Mexico City, 1922
Héctor was really starting to hate other dogs.
Perhaps the sentiment was harsh, but it was hard to be anything but angry as he stared down the two dogs stalking towards him and his meal. Their hackles were up, and their lips pulled back into twin snarls. Their scent was sharp and violent, and they were no strangers to fighting, he could tell just by looking. The one on the right had a vicious scar across its muzzle, and the one on the left was missing an eye, and half of an ear. They were bigger than him. Much, much bigger than him, and they were backing him into a corner.
Okay, so he was angry and also a little bit scared. But really, who wouldn't be?
He wanted to like other dogs. He really did. And he knew one or two that seemed nice enough. There was an old street dog that lived near the outskirts of the city who shared a meal with him once, and a kind hound who showed him a good fountain to drink from. And then there was his mother...
His mother was a hairless dog, just like him, and she had been very kind. His earliest memories were of her scent; warm, safe and calming, it stood out even among the overwhelming haze of smells that hung in the city air. For the first couple months of his life, he rarely strayed far from her side. He enjoyed her company, and he hoped to stay with her for as long as she let him.
But then…
It happened very fast. On a dry morning just a few weeks ago, the two of them were looking for food, his mother leading the way with her nose to the ground, and Héctor following behind. The pair normally avoided the busier parts of the city - the parts swarming with humans and horses and growling machines - but hunger drove them out of their usual territory. They came to a bustling intersection, and his mother stopped.
A dead rat lay on the other side of the street, and such an easy meal was too tempting to pass up. She turned to him and told him to wait before darting across the road. She didn't notice the speeding carriage until it was nearly on top of her. And by then it was too late. There was a shrill yelp, a sickening crunch, and that was it.
Héctor stayed, frozen by the side of the road for a long time after that. He didn't dare go to her - not with the street still roaring with traffic. Instead he stood, whining miserably, and gazed out towards where her unmoving form lay crumpled at the other side of the intersection.
Hunger finally drove him to abandon his vigil, and he gave her one last look before forcing himself to turn away, back towards more familiar parts of the city to search for food alone.
Surviving on his own was miserable. The hardships of street life were only somewhat tolerable when his mother was there to bear them with him. Alone, they felt unbearable. With no fur to protect him, save for a small tuft on top of his head, the sun beat down on him mercilessly. Insects bit at his skin. The hot pavement chafed his paws until they cracked, and licking at them did little to relieve the discomfort. All the while, hunger gnawed at his belly.
He tried his luck at hunting, but he was no good at it. The vermin that made their home in the city were too quick for him to catch. Scavenging was equally unsuccessful. By the time he caught the scent of carrion and tracked it to the source, another creature had always gotten there first. Desperation eventually brought him to one of the city's crowded markets. His mother had warned him against stealing from humans, frightening him with stories of angry shopkeepers chasing down thieving street dogs and beating them with sticks, but he was too hungry to care about potential consequences. He could outrun a human if he needed to. And if not, he was small. He'd be able to slip away into some little nook to hide until his pursuer lost interest. The market was vast. He could remain unnoticed if he was careful.
He slipped into the crowd, and found a suitable stall within minutes. The owner was distracted, talking and laughing with another human while she kneaded dough with her hands, and she never noticed Héctor creeping closer and closer to the plate of warm tortillas balanced at her table's edge. He paused for only a moment, his mouth watering as he judged the table's height. Then he leapt, seized the plate in his teeth, and brought it crashing to the ground. He heard the human shout in surprise, and he snagged one of the fallen tortillas and bolted. He stopped only when he was sure he was safe, then scarfed down his meal in seconds.
After that first success, the market became his main food source. He was pretty good at stealing from humans, as it turned out. He wasn't proud of it - and in fact some small part of him was almost ashamed to resort to stealing, for a reason that he couldn't quite articulate - but it kept him fed, and gave him something to focus on besides his mother's absence.
It helped that he was good at reading humans. Other street dogs found their behavior baffling, even threatening at times, and had trouble understanding their speech, but Héctor understood them just fine. He wasn't sure how. It was one of those things that he knew, just like he knew he was hairless dog, and that his name was Héctor - his mother had chuckled when he told her so, and informed him that street dogs didn't give themselves names, but he was undeterred. He was thankful for his ability. It made him all the better at navigating the sprawling market, and helped him choose which humans to target, and which humans to carefully avoid. Still, it didn't hurt to be cautious, and he made an effort to never steal from the same stall twice. He kept out of sight as much as possible, and did his best to go unnoticed.
For the most part, it worked.
Unfortunately, understanding how humans behaved did little to protect him from other dogs; especially large, hungry dogs that wanted his most recent prize for themselves.
The two mutts had blocked the mouth of the alley, cutting off any chance of escape. The dog with the scarred muzzle was close now, just a few feet away, its hot breath buffeted Héctor's face. Flecks of drool dribbled down from its lips as it eyed his food - a scrap of raw meat - and took another step forward.
Héctor took a step back and hit a wall.
He fought the urge to whimper. Granted, if he backed down now and played nice, made himself small and non-threatening, there was a chance the dogs would just take his food and leave him be. But there was also a chance they would use his submission as an opportunity to attack.
The one-eyed dog was closing in now too.
Héctor swallowed his fear and met the other dogs' snarls with a warning growl of his own. He was outnumbered, but this food was his. Not theirs. He bared his teeth to show them he was prepared to fight.
The scarred dog lunged.
Héctor ducked to the side and heard its jaws snap closed behind him. It stumbled, caught off guard, and he saw an opening. Héctor darted forward and clamped his teeth around its leg. It yelped. He tasted blood. Héctor tried to bite down harder but the other dog jerked back and ripped its leg out of his mouth.
Héctor growled again. He edged forward and-
Something heavy barreled into him and knocked him to the ground. The one-eyed dog. It pinned him beneath its paws, its weight forced the air from his lungs and he wheezed. Héctor thrashed, but the dog held him down. It snapped at his neck, but he wrenched his head forward to avoid the strike and the dog's teeth tore into his ear instead. Pain shot through the side of his head. His lungs screamed for air. He twisted, kicked with his legs and raked his claws along the dog's underbelly. Once. Twice. The weight disappeared with the third kick and Héctor struggled to his feet.
The scarred dog lurched towards him again and Héctor staggered back. His lungs burned and his ear stung. His limbs felt heavy.
The one-eyed dog returned and shot a brief glance at its partner, who met it and huffed. Some understanding passed between them and they moved in unison to circle him. The scarred dog loped to his right, the one-eyed dog stalked to his left. Héctor twisted his head back and forth to keep them both in his line of sight, but the scarred dog lunged at him again and he whirled towards it to evade the bite.
Héctor heard heavy pawsteps behind him and realized his mistake. Pain exploded through his neck as the one-eyed dog seized him by the scruff and bit down. He writhed, desperate to escape, but his assailant yanked him back and squeezed its jaws tighter. Héctor howled. Then, the one-eyed dog heaved him into the air and shook him.
The world spun. Héctor heard something rip. He struggled, but the dog held firm and wrenched him from side to side as though he were nothing more than a miserable rat.
Héctor's head swam. The dog's frenzied snarls roared in his ears. He smelled blood, and panic seized him. He flailed and kicked, but nothing worked. He couldn't breathe. The dog continued to shake him.
It was going to kill him.
The realization cut through the haze of pain and panic, and something deep within him stirred and cried out in anguish. No, he couldn't die. Not here. Not yet. He still needed to get home-
Home?
What was- no, no time to think. He needed to do something. He needed the dog to stop, to let go. But it wouldn't stop until he was dead and-
Oh.
Héctor forced himself to relax, and went limp.
The dog gave him one last painful jerk, and then stilled. The snarling stopped, and Héctor dangled from its jaws for an agonizing moment before the dog grunted and tossed him aside. There was a crack, he choked back a whimper as he landed awkwardly on his front leg and crumpled to the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to move.
Héctor listened to the scrape of the dogs' claws as they ambled away from him, towards where his scrap of stolen meat now lay abandoned in a corner. He waited until he heard them eating, then carefully cracked open an eye. Their backs were turned, heads bowed low and tongues lapping eagerly at their prize. Now. He had to get up, now.
He struggled to pull his paws under him and winced when the movement sent a jolt of pain through his injured leg. He took a shuddering breath, braced himself, and tried again. This time he held his bad leg off the ground while he wrestled himself up with the other three. It hurt. Everything hurt and he longed to lie back down, but he forced himself to move, limping for the mouth of the alley on shaking legs. He kept his ears trained behind him, straining to hear the moment when the dogs finished their meal and came charging for him again. But it never came.
He cleared the alley, stumbled out into the street, and fled.
Héctor didn't know how long he walked.
The sun drifted downwards until it brushed the tops of buildings, and cast long shadows across the ground. The streets grew quiet. He was exhausted, his neck was bleeding, and his whole body throbbed with each step, but he couldn't stop. Not yet. It wasn't safe. He'd left the dogs behind long ago. Their scent had disappeared beneath city's countless other smells, and he couldn't hear them anymore, but fear still plagued him. In the fading light he imagined them lurking around every corner, waiting for him with their sharp teeth and stinking breath. If he stopped, they'd find him again, he was sure of it. So, Héctor limped onwards, and the sun slowly disappeared below the horizon. Above him, street lamps buzzed and flickered, bathing the city in pools of yellow light.
Nightfall only intensified his anxiety. Héctor hated travelling through the city at night. He always had. He didn't know why - nothing particularly bad had ever happened to him during the nighttime - but something about the looming shadows of buildings and the harsh glow of the lamps set him on edge, and made his stomach churn.
He wanted to go home.
The thought had been troubling him as he walked. He was a street dog. He didn't have a home. And yet, it was suddenly the only thing he could think about. During the fight, the desperate voice that rose up and cried out for him to live had ignited something in him. Some deep, distant longing that he felt in every fiber of his being. He knew, without a doubt, that there was somewhere he needed to be, and it confused him to no end. He had no idea where home was, no idea what it looked like, what it smelled like, what it sounded like. And even if he did, he had no idea how to get there. It left him feeling frustrated, and empty.
His stomach growled and jarred him from his thoughts. In his haste to get away from the dogs, he'd managed to forget how hungry he was, but now he couldn't ignore it. He hadn't eaten all day, and the fight took a lot out of him. He needed to find food, and soon.
Except… he couldn't. He couldn't put weight on his injured leg, and every step he took with the other three was painful. He couldn't run like this. Stealing food from markets would be impossible. Even if he managed to get close enough to a stall to grab something, the humans would catch him before he could try to flee. Hunting or scavenging would be harder than ever, and after today's fight, he didn't dare risk trying to steal from other street dogs.
His stomach growled again, and he whimpered.
He kept walking. He didn't know where he was going anymore, just that he needed to move. The pain in his body was growing harder to ignore, and each step took more effort than the last. He wanted nothing more than to collapse right there in the street, but the idea made his insides twist with dread. He couldn't stop here. He had to keep moving. He needed food, and safety, and home, and maybe if he just kept going, he'd find them... somehow.
He trudged onward, but then heard something that brought him to a halt.
Ahead of him, the street widened and opened up into a plaza, shrouded in darkness save for a few solitary lamps. In the distance, Héctor could hear music; the soft tones of a lone guitar. It was faint, but there was something familiar and calming about the simple melody, and it pulled at him. The song echoed around the empty plaza making its exact origin tough to pinpoint, but it was coming from somewhere on the other side. Héctor could tell that much.
He limped towards it.
The gentle melody guided him across the plaza to a bench beneath a street lamp, and sitting on the bench was an old man with a guitar. As Héctor neared, he picked up the smell of cigar smoke, dust, and a hint of something sharp and sour that he couldn't name. An open guitar case lay at the man's feet- no… foot. He was missing a leg. A tattered hat was pulled down over his brow making his face difficult to see. Instead, Héctor found his eyes drawn to the man's hands. They were rough and worn, but in the light of the street lamp they danced across the guitar strings with practiced ease. As Héctor recalled, there were words to this song, and he wondered why the man wasn't singing.
Suddenly, the man stopped playing and looked up. Héctor froze. He hadn't meant to be seen, but now he realized that the music had drawn him far too close. He stood just a few feet away, in plain view, and the man was looking right at him. And he still couldn't run.
The man pushed the brim of his hat up, and stared at Héctor for a moment before he moved to set his guitar aside. Héctor thought about growling at him. Or maybe he could play dead like he had with the dogs, and the man would leave him alone? This human was old, and missing a leg, was it worth it to try and outrun him? Out-limp him? The man reached into a bag at his side and pulled out something wrapped in paper. Héctor tensed, but then a mouthwatering scent hit his nose.
Food. The man had food - some kind of meat, judging by the smell. He watched the human finish unwrapping it, and his apprehension melted into confusion as the man ripped off a small piece, leaned forward on his bench, and held it out.
"Come here, pelón." The man's voice was gruff, but he didn't sound hostile. Héctor chanced a step closer, and when the human made no move to attack, he closed the distance, snatched the morsel, and devoured it eagerly, unable to stop his tail from wagging as he did so. The man let out a rasping huff that might've been a laugh.
When he was done, Héctor decided to try his luck; he looked up at the man, cocked his head to the side, and whined. He was rewarded with a resigned sigh, and the man tore off another, bigger piece and tossed it to him.
"That's all you're getting, so enjoy it."
Under different circumstances, Héctor might've been inclined to argue, but exhaustion was creeping up on him again, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He finished eating, then limped under the bench, determined to beg the man for more food after resting a bit. His body still ached, and it took a moment to find a comfortable position to lie down in, but he managed it.
Héctor listened as the man picked up his guitar again and resumed playing - a different song this time. This one was slower, and softer, and it helped set Héctor's tired mind at ease. True, everything still hurt, and he still longed for home, but beneath the shelter of the bench, and in the company of this human and his guitar, Héctor felt safe.
He was asleep before the song was over.