Patches, our speaker, said that when the Alphas found us at the dawn of the world, we were not like we are now. There was no Dog, only Wolf. Wolf was wild and bloodthirsty with loyalty to his pack alone and hatred for all others. Patches tells how the Alphas raised us from savagery as a long, slow learning process. They repeated their lessons over and over until we understood the universe and our place in it. This world and all the creatures in it are the Alphas’ pack. We, their best friends and most faithful servants, get to watch it for them until they come back someday.
Being in these magic-stinking pony lands made me remember another version of the story. In that one, the Alphas did not just teach our ancestors, but actually ripped the wolfish parts out of their souls and sent these wolf-parts to the darkest corners of the earth, where they hunt and hunger forever. It was to show how bad we were back then and what it would be like if we went back.
I don’t know how else to explain those things we saw at the edges of our fire’s light last night, camping in that awful forest. Good Hound Rascal tried to grab one and throw it on the fire, because he is too brave and it looked like it was made of wood, but it came apart to get out of his grip and then re-formed and dented his bracer with its splintery teeth.
Even bowing and wagging for silly, lazy ponies will be better than staying another night in that forest!
I am ready. Very Good Hound Boomer, our leader, drills us every day on how we are supposed to act around the ponies. It’s been such a long trip that even a bad dog like me has them memorized. ‘Eat no meat but fish, and only when offered.’ ‘Never growl or snap at ponies.’ ‘Only smell their front ends.’ ‘Say “lady dog” instead of—of the thing I can’t say here because ponies think it’s bad.’ There are dozens of others too. Is it really true that they have special rooms and little shacks just to defecate in? That doesn’t sound right. I thought ponies were supposed to be clean.
I wish I was back home, even if it means having to fight those dragons and getting all burnt up or squashed. I don’t like having to care about what ponies think.
I don’t like what Boomer is doing to those three guides, either, even if they had been kicked out of the pack a long time ago. I want to ask Patches whether this is right, but he already knows, and he does nothing. Yet… Diamond Dogs are still dogs, and I think one of them might be my second cousin. There are a lot of Fidos, though.