There is a specific kind of silence that follows Maya. She’s a Belgian Malinois who lives three doors down. But, she doesn’t belong to a house, she belongs to the street. I’ve spent months watching her from my window, a ghost of tan and black fur that treats the neighborhood like a sovereign she’s been tasked to hold together. Tonight, I was just the witness to her latest ruling.
I was heading home from work, my back screaming and a bag of groceries weighing down my hand. That’s when the blue and red strobes cut through the humidity, turning the air into a thick, pulsing fog.
Officer Miller was out of his car before the tires stopped spinning. His eyes did that quick inventory check: hoodie, late hour, black skin and then settled on me like he’d found what he came looking for. I’d seen that look before. Too many times to count.
He stepped into my space.
“Keep ’em where I can see ’em, boy. Don’t you go twitchin’ on me,” Miller barked, his eyes flashing red-blue-red-blue syncing with the strobes.
I looked past him. I didn’t see Vance, the rookie cop, who was leaning against the cruiser without his belt on. I didn’t even see the gun in Miller’s holster that he was itching to pull. I saw Maya. She had cleared her neighbor’s fence without a sound, a shadow quietly escaping the strobes. Her entire being was focused on Miller, the loudest thing in the night, the man radiating a heat that had nothing to do with the weather.
“I’m just tryin’ to get inside, Officer,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I live right here.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Miller spat, saliva hitting my cheek. “Whatchu got in the bag? Drugs? Grass? What you hidin’, you summabitch?”
Maya didn’t growl. She didn’t bark. She simply calculated. I watched her muscles coil like heavy springs. She was reading Miller’s heart rate, the tilt of his head, the way his hand trembled near his holster. To her, I was a static element. Miller was the anomaly that needed to be corrected.
“Answer me!” Miller screamed, his face turning purple. “You want a night in the county? Keep pushin’. I’m dyin’ to give it to you.”
Panic flickered across Miller’s face when her shadow crossed his peripheral. His hand dove for the holster, thumb slipping on the snap. That was all the consent Maya needed.
She launched. She wasn’t a dog at that moment, she was a seventy-pound kinetic strike. Her jaws locked onto Miller’s gun-hand before the steel even cleared the leather. I heard the sickening crunch of Maya’s teeth meeting bone.
“Aaaagh! Get it off! Shoot it, Vance! Shoot the gawddamn mutt!” Miller shrieked, hitting the asphalt.
Maya was an anchor. She didn’t thrash wildly, she held. Blood, dark and hot, sprayed across the white cruiser door, pooling under Miller’s arm. Vance was frozen. He started for the car to grab his weapon from the seat, but Maya let go of Miller’s mangled hand and pivoted.
She stood over the bleeding officer, her hackles a jagged ridge of fur, her eyes locked on Vance. She wasn’t just defending me, she was commanding the scene.
“Don’t move, Officer!” I shouted at the rookie. “She’ll take your throat if you reach for that car!”
The rookie stopped dead. He stared at what was left of Miller’s hand which was no more than a shredded mess of meat and exposed white bone. Maya didn’t move an inch. She was the only calm thing in the street.
“Easy, Maya,” I said, stepping into the light. My palms were open. I used the low, guttural hum her owner had taught me. “Down, Maya. Sit. Stay.”
She tilted her head, the blood on her snout glistening red-blue-red-blue. She looked at the terrified rookie by the car, then at the man wailing on the ground. Finally, having decided the threat was neutralized, she dropped into a military sit right in front of me.
“Call it in, Vance!” Miller wheezed, his voice cracking. He was clutching his mangled wrist, his face a ghostly grey. “Tell ’em the kid set the animal on me. Tell ’em I’m bleeding out! Shoot that goddamn dog!”
Vance didn’t move. He stood by the cruiser, his hands hovering near the car handle, but his fingers were lifeless. He looked at Miller, at the veteran who had spent the last hour teaching him how to “shake down the locals”.
Vance looked back at me. His eyes were wide, flooded with a sudden, sharp clarity of the mess he was standing in. He keyed his radio. His voice was hollow, “Dispatch, Unit 214. Officer down at 4th and Elm. Severe lacerations. We need an ambulance, Code Three.”
“The dog, Vance!” Miller screamed, “Report the animal! Arrest the boy!”
Vance looked at Miller’s ruined hand, then back at Maya. She sat perfectly still, a silent judge watching a guilty man.
“He didn’t do nothin’ but save us, Miller,” Vance said. He looked at me. “Go’head on inside, sir. Just… go on.”
He looked at the empty space where Maya had been. In the chaos of the flashing lights, she had simply… recessed. I walked up my steps and stayed in the shadows of my porch, watching as the street filled with more blue and red.
Note: Guest entry for Inntales-1
Photo by Martin Podsiad on Unsplash
