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To this day, I still don't know what possessed that squirrel to land right in the middle of a pen filled with dogs. It might have just been looking for food, or it might have been suicidal. I harbor a secret suspicion that it's even possible a human dropped it in with us just to see what would happen. Whatever the reason, the effect was instantaneous.

I certainly wasn't the first to see it, but I heard the soft thump as a small body landed on the grass. I turned my thick neck around and saw it, paralyzed there in the middle of the yard. Some of the dogs were already on their feet and they were paralyzed too; "pointing" humans call it. I rose, but I did not point, because as soon as my weight was off the ground, everything began to move quickly. The squirrel dashed across the yard like a brown bolt of lightning. It would have easily slipped through the fence in a blink, save for the fact that it was surrounded on all sides by canines large and small. The smaller puppies, who were far more numerous kept the squirrel changing direction despite the fact that they wouldn't have known what to do with it had they caught it. Us bigger puppies didn't really either, but we were larger and had larger teeth as well.

I stumbled forward, feeling the fat of my body jiggling awkwardly. When the hell had I gotten so fat? I asked myself futilely. At that singular moment, I regretted every excess Calorie I had willingly dumped into myself as I gamboled recklessly forward, swollen belly slapping against my knees and fatty tail shelf flapping left and right so hard I thought it might just fly off. I felt mired and slow despite how I willed myself forward. The reality was that I'd gotten tangibly more out of shape in the past month without even realizing it and it was a shock to realize that I was already at the limit of my speed.

Other dogs were little better than me, however, or visibly worse, like the extremely fat lab-shepherd who was only just getting his lardy but off the floor when the chase had been on already for nearly three seconds.

The huge bushy tail flapped in the air with every bounce of the little darting body. The sight of it was like drugs to my canine brain. I was filled with the overwhelming urge to chase, to chase and run until my feet literally dropped out from under me. Humans sometimes wonder why a dog will work himself to death unless a human is there to hold him back. The answer is pretty much the same as why a wolf will chew off its own leg to escape a trap. There is only the moment. We don't consciously gauge our reserves like a human does and walk a line of moderation or stop at the first signals of pain. It's all or nothing, and the instincts drive us because it takes everything we have in us to catch prey and ultimately to survive.

The squirrel changed direction on a dime to avoid a puppy, flying back towards the center of the yard. A large fatty dog who'd happened to be close couldn't hope to match the turn and instead tripped over said puppy and went sprawling. He barely missed crushing the pup under his weight by inches. I remember that dog well, because he would limp after the chase and then later be taken away by humans and returned with a bandage around one of his forepaws. He'd actually managed to break his wrist landing with all his surplus weight on it. He lost his appetite and a lot of weight after that and was never really the same. Sometimes life turns on a dime.

Another pair of dogs slammed into each other like colliding sumo wrestlers as the squirrel beat a track through the huge slow moving dogs. Another dog snapped at it, only to sink his fangs into someone else's thick haunch. The canines scratched the surface of the leg and drew blood. The scent of it only made the frenzy even more intense. I slammed on the breaks so I wouldn't be crowded in by the whirling heavy bodies. The smaller puppies weaved between out feet, constantly getting stepped on. Where was the squirrel? Where was it?? The singleminded obsession with the small, fast critter blinded me to the madness inside the pen. More than half of the dogs would come away from this incident with some sort of injury, although the broken wrist was the worst of it.

I stepped in between the frantic dogs when I could and kept my distance from the mosh pit the center of the yard had become, aware of the fact that I was far more likely to be hurt by them than the squirrel, and hunted for the prey with every ounce of my being, training my ears and sniffing, sniffing, face close to the ground.

I heard the patter and took off after it. I stole a breath of excitement when I saw where the sounds were coming from. It's inside the concrete house! I realized with absolute joy. I actually had a chance at getting it! I plowed my way over two smallish dogs baying at the entrance, but too timid to go inside. They were goldens like me, and looking back in memory, they may have even been my litter mates. But it didn't matter to me. I moved forward and left getting out of the way (or not) to them. Inside the house, the sounds bounced around and temporarily confused me.

There was another puppy in here, chasing it in circles and even up the wall. But there were no windows for it to climb out of and it fell to the floor, only to begin the chase again. Who was it, but my own quick moving brother who had cornered the prey. I took this as a sign and moved forward to the kill.

My brother recognized me and took the familiar positions. For a few brief moments, it was as if the differences that had grown between us were gone, or rather had never existed at all. I was still slower than him, but the squirrel gave me even greater distance than my brother, and thus better herding ability. I pushed it to the corner, and my brother ran back and forth, barking his excitement, as he kept it from running around me.

One last time, it ran up the stone wall. Heavily, I reared up, using my height as a weapon, though the weight of my midsection dragged at me and I felt a bad twinge go up my lower back. I was still too slow. The squirrel dropped between my forepaws, leaving me gaping like an idiot. But my brother was right there. His teeth closed on the bushy tail like one of his favorite toys and the squirrel thrashed, making a delightful, teasing sound. I dropped heavily down to my forepaws and grabbed the squirrel as it was amazingly managing to drag my brother slightly across the floor. I broke its neck without even realizing how delicate the creature was and the squeaking stopped. I had the squirrel.

I cannot begin to describe the pleasure I had in that moment of triumph. It was greater than merely canine conquest as well, because I was acutely aware of my disadvantages and the limitations of every dog here. Somehow I sensed that a small miracle or series of miracles had occurred for me to be holding this now-dead rodent in my mouth. Oh, it was still warm, and soft like no man-made toy. The fur was really real and the pungent scent of it filled my nose. Everything in my life so far had been pretend, simulation only. But this was the real deal. This thing had been alive and my predatory instincts had led to its death. I was truly a hunter for the first time.

Naturally the first thing I did was it was toss it into the air like any old toy. I tried to snatch it, but it bounced off my nose and landed on the ground with a satisfyingly heavy thud. My brother grabbed it and we had ourselves a good victory tug which was made all the better by the sensation of the bones and tendons snapping and popping when we pulled it hard. Almost no part of myself thought about eating it, although I did want it in my mouth almost constantly. To me, kibble was food, this squirrel wasn't kibble certainly, therefore it was not food. But it was a marvelous and squishy-firm-furry-smelly all around good toy. I took it from my brother easily and walked outside with it. Intent on displaying to everyone what I now had.

I walked forward to the wide eyed dogs now licking their wounds for the most part in the center of the yard, but only got a short distance before I was knocked off my feet by a heavy mass slamming into my side. I sprawled in the grass, wondering what hit me when I looked up and saw the wide, heavyset figure of the shepherd-lab staring down at me. His eyes were fiery beyond his black muzzle. I was shocked that he'd hit me. The fattest dogs weren't usually too physical with each other. But his eyes told me that he was ready to do far worse than hit me, so I quickly averted them, going so far as to roll over on my back and display my tender pink belly. Again, he shocked my by stepping on it although the abject display should have appeased him. I wheezed out a gasp with the force of the shepherd-lab's enormous weight on my diaphragm and dropped the limp squirrel I'd been holding. Silently, he stepped over me and took my prize. He then waddled away, two other dogs each easily as fat as the black lab at his considerable jiggling flanks. He went over to the side of the research building where he and his entourage could enjoy the squirrel by themselves. It would be in three pieces by nightfall and the following morning, the facilities man would come and clean up the mess.

As for myself, I stalked off in shock, not quite believing what had just happened. The excitement, the joy, the final victory and the speed at which it'd been taken from me. I thought about my brother, but he honestly didn't seem too concerned about the loss of the squirrel. It was as if he had already mostly forgotten about it, or perhaps simply accepted the fact that it would be taken. When I saw the black lab approach me where I'd marooned myself against the side of the chain fence, I was glad. I knew he would tell me something to put everything in perspective. To make me stop thinking about how the squirrel had been taken. But he didn't. Instead he congratulated me on my victory and said that the squirrel was really mine, no matter what the lab-shepherd said. He shared more abstract thought with me in our simple dog language of gestures and posture, and I contemplated the meaning of a word that I didn't know. What had happened was unfair and the black lab knew it too.

I stood up and looked him in the eye. Remarkably, I was as tall as him now, though he as yet remained much wider at the waist and thicker of neck. His proportions were also more adult while my head and my paws still seemed a bit too big for my body. I weighed perhaps two thirds of the obese lab's impressive poundage that set him in the top 10% of the yard's occupants. Although, while some tried at gaining weight for the perks and a chance at dominance over other dogs, the black lab managed it gracefully and seemingly without effort and certainly he had no mind for asserting himself over his brother canines. I think it was something I admired in him from the start.

The lab told me that he'd told me so. That I'd have to be ready to fight even if I didn't want to. I bowed my head in respect and understanding. My timidness had just now cost my my miracle squirrel. What might it cost me in the future? I didn't know, but a part of me that I'd thought I'd left behind stirred, that fiery part of me that my two less aggressive brothers had lacked way back in the now-shady past of early spring. I didn't want people stepping on me. I just realized then that they still were, in spite of my great size.

"I want to fight." I told the black lab with my waving tail and steady eyes.

"Then do it." He said simply.