and confused Rover, Rarity-Pony standing next to him and smiling evilly.
Maybe it was better that Rover didn't die. By comparison, this was a far worse fate for the brainless ass.