The Law of Club and Fang
This will either be a preview of the first chapter of my adaptation of Jack London’s Call of the Wild, or just straight up the first chapter. Not sure which yet. Which do you think?
As you can see, I’ll be taking my own liberties with the story, namely in what I guess can be described as “Disneyfication” lol. The animals will talk and some elements of the story will be toned down, changed, removed entirely, etc. That being said, I think it should still be recognizable as an adaptation of the original story.
And before you ask, yes, this was mostly inspired by the new movie (which I saw for the second time last night) lol. And while I do plan on borrowing one or two things, mine should be able to stand on its own four legs (get it lol).
I’ve got some changes that I already have planned, mostly in regards to the sled dog team and wolf pack that I won’t say because I don’t want to spoil anything lol. Is there anything y’all want in this adaptation, be it about scenes, characters, etc?
But anyway, be sure to comment and make what you thought of it known :)
“Old longings nomadic leap,
Chafing at custom's chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain."
“Hey! Guys! What are you doing!?" cried Buck as two humans worked a thick rope around his neck. He knew they couldn't understand him, but still he barked and howled, breaking the night's silence to call for his family in the grand house not too far away. “Please! Miller! Alice! Manuel! Anyone, please help me!" But no one ever came… not one that would help him, anyway. The two men held the rope around his neck and his collar respectively, keeping him relatively still while one familiar face walked up to them: Manuel, Buck's master's friend who helped around the premises from time to time. Before, Buck had seen him as a good enough man. But now, as he walked towards him with an almost sinister grin and a greedy glint in his eyes, all Buck saw was someone who had betrayed the trust of both him and his master.
“As promised," said Manuel. “One Saint Bernard/Scotch Collie mix named Buck. The prince of Santa Clara County. And a massive bastard with the strength of Hercules himself. Perfect for where he's going. Now, my money?"
“Yeah, yeah," said a rather brutish-looking man in a bright red sweater as he approached. “Hundred dollars, pleasure doing business with you." said the man as he handed over the money to the treacherous snake called Manuel. Buck barked and bayed louder still, hoping for a chance that the others might hear him and come to his rescue.
“Will someone shut him up!?" shouted the man holding the rope.
“On it." said the man in the red sweater, drawing a medium-length wooden club from his hip. Down it fell onto Buck's head, and all was black…
***
For the first two years of his life, Buck made California his home. But now, trapped in a wooden cage onboard a moving train among other large dogs held in cages of their own, he was scared. He was confused. He was alone.
“Hello? Anyone? Does anyone know what's going on?" he called, hoping someone would answer. None did… save for one.
“No idea," came a male voice from the box next to Buck's. “The name's Curly."
“Buck," said the giant mix. “Well, do you have any ideas as to what it might be?"
“Beats me, I'm just as clueless as you are. I just know that I was taken from my master, knocked out, and here we are."
“You too, huh? Well I hope we find out soon." said Buck, laying down to think. Why would humans steal dogs and put them on a train? To help them wasn't an option, as his reddish brown and white-furred head was still throbbing with the pain of being struck by the club. It was all too much for him to process.
(Swimming With The Tharks by Michael Giacchino)
The door to the car opened roughly, and through the small gaps between the boards, Buck saw and smelled the same man in the red sweater who clubbed him over the head that night, his club in one hand and a bottle of foul-smelling liquid in the other.
“Alright," he said, his words slurring slightly. “Boss wants me to break you dogs in. Who's first? How about… you." The man walked over to Curly's cage and opened it, revealing a large brown-furred Newfoundland as Curly made a break for it. But escape from the car was impossible. Realizing he was trapped, Curly barked and growled at the man in the red sweater as he approached him.
“Easy, boy," he said, though lacking a calming tone. “Don't want to get hurt, do you? All you gotta do is just be a good dog and play nice," His mind racing with fear and aggression, Curly instead leaped at the man with a savage bark. “Big mistake," snarled the man as he swung his club down on the Newfoundland's back. Curly yelped as the blunt weapon made impact with his body. He fell to the ground, staggered. “Good dogs play nice, but bad dogs… bad dogs get beat!" Again and again the man brought down his club on Curly's body, drawing horrible yelps and pained whimpers from the large dog. Buck could only watch in horror at the sight of Curly struggling to get to his paws.
“Now," snarled the man in the red sweater. “Are you gonna behave?" He raised the club threateningly, causing Curly to wince and flinch. He finally submitted, sitting down and lowering his head. “Good, now back to your cage!" Buck and Curly locked eyes as the latter limped into his wooden prison, beaten and broken.
“I'm sorry." said Buck, taking pity on him. No response came from Curly.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you mutts," yelled the man, brandishing his club which now had a few fresh spots of blood on the end. “If y'all are nice and obey the rules, you don't get punished. But if y'all are bad… well, I'm gonna have to teach you the law. The law of club and fang. Alright, who's next?" The man took a swig from his bottle, then set his sights on Buck's cage. “You. Get out here, doggy," he said, releasing Buck. The giant reddish brown and white-furred dog timidly walked out into the car's interior, dark and gloomy. “So what's it gonna be Bucky boy… the club, or the fang?" Buck stared at both the bloody club and the bottle in the man's hands. He'd seen what those bottles did to people at his former home… it made them impulsive, stupid, and at times… angry.
“The club it is." snarled the man as he struck Buck seemingly for no reason. It was pain unlike any he'd felt before. Wood beat against skin, muscle, and bone. Sure, he'd been cuffed by his master with either a hand or rolled up newspaper before when he did something he wasn't supposed to, but this wasn't punishment. It was abuse, plain and simple. Buck knew the bottle was the cause of all this. But he also knew that even without it, this man was not someone to be trusted… or obeyed. So despite the beating he took, he bore the pain… and waited…