Six Short Stories About (Vol. 1): Dogs

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

For a Good Boy. i miss u xo

“Man’s best friend is a dog, not a feline Homosapiens got one thing right …

Eternal Hatred” Kero Kero Bonito, from the track Cat Vs Dog from the mixtape Intro Bonito

Contents Introduction ...

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A Trip to the Heavily Guarded Military Science Outpost Outside of Town (Short Film) ...

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Feelin’ Ruff (Detective Fiction) ...

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Day of the Good Boy (Comic) ...

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A Wild Pack of Dogs (Magical Realism) ...

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Just Chillin’ in Space (Holographic Play) ...

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A Brief Snippet from the Inner Monologue of a Dog (Experimental Fiction) ...

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About the Author/Illustrator ...

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Print Your Own Copy ...

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trans s right

*drawn by dusty

me

Introduction This introduction isn’t just an introduction to a small collection of short stories, it’s also me introducing myself to the world for the first time. After decades of a gender (that I was never really a fan of, tbh) being forced upon me, and internalising societal shame over who I am, I’ve finally been able to accept the fact that I am a trans woman. It’s hard coming out to a world that’s actively sliding to the far-right politically, and where anti-trans bigotry is being normalised by the media and members of parliament. This is a world where I’ll constantly have to debate my right to exist, because ignorance is easier than compassion. It’s gonna suck, but it’s gonna be worth it, I don’t have to hide who I am anymore. I can finally be me.

This zine is the result of my chaotic existence.

Why did I choose ‘dogs’ as the subject of these stories?

Well, why not? There’s a sizable amount of people in the world who care more about animal rights, than the human rights of marginalised people. It’s baffling. There’s been dictators across the globe who cared more about their pets, than the lives they ruined. Again, it’s baffling. Making ‘dogs’ the theme of this volume is my effort to understand this cultural phenomenon.

What follows is a journey through the obscene, absurd, and anarchic caverns in my mind. It sometimes might not make sense, but that’s the beauty of short stories, they’re bitesized, wee narratives. Easy to consume, without heavy investment. I wanted what I wrote to be something that only I could page 3

write, and I think I’ve done a decent job of that.

If just one person reads this zine, and it helps them through a difficult time, then it’ll be worth it. I don’t make things to try and impress people, I make things because I just need to. When I make something, like this zine, it helps me work through my feelings, and to be honest, I got a hell of a lot to work through. That’s why it took so long for me to embrace myself and come out. My backlog of emotional baggage is miles longer than my netflix queue. I’ll get around to watching Seven Samurai, when I start processing my feelings from the time that I spilt lucozade all over myself in a cinema foyer. My life is wild, is what I’m saying.

So, I hope you read on, and enjoy yourself. Because once you do, it’s no longer mine, it’s shared.

s ewsfeed n e h t n us o n watch s mornings up a c e u o Y “ ogs mor all’ ’ d y s g e n k i i l k t it Fuc mits tha d a a c i r ” me than us Until A meDark Co k c a r t the e Of gle, from A Special Episod a E e k i Open M ow on the EP Sh dy Late

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Six Short Stories about Dogs

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Pax

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“It’s a privilege, it’s a background It’s everything that I own It’s thinking I’m the hero of this pretty white song It’s thinking I’m the hero of this pretty white world” Heavens to Betsy, from the track White Girl on the album Calculated

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f f u R ’ eelin

F

The rain poured down on my shabby apartment roof, making the place feel as though it was full of radio static. I don’t even need to look at the clock to know it’s 7am, the rumble of the morning train is my ala rm. Despite the cacophony of city noise, the silence in the apartment brings me to a cold sweat. “Betsy!” I shout.

Nothing happens. I drag myself off the futon, hesitant to con firm my suspicions. My room looks the same as it always doe s, a mess, organised, but still a mess. I open the door, and my life is ruined. There lifeless on the coffee table is Betsy, her fur matted with congealed blood. The only being tha t loved and understood me, lies dead. In my apartment. While I was sleeping.

I don’t want to live anymore.

I need to find out who did this to her . What kind of sick, twisted person would do this to her ? If they wanted to get to me, why not just slit my throat whi le I was sleeping.

Better head into the office, figure out who killed her. It’s not like I’m ignoring paying clients . If I did, I wouldn’t be working out of the backroom in a floral shop. Glenda is lovely, I don’t know how she’ll take the news. She always takes care of Betsy when I got work to do.

florist’s. on the short walk to the The rain cooled my temper .I e and assault on the senses im ch llbe r lia mi fa a to I walk in be welcomrs and pungent smells to ou col t igh br e th d fin don’t days. d today is not one of those ing on the best of days, an page 21

d Glen“‘ello Sam! Where’s your furry little friend?” aske da.

“Dead.”

“Oh,” said Glenda. “I’m sorry for your loss.” norGlenda opened her arms to me, offering a hug. I don’t by this. I mally hug people, but she’ll be pretty broken up let her hug me. e now.”

“It’s gonna be alright love, she’s in a better plac came eone Fair, this cruel world doesn’t deserve dogs. “Som or lookin’ for you earlier, said it was about a landlord somethin’.” down in “Thanks Glenda.” I walk to the backroom and flop lf. myse e my chair. This place is a mess, but I can only blam piles, My organisation skills amount to putting paper in minutes I then forgetting which pile is which. After a few ss a find my recent cases pile, there’s not much here, unle exposcheating spouse thinks killing Betsy is revenge for been I’ve e ing them. The landlord case is the only one wher stepping on toes, money makes people irrational. the perI pop my head into the shop, “Hey Glenda, who was son that came in earlier?” ked “Didn’t give a name, but he was tall, grey hair, croo and poteeth.” Must be Larry. “And he was really charming lite.” Definitely Larry. comes I get ready to leave again. “Glenda, if someone else in, please get their name.”

“Sure, no bother. Stay safe.” page 22

For a public house, The Prince’s Head is very unwe lcoming to the general populous. The regulars spend thei r life there, while tourists can barely survive ten minu tes. The place is never really open, or ever really closed, it’s a twenty-four-hour hellhole. The rain had me cold and soaked to the bone, so it was a shock to the system to ente r the intense warmth of the pub. They never enforced the smoking ban here, making the place a nauseating nicotine sauna. Larry is propping up the bar as usual, his lanky fram e dominating the surroundings. I walk up next to him, and say, “What’s the news?”

“You don’t wanna hear it, Sam.” “I need to.”

“Alright, the thing is, it’s really complicated, and I really don’t wanna get bogged down in the nitty grit ty,” spouts Larry. “Long story short, tenants are getting fuck ed over.

There’s a coordinated effort by all the landlord s in the city, to rinse these people for all they’ve got, then get ‘em evicted.”

“What for?”

“Money, obviously.”

I stare at Larry.

“Well, this is where you don’t wanna get involved .”

“Tell me.”

“So, there’s this deal set up to sell the property to some shady company. Word is it’s connected to one of the internet companies.”

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“Any idea who this company is?”

“I can never remember the na mes, but it’s the one that owns the net.”

“Helpful. So, is there anyth ing we can do for the client s?”

“Not really, none of this can be proven,” Larry sighs. “It ’s a shame, all we can really do is warn the tenants.”

“I think we’re close to gettin g to the bottom of things, they’re scared,” I explain. “I think they killed Betsy.”

“Betsy’s dead?” Larry is sho cked, “That’s sickening. These people think they can do wh atever they want. You should lie low for a while, don’t wa nt you turnin’ up dead.”

“Don’t care. I’m gonna make these bastards pay.”

s is meetion of Landlord it al Co e th at suite th the penthouse t Larry got a tip ou ed k oo b e ea oon. They’v “business”. I hav ing this aftern ss cu is d n t ca so they getting in wasn’ so , ce la of The Scruton, p e th The ks security at ed me a favour. ow friend who wor y ad re al e ucing. You idering sh d headache ind a problem, cons an y d u ga is se walls thou that coats the ld décor of the pen go e th l al melt down r a year. could probably tire country fo en e th g in ed nd fe and use it to fu oking an important lo om fr e m co s ce y of voi listen in. It ap to g I hear an arra in op h , om rve into a side ro , before they se in t room, so I duck ai w rs re te om that ca the main room, to in r oo d pears to be a ro a s e’ the meetings. Ther me a glimpse of ng ri refreshments at fe of , ar slightly aj thankfully it’s um. ostentatious sc

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“So far, it’s been magnificent,” said a scru ffy man, who looked like someone rudely interrupted his afternoon round of golf. “These Pay2Live people have conv inced half my tenants to accept my incredibly reasonable offer.”

“They’ve been incredibly effective,” said a gruff voice.

“Even got those degenerates protesting my new development to go away.”

“I must confess,” said a familiar sounding voice, “their methods are a little questionable, love.”

“Well that’s just the price we pay, otherwis e nothing would get done,” the scruffy man replied.

“I’m just sayin’ we need to be careful, if anyone found out, we’d be done,” warned the familiar voic e.

Half the room laughed at this statement, the gruff voice spoke up, “I’ve been in this business fort y years, we’ll never get caught. Plausible deniability, we don ’t know what’s going on, so we can’t get in trouble.”

I feel sick, these people are ruining live s, and they don’t even care. I need to get out of here. I quie tly make my way out of the side room, then quickly make a move for the lift.

Ding! Doors open, I get in. As the doors star t closing, the doors of the meeting room open, Glenda emer ges, the lift doors close. I think she saw me. this, no time I need to find the people at the heart of ry to discuss a to think about Glenda. I meet up with Lar temporary headplan. We found the location of Pay2Live’s files so we can quarters, Larry says I need to download the expose the operation. page 25

I take the bus to the outskirts of town, where they ’ve set up shop. It’s a depressing industrial estate, the only joy felt here is when people get to leave their soulless jobs. I need to find Unit 14, before the surroundings drag me into the depths of despair. It’s situated right in the heart of this dismal place. Security isn’t too hard to get past ; an empty box and a fake ID are enough to let me past , deeper into the headquarters.

There isn’t much activity in this place, apart from one room filled with computers, and a crowd of miserabl e folk, endlessly clicking and typing. The only security cameras here are focussed on them, looks like Pay2Live worr y more the productivity than intruders. I haven’t seen anyo ne apart from the workers and security, I hope the mana gement aren’t in their offices, that’ll make it harder to get the files.

I peek into a meeting room, a whole host of polo-shir ted white men, with even whiter teeth, look at bars and graphs projected onto a screen. Bizarre how these types spend their entire lives analysing numbers, and nothing else.

I sneak by, hoping they’re to absorbed in profit forecasts and monthly figures. I find the office of whoever is in charge of this place. I don’t need to look at the sign outs ide of it to know, it’s bafflingly luxurious compared to the rest of the place. Even has fake windows, with a projectio n of a tropical beach replacing the grim view outside.

I make my way to the computer and stick in the device Larry gave me. A bar appeared on screen and started growing slowly, Larry said once it fills up, he’ll have everything we need.

“Hey there,” said someone in a generic American accen t, “anything I can help you with?”

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ly white teeth I look up, one of the men with the impossib for the assistant stands in the doorway. “Sorry, I’m looking up the empty manager. I have a package for them.” I hold box. e?”

“Sure, I can help with that. What’s his nam “M- Milton?”

I study the box to give me time to think.

The man pulls out a gun. Bang! e than I expectI’ve never been shot before; it hurts mor steps calmly ed. I collapse on the floor. I hear his foot and just keeps approach the desk. He stops, stands there, but it’s company smiling at me. “I don’t know who you are, that.” policy to eliminate threats. Sorry about ugh my pockets.

He kneels down and starts rummaging thro hold on, for Betsy.

Everything feels cold now, but I need to He finds my wallet and gets in my face.

“Now, what’s thi-“ can. He screams I lunge at his face, and bite as hard as I aming into my but he can’t move back. His blood starts stre , now’s my chance. mouth, it tastes rotten. He drops the gun as I reach for his Pain shoots through my entire existence . pistol. Bang! Bang! He slumps over, lifeless The computer bleeps. out. I did this I lie on the floor of this office, bleeding for you Betsy. I feel life fading away.

Betsy, I hope we meet again.

Betsy

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“A wild pack of family dogs came runnin’ through the yard And as my own dog ran away with them, I didn’t say much of anything at all” Modest Mouse, from the track Wild Packs of Family Dogs from the album The Moon & Antartica

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A Wild Pack of Dogs Ever since I was little, there’s been a roving gang of dogs going about my hometown. They tend not to bother folks, as long as people keep their distance. They’ve never bothered me, although it can be a bit unnerving to watch a band of large stray dogs skulk past you on a late-night walk.

Over the years, a few townsfolk have tried to “solve the problem”, but that really just boils down to them complaining at townhall meetings, before going on to be all jingoistic and complaining about “the immigrants”. Thankfully the rest of the town banned these people from derailing important town meetings, but I digress.

No-one in this town has a pet dog, or at least when they do, it’s not for long. We got a puppy when I was around seven years old, and one day, like a year later, they just left. I still see Buddy around sometimes, he tends to hang around with this large black Labrador, which if funny to see, since Buddy is cute little Pomeranian. My family didn’t seem that distraught when he ran away, a similar thing happened to some of their friends. I don’t know why they’d get a dog in the first place, knowing that it’ll probably abandon us down the line.

Working in the local shop you see this process happening over and over, we sell dog food, but it doesn’t sell that well. You get people coming in, buying supplies for their brand-new puppy, then after a few months to a year, they stop. It’s almost like a ritual, families bring dogs to the small town, hoping for a nice family pet, only for it to abandon them. It’s the children I feel sorry for, adults have a hard time understanding the dog situation, and the kids have no clue. Once I saw a girl crying to her mum, absolutely distraught, she couldn’t comprehend why their dog would run away. She said she loved it so much, and she’s worried that the dog hates her now. I can see years of therapy in her future.

Most of the town really don’t care at this point. From my research at the local library, the first instance of dogs running away and forming their own packs happened over a century ago. Very occasionally, some well-off city person will move here to “escape to the country”, only to be page 35

confronted by our bizarre dog situation. Much like pet dogs, they tend leave after a while. My neighbour, Ethel, tells me second-hand stories of people witnessing dogs cooperate, and do pretty impressive things. Once back in the sixties, the local policeman started harassing a queer person, which (of course) led to the queer person getting assaulted by said policeman, in the middle of the high street. Thankfully, every stray dog (apparently) converged on the scene, attacking the policeman, and letting the victim get away. The constable was so embarrassed by this, he had to get transferred to a different sleepy town on the other side of the county, in order to carry on being a brutal oppressive force in the world.

I probably understand these dogs more than anyone else in this town, but no-one would believe me if it told them why. They’ve talked to me. And I know that seems ludicrous, but I can’t think of any explanation, other than what happened to me. It was summer last year, and I was taking a nice lazy stroll around town (like I normally do when I’m bored, and it’s nice out), and I decided to have a wander around the cemetery. I spent some time just looking at the gravestones, and just imagining what the dead folks’ lives would’ve been like. I find it oddly relaxing. So, when I was staring at a grave of young person who died from a disease we’ve eradicated, I heard a voice from deeper in the cemetery. Now, I’m a socially-anxious person, so when I heard the voice I thought, “oh fuck, someone else here.” So, I looked around, couldn’t see anyone, and moved away from the voice. Then I heard a different voice come from the same place, so I looked over again, and couldn’t see anyone. Curiosity got the better of me, and I moved closer to investigate. I kept hearing both voices, but I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

I approached the mausoleum, then I started making out their conversation. “… but that won’t work, the food place is always closed at night,” said a gruff voice.

A lively voice replied, “If we can find a way in, our problems will be- “ The voices stopped as I walked around the ornate tomb. Two dogs were stood over a pile of food scraps, looking panicked, as if I caught them doing something wrong. “What’s up dogs?” I said cheerfully.

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“Not much,” said the Jack Russell happily.

I stared in horror, but so did the Staffy standing next to them.

“You idiot,” said the Staffy. “Now this human knows we can talk.”

“What?” I asked.

“Look, don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Can you help us?” asked the Jack Russell.

“Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do. You need food yeah?” I point at the scraps.

The Jack Russell looked shocked. “How did you know?”

“They obviously heard us talking, use your brain.”

“What do you need? I’ll just head to shop and get something for ya.”

“You’d do that? You’d go to the food place for us?”

“Of course.”

“That’s amazing!” yapped the Jack Russell, “get a few of those big bags of food, please?”

“No problem.” I set off for the local shop. It was a short walk for someone with a lot to think

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about. When I was there, I was getting a few odd looks. Firstly, because no-one ever buys dog food from the shop, and secondly, because I work there, and they know I don’t have a dog. I could tell my co-worker wanted to ask what I was up to, as they rang up two massive bags of dog feed, but it looked like they barely had the energy to stay awake. Thankfully my employee discount saved a couple quid. It ain’t much, but it’s something.

By the time I got back to the graveyard, my arms were aching. The food was heavier than I expected. The Jack Russell was standing outside the mausoleum waiting for me, he told me to follow him inside. The place was dead creepy, but I guess that’s the point of tomb aesthetics. We descended some stairs, into what I think are catacombs, I was then led to a large area that was full of dogs, in all shapes and sizes. I set down the bags, and the Jack Russell went off to talk to the others. I sat down on an upended coffin, then a beige blur started darting around the room.

The other dogs weren’t phased by this, but it was a sight to behold, until it started travelling towards my face.

“Hey hey! Remember me?!” said the energetic Pomeranian suddenly standing on my chest.

“Buddy?”

“Yeah! Well no, I’m not called buddy anymore, the names Big Boy, it’s an ironic name!” chirped Big Boy. “I guessed it was ironic. How’ve you been?”

“Great! I’m free to do what I want, what about you?”

“I’m alright, not as free as you, but it could be worse.”

“Why? You’re a human.”

“Well, I’ve got a job, which means I spend most of my time stuck doing nothing. I’m still living

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with my parents, which is fine I guess, but I don’t have enough money to get my own place.”

“Job? Money? What’s that?”

“Well my job is at the shop, and I get paid with money, so I can buy food and stuff.”

“You protect the food place? To get things which give you food?”

“Pretty much.”

“That sounds terrible, just take the food.”

A large black Labrador emerged from a tunnel and came up to us, and said, “Humans are weird Big Boy, they don’t share like us.”

“This is Baby, he’s my best friend! Hey baby, one of my old humans brought us all food!”

“Thank you,” said Baby, “We appreciate the help.”

“It’s no problem. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m all ears.”

“You’d look funny if you were all ears!” yapped Big Boy. “I overheard that you work in the food place, could you help us get food?”

“Sure, we throw out way too much, but they make us put in a bin with a lock on it.”

“I know, since that started many of us have been starving.”

“How about this? I’ll put all the good food behind the bin, so you guys can take it. Sound good?”

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“That’s marvellous!” shouted Big Boy. “We can eat all we want again!”

“And I’ll bring more big bags like this,” I said as I slapped the bag of dog food, “I’ll just them leave outside, whenever I get the chance.”

“Good humans share. You are a good human!” said Baby.

I spent a while with the dogs, until I started getting tired, then I went home. They were a good laugh, and they seem happy living together, without humans. I still regularly leave food outside work/the mausoleum. Now when I meet a dog on the street, they wag their tails, and let me pet them, but they only talk if no-one else is around. If they can a live together in harmony, despite being a motley bunch, it gives me hope for humanity. If only we could learn to look after each other, like our four-legged friends.

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Big Boy

Baby

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“It’s not getting b etter, no not getti it’s ng better , man It’s just getting o Ah ooh! w ld e do what we’re pro grammed t o do Hey we do what we’r e told” LCD Sound system, f rom the t Watch the rack Tapes on the album Sound of Silver

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Dog

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“I’m nothing, feed me to this world of dogs Barely breathing in this world of dogs Foam of feral reality forming on mountains of teeth Devour the hand, spit out the leash Crown the beast, my throne’s the street Too cold to sleep, I kill myself, I feel no pain I’m obsolete” Death Grips, from the track World of Dogs on the album NO LOVE DEEP WEB

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A Brief Snippet from the Inner Monologue of a Dog Wake up FOOOD!

Walkies!

dog. dog. dog. CAT! dog.

Home again

tired………………………………………..

sleep I find myself in a field, one that stretches to the horizon.

Why am I here? This place is so peaceful, yet I am alarmed.

What’s causing this emotion? I search the field, nothing but grass. I run, and run, and run, and run. There’s no end. page 51

Grass stretching for miles, I’m all alone.

Wait?

There’s a familiar figure standing in the distance. I don’t know what they are, or what they want. I must get closer.

As I approach they get further away. Why does this place tease me like this? I demand ansAwake!

Dogs outside! I can see dogs outside!

Dogs gone…

Food? Food! Human has food!

Tasty. Want more!

No more food… tired again… sleep page 52

Back here again, but the figure appears to be closer. I can’t smell them, so I approach with caution. It’s her! She’s the one who comes to the door and doesn’t come in! I don’t trust you. The humans are upset when the look at the things you give us. I need to understand. My legs act before I can think. Sprinting, sprinting, sprinting. She stands there calmly, as if she knows I can’t reach her.

I keep running, but I can’t get closer. She holds the power in this realm. If I’m to face her, I need to find her secrets.

Why does she terrorise the humans? What pleasure does she get from making them upset? Why will she never enter the house? All the questions have toHuman is moving around Keys?

Jacket?

Human is leaving

Door closes sad page 53

bored

sleep Back again, huh? She’s closer now, smiling at me. Her smugness is unearned, I will catch her, even if I have to run for years.

My legs have already started working their way towards her. She doesn’t care, she puts her hand in a bad, and takes out paper, endless amounts of paper.

My mind turns to this endless pursuit. Why do I give chase? Is it all I’m good for? All I can do is run. I open my mouth to communicate, but nothing comes out but silence.

This place has stripped me of what I am. Reduced to the base instinct: Run! I feel she’s getting closer now. Finally, it’s been an eternity locked in this endless struggle. Oh no, the field had ended, after it is a cliff then endless sea. I must stop. I can’t stop! Help! My legs they won’t sto… thirsty mmm water page 54

Someone’s outside!

It’s her!

Angry!

At the door!

Paper falls to the ground!

She’s gone.

Human is back! Yay! Yay! Yay!

The Postie

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uthor A e h t t u o Ab Dusty Smith is a non-bina ry trans girl, living in he llishly bland cyberpunk wo rld.

She’s a writer, video es sayist, filmmaker, and ge nerally just a talented Sc ottish lass. In the past sh e’s been a stand-up comedian , an actor, a bad musician , a podcaster, a miserable em ployee, a published poet , and an idiot.

She’s also the type who won’t shut up about politics, because she’s never had the privilege of being able to ignore the world around her.

@dustyajsmith

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dusty aj smith.

About the Il lustrator

illusLeo Lincoln is an o but pretrator from Plut fers Glasgow.

s been He is 4’10 and ha was the doodling since he prefers size of a pea. He ums and traditional medi own in wawould happily dr . He curtercolour paints a cupboard rently lives in st of his and spends the re s and betime reading book s. friending animal per and “I put ink on pa people like it” @bedhead.ren

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How to print your own copy!

1. Head to: https://dustyajsmith.wixsite.com/ sixshortstories

2. Download the “printable” version of the zine

3. Find a printer that prints on both sides (libraries would be a good bet)(also print in b&w/monchrome, it’s cheaper) 4. Before printing, make sure it’s set to print on both sides, and the “flip on short end” is checked

5. Get a big ol’ stapler, and put that thing together

6. Congrats, you know have a physical copy of this zine :)

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content warning: dogs, st rong lan guage, v iolence, p o l i t i c s