I wrote this in honour of Kopi on Boxing Day, 2024. I shared it with some close friends. I decided to publish this today.
The Man and His Dog
The evening sun painted the sky in hues of orange and lavender, but to Logan, the world felt shrouded in grey. He strolled through the empty park, Benedict trotting happily at his side. The black dog’s wagging tail and eager panting brought Logan a rare moment of solace after Kelly went to heaven to be with Jesus.
For weeks, the city had been gripped by hysteria, and the air seemed thick with tension. The authorities claimed stray dogs were behind the mutilation of cats found in alleys, parks, and gardens. The accusations did not hold water – Logan knew it, and so did anyone with a shred of common sense. The rumours of a VIP’s son being involved circulated quietly but were quashed swiftly, buried beneath layers of official decrees and media distractions.
“We have CCTV to prove it was a pack of dogs,” claimed the local sheriff.
“There was NO CCTV footage,” claimed the veterinary service.
Logan had witnessed first-hand the horrors this excuse had unleashed. Dogs, many beloved pets, were being hunted in broad daylight. It was not uncommon to hear the crack of gunfire echo through the streets, followed by grieving howls of despair from their owners. Yesterday, they shot Coffee, a sweet-natured mutt who greeted everyone at the corner sourdough bakery. Today, Logan had resolved to keep Benedict safe, no matter the cost.
The Encounter in the Park
The pair reached the edge of the park when Benedict froze, his ears pricking. Logan followed his gaze and saw them: a group of municipal officers in their grey uniforms, their faces set with grim determination. Their van idled nearby, doors wide open, revealing a grim cargo of cages and rifles.
“Stop!” one of them shouted.
Logan tightened his grip on Benedict’s leash and tried to back away. “He’s my dog,” Logan said, his voice steady but tense. “He’s leashed. He’s not a stray.”
The officer sneered. “That’s what they all say. We don’t care. We say he’s a threat.”
Benedict barked, hair on his neck standing up. He was eager to protect Logan as usual. No harm shall come upon his dad, not under his watch. The officers raised their weapons, and Logan’s heart pounded. He knelt beside Benedict; one arm wrapped around his neck tightly.
“Benedict,” he whispered. “Be quiet. Stay with me.”
One of the officers aimed directly at Benedict, ignoring Logan’s pleas. Something snapped inside him. The idea of Benedict’s warm, trusting eyes going cold, his body limp on the grass, was unbearable. Logan could not let it happen.
The Ultimate Sacrifice
“Don’t shoot!” he yelled, but the officer’s finger tightened on the trigger.
In an instant, Logan acted on instinct, throwing himself in front of Benedict just as the rifle cracked. A sharp pain exploded between Logan’s shoulders. He felt white-hot heat. Then came the pain. He looked at the blood splattered everywhere. He stumbled but stayed on his knees, shielding Benedict with his bloodied body. He could feel life leaving his body rapidly.
The black dog whined, licking Logan’s face as blood soaked his shirt.
“Run,” Logan gasped, pushing Benedict away. The dog did not move, his loyalty unshaken even in the face of danger.
“I wish my boy was with me,” Logan thought. His boy was 7,500 km away. He would not be alive long enough for his son to come back to see him. He missed his son.
The officers hesitated, muttering amongst themselves. The crowd that had gathered began to shout – some angry, most horrified. Logan collapsed onto the ground, but not before hearing one officer say, “We need to get out of here before this turns ugly.”
Benedict howled, the sound echoing across the park like a mourning bell. Logan’s vision blurred, but he managed a faint smile. He had saved his Benedict. And perhaps, just perhaps, his sacrifice would ignite the spark of justice the city so desperately needed.
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