The Muzzled

Section 1

Mack's chin rested on top of cold, hard cement, his paws ached, his body scarred from previous encounters. His brown fur grimy, his two ears, small and folded like all American Pit Bull Terriers. His left ear had a slice going down from his ear to chin and was full of red marks and bruised lightly.

As he rose to stretch, his metal collar jingled. He began to walk about the area, stretching his large aching muscles. The place smelt of raw meat and of the other dogs in the area. The warehouse, full of wooden crates and supplies for their owners.

Extra machinery was a common thing found in here.

Two other dogs were in this building, a female German Shepherd named Lizzie who was currently napping, and a tall black Doberman with large pointed ears named Stewart. Stewart is the self-proclaimed leader of the trio, and the other two dared not argue with his unfair logic-he had torn a few Pit bulls, beagles and Dalmatians apart when fighting in the ring, now Mack and Lizzie were at his mercy, even though as far as stamina and muscular structure went, the brown canine could potentially fight him-but in all honesty, he didn't want to.

Fighting was in fact the last and most dreaded item on his mind, as Stewart rose to greet his two slaves, his voice echoed throughout the warehouse. "Morning!" Lizzie stirred awake, yawned and shook her entire body before standing next to a tired Mack.

The Doberman looked down upon the two, he was tallest and certainly looked the roughest. Half an ear missing, his right eye bloodshot, his underside marked with bites. The only other sound that could be heard other than Stewart's blabbering was the sound of fluorescent lights from the ceiling. "Today folks, we fight. For the good of our species, for our owners who feed us." That terrible word-fight. The thing that Mack was brought up with, the thing he was scared of. Today, it was over with.

The Pit bull coughed a bit and spoke, born in Boston, Massachusetts, he had a deep city accent. "I'm not fighting again." Stewart's good ear twitched, his tone spiteful. "Yeah, you are actually." Mack sighed and shook his head. "I can't do this anymore, it's wrong and disgusting." The Doberman growled a bit, but Mack didn't back down. "You're a Pit bull...you're MEANT for fighting, you're good at it! You have a reputation, never beaten, never lost a fight. You've made big money for the humans who've taken such good care of you. Why do you think families hate your species? Because you're a FIGHTING dog." Lizzie looks to Mack in concern-what was he doing going up against a Doberman who could kill anything? Mack narrowed his eyes. "Innocent lives ruined, dogs who didn't do anything are torn apart because we're roped into this shit! That's fair to you?"

The two were about to lunge at each other, but four tall males entered the warehouse. All three of the dogs began to bark, whether in terror or pure anger it was hard for them to tell.

Before Mack could think, a heavy collar was forced onto his neck, causing him to cough a bit. His owner, intimidating and extremely overweight.

Dragged from the warehouse to the outside where a bit of rain drizzled from heavy dark clouds, across a dank and foul smelling alleyway, the pavement wet against his paws, the feeling of dread seemed to follow him. This is the only place outside he was allowed, and only with a human tugging at him. The feeling of sadness in the air like a mist over Mack's mind, on the occasion he did see humans they were usually upset. Sometimes injecting strange substances into their arms, causing them to act strange and fall down. The smells that wafted to him were typically unpleasant, garbage and dead animals were the two things he detected. There was something depressing yet creepy about the outside world.

At the end of the alleyway about a mile off, was a street. Full of fast moving cars and humans who seemed happy and content, and certain smells would come from there. Smells of amazing food and the feeling of happiness. This often caused Mack to tug on his collar in a desperate attempt to live on that side of the world. However, the human who pulled him would often kick him if the pulling became too much. It was hopeless. Everything was always hopeless.