Blood Relations

She first saw the dog while weeding the front yard, muttering vindictively about the injustice of being made to do chores on a hot summer afternoon. She was preoccupied, and so its footsteps went unnoticed; it wasn't until she paused to straighten her back and wipe the sweat off her face that she spotted it standing on the roadside.

It was a big dog – a German Shepherd. Its coat was dark enough to appear black except where the sunlight fell. Its upper canine teeth were long enough to protrude from its mouth like fangs. Glossy eyes watched her with a sharp intensity akin to a raptor. The dog's ears swivelled back and forth, listening to the wind and the distant rumble of traffic, but its head and body remained still as death.

Her first instinct was to pick up the garden spade lying on the driveway and hold it before herself in a defensive position. Some people might have been frightened enough to flee, given that the dog had no collar and was large enough to pose a real threat. But she knew that turning her back was the worst thing to do when confronting a dangerous animal. Gripping the spade firmly, she told the dog to sit down.

No response. The angular ears continued to twist back and forth, and the liquid eyes continued to stare. There was no growling, but there wasn't a tail wag, either. Its body language didn't make sense.

She reasoned that perhaps the dog was a stray and had never been taught commands. Taking a more physical approach, she bravely stepped forwards and brandished the spade like a club. "Shoo! Go away!"

Her voice rang out in the quiet street, but the dog barely responded. A feeling of unreality began to creep over her, chilling her in a way that nothing else could on a hot day. The neighbouring houses were still and silent, as if everyone on Northwest Avenue had just… vanished.

The dog slowly lifted one paw and leaned forwards. She automatically stepped back. The garage lay behind her, but the door was shut and she was not going to turn her back on the dog to open it.

Predators wait for the prey to run before they attack, she found herself thinking wildly. Those paws were huge. One swipe could knock her over, and then she'd be at the mercy of thoselong teeth and heavy jaws.

The dog intently sniffed the air. Her hands, sweaty from more than just the heat, slipped on the spade. Yet she refused to run or scream. Standing tall, she lunged forwards and swung the spade with all her might, directly at the animal's face.

The blow never connected; the dog sprung away with inches to spare. She was preparing herself for round two when, suddenly, the rumble of a car engine filled the street. It grew louder and louder until a black BMW appeared and turned ponderously in the direction of her house.

The dog hesitated, its ears flicking back to listen. Then it looked directly at her, and a strange huffing breath that sounded almost like a laugh came out of its chest. Without further ado, it turned and walked calmly away, smooth and silent and utterly self-assured. She still hadn't seen an owner or heard any calls.

She watched it slinking down the pavement until its fluffy tail disappeared around a corner. It was so elegant. She had a bizarre mental image of an English gentleman from an older time strolling along with a suit and top hat.

What a strange dog, she thought. Then her mother got out of the car and immediately began to berate her for not finishing the yard work, and the encounter was quickly pulled from her mind.