Randy zipped across the fields, a small brown blur swirling through the tall, whispering grass stems. He left the familiar scent of Villagloriosa behind, reaching the crest of the hill where an old, fallen log lay like a forgotten boundary stone. Scrambling atop it, he crept towards the far tip, gazing out at the wide world unfolding below. Optimism bubbled inside him.
The sun’s rays kissed the distant woods, painting the ridges in warm shades of orange and gold. The sight held him captive, a perfect moment suspended in time. Oh, to bottle this feeling, this sense of infinite possibility!
But as he edged towards the log's end, almost imagining he could brush the vast blue sky with his paw, his weight shifted the wood. It tilted, began to slide — slowly at first, then gathering speed — carrying him down the slope towards the dark gash of The Gorge.
For a heart-stopping second, Randy felt a wild leap of panic, but then a strange calm settled over him. The slide was smooth, almost effortless, as if the log itself were guiding him. Things had never felt so convenient. It bumped gently to a halt at the bottom of The Gorge. Randy hopped off, giddy with relief and the thrill of the ride, whistling a cheerful melody as he continued his westward journey, chasing the sun, leaving his old life far behind.
He ducked under bushes thick with leaves, plunged into the dappled shade of the forest, and ran along the winding path. He felt utterly carefree, gloriously oblivious to the past, the future, or any sharp-toothed predators that might be lurking just out of sight.
It was marvellous. The most magnificent time of his short life. Freedom tasted sweeter than peaches. The birds seemed to chirp in rhythm with his scampering paws, the rustling leaves provided a gentle orchestration, and soon, Randy burst into song, his voice small but joyful in the vast green silence.
But as his song trailed off, so did the daylight. Shadows lengthened, pooling beneath the trees like spilled ink. Darkness crept into the forest, swallowing the cheerful colours, and Randy’s buoyant mood deflated.
The things that had looked beautiful and welcoming just moments before took on a threatening air. Tree trunks twisted into menacing shapes, branches clawed at the sky, and the friendly birdsong died away, replaced by an unnerving quiet.
Randy tried to recapture the earlier joy, forcing another verse of his song, louder this time. But the forest only answered with dead silence, save for the whisper of wind through the leaves. “Maybe I didn’t sing loud enough,” he thought desperately, and drew breath for an even louder note.
A sharp, echoing “Whooo!” replied from the darkness.
“It’s me! Randy!” he called back, foolishly cheerful.
Before the last syllable left his mouth, a dark shape, swift and silent, swooped past him on wide wings. He dodged instinctively, tumbling into the undergrowth. An owl! He saw it bank sharply, turning for another pass, its huge eyes fixed on him. Randy scrambled, dashing blindly along the path. Out here in the open, he was nothing more than a midnight snack. Luckily, his frantic eyes spotted another log lying beside the path. He dug underneath, pulling himself flat against the cool earth, just as the owl’s talons scraped uselessly at the wood above him.
The owl circled, frustrated, trying to claw him out, peering into the dark space beneath the log. But Randy was safely tucked away.
“Whooo!” the owl hooted again, a sound of annoyance this time, before finally flapping away into the night sky.
Randy remained frozen under the log, heart hammering against his ribs, listening to the faint sound of the owl circling overhead. Sleep took a long time to find him that night.
He woke cautiously the next morning, the memory of the owl sharp in his mind. He stayed hidden for a while, peering out nervously. Was it still nearby? Eventually, hunger and the need to move pushed him out. He made a quick dash from the log, just in case, then continued his journey, following the sun’s westward path.
On and on he travelled, deeper into the forest, until his stomach rumbled, then growled, a loud, insistent noise in the quiet woods. It growled so loudly, in fact, that a squirrel perched high in an oak tree overhead heard it and giggled.
“Eat this, little mouse!” the squirrel chirped as she threw two acorns at him. “It’s bitter, but it will fill your stomach!”
Randy snatched up the acorns gratefully. He chewed them ravenously, but his pace slowed as the bitterness hit his tongue. He winced with each bite. The squirrel was right; it was terribly bitter, not pleasant at all. But it was food, and it quieted the insistent growling in his belly, making him feel much better.
He trundled on for a few more hours, but the afternoon sun, filtering through the leaves, grew warm, making his eyelids heavy. Without meaning to, feeling safe for the moment, he curled up beside the sturdy trunk of a large tree and drifted off to sleep.
Randy woke soon after to a strange feeling. Something wet, slick, and rather large was dragging across his fur. Slurp.
"What are you doing?" he mumbled, still pulling himself from a deep sleep, trying to push it away. Slurp. He blinked his eyes open and froze. Looming over him was a beast, huge and fierce-looking, its tongue lolling out, its stomach emitting hungry growls with every swipe it took at Randy’s fur.
“Stop!” Randy yelped, scrambling backwards in fear. The creature advanced, its tongue darting out with slobbery enthusiasm. Randy turned and fled, running blindly westwards and searching desperately for cover, but the path here was wide and open.
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"Can't… help it," the animal mumbled, still licking the air where Randy had been. "It's a tic that makes me want to lick." Its eyes had a strange, glazed look, completely lost in a haze of ravenous hunger.
"Please!" Randy cried, managing to grab the creature’s long, wet tongue and stick it momentarily to the top of its own nose. He used the brief distraction to scramble further away.
"Just one more lick!" the beast pleaded as it bounded after Randy.
"No! Get away from me!"
Randy ran, dirt and leaves clinging to his damp, drool-smeared belly. The creature behind him looked positively feral, driven by some primal urge he couldn’t control. Randy pushed his legs faster, but the animal was much bigger, its strides easily eating up the distance between them. He glanced back and saw the beast’s teeth — long, sharp, predator’s teeth. Fear, cold and sharp, jolted through him.
“Don’t eat me, please!” he screamed.
The instant the words left his mouth, the creature faltered. It looked confused, lost its footing on a loose stone, and tumbled head over paws.
“Eat you?” it said, scrambling back to its feet and shaking its head, clearing it. “I don’t want to eat you! What kind of dog do you think I am?”
Randy stood frozen a safe distance away, staring at the creature he had never seen before.
“You won’t eat me?” he asked cautiously. “Promise?”
“Of course not!” the dog declared, looking genuinely offended. “I find the mere suggestion insulting! No matter how hungry I am — and believe me, I am very, very hungry — I would never eat another animal. That’s just wrong!”
“Oh. Okay,” Randy said, peering into the dog’s eyes. They looked different now — the feral glaze was gone, replaced by kind eyes. Whatever strange fit had possessed the dog seemed to have passed.
“So… what do you eat, then?” Randy asked.
“Dog biscuits!” the dog replied eagerly, sniffing the air hopefully. “Have you seen any around?”
“No. Are they good?”
“The best,” the dog sighed blissfully.
“Better than cheese?”
“Bah!” the dog wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Of course! Cheese isn’t nice at all.” Randy felt an instant kinship with this strange creature.
“I’m Randy,” he offered. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Chewy.”
“Chewy? Because you chew things? Or chewy because you’ve been chewed?” Randy ventured, thinking of the earlier licking incident.
“No!” Chewy laughed. “Chewy because I’m a Chihuahua. That’s the type of dog I am.”
A Chihuahua! Randy was deeply impressed. Chewy was enormous, far bigger than any animal Randy had ever encountered up close. Could this be the biggest animal in the whole world (apart from humans, of course)?
An answer soon came to him as an ominous shadow loomed over him. He looked up, and terror seized him. A fox — sleek, red, and grinning — showing too many teeth. Before Randy could react, the fox pinned him to the ground, its paw firmly planted on his tail.
“Hey!” Chewy exclaimed, trotting towards the fox, completely oblivious to the danger. “Glad to see a familiar face! We’re trying to find some food. Know where we can get some?”
“I’ve already found mine,” the fox smirked, its eyes flicking from the trapped Randy to the approaching Chewy. “A starter… and a main course for dinner. What a delightful treat!”
“Really? Where is it?” Chewy asked innocently, still trotting closer, ignoring the drool gathering at the corners of the fox’s mouth.
“I… I think he means us, Chewy,” Randy stammered, tugging uselessly at his trapped tail.
“Us?” Chewy tilted his head, confused, taking another step towards the fox.
“Chewy, don’t come closer!” Randy cried, horrified. “He’ll eat you! Run! Save yourself!”
“That’s right, little dog,” the fox crooned. “Come closer. We can be friends.”
“Friends, eh?” Chewy said, stopping just out of reach, his brown eyes fixed intently on the fox’s.
“Indeed. Just a little closer, friend,” the fox urged, sensing an easy meal. Chewy was almost within biting distance.
Then, just as the fox’s jaws snapped forward, Chewy moved like lightning. He dodged the deadly teeth, darted under the fox’s legs, and clamped his own jaws fiercely onto the fox’s bushy tail. He held on tight, refusing to let go.
Randy watched, astonished. Little Chewy was attacking an animal easily four times his size! The fox yelped and thrashed, trying to shake him off, slamming him against rocks, against the ground, but Chewy held on with ferocious tenacity. Finally, the fox collapsed, whimpering in defeat.
“I give up! Please let me go!”
“You haven’t told us where the food is,” Randy said, finding his courage now that the immediate danger had passed.
“You were my food!” the fox wailed. “I eat meat! Smaller, defenseless animals. Whatever I can catch. That’s how I survive — that’s my food!”
Chewy, enraged by the confession, bit down harder, shaking his head violently.
“Ow! Please stop! I’m sorry! I love my tail! It’s my favourite part of my body; the fox ladies love it!” the fox sobbed.
“We don’t eat that,” Randy said firmly. “Don’t you know where we can find anything else?”
“Well…” the fox sniffled, “you could… follow the trail down there.” He pointed weakly with his snout. “It leads towards a land that has some food. But it’s filthy. Stinks terribly.” He cried again. “Please! I promise — I’m telling the truth!”
“You better be,” Randy said sternly, stepping away from the defeated predator. “Because if Chewy grabs your tail again, he’ll surely rip it right off.”
Chewy hesitated for a moment, then released his grip and the fox scrambled away, howling pitifully, disappearing into the trees.
Randy and Chewy followed the path the fox had indicated. They walked until dusk began to settle, the shadows lengthening once more. Finding a dense, cosy-looking bush, they crawled inside to make camp for the night. Randy curled up beside the brave Chewy and felt safe.
“Chewy,” Randy asked quietly after a while. “Were you scared?”
“What?”
“When you bit the fox’s tail. Were you scared?”
“A little,” Chewy admitted. “Scared for you.”
“Aren’t you scared to die?”
“Die?” Chewy sounded puzzled.
“Yes. You know… stop being. Cease to exist.”
“Oh… that.” Chewy yawned. “Don’t worry about that. You can’t really die. My humans always said there’s a wonderful place called Heaven you go to when you finish here. And if it’s as wonderful as they say it is, why be scared?”
“Hmm,” Randy considered this. “In my town, they told me we turn into milk, and then cheese.”
“Now that’s silly, Randy.” He chuckled. Then, his stomach gave another loud rumble. “I hope we find something to eat tomorrow. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this hunger.”