**still editing*** might add some more personality, need to finish her history
I would like to adopt!Number: 4
Picture:
Species: She is wolf-dog hybrid. “Dogs” actually; many, many dogs.
Personality: Söka is the kind of dog that is less cautious than she should be. She doesn’t bother to check what’s in the water, or sniff at her food daintily like most. She dives into everything head first, with no worries and no regrets! In fact, because she isn’t afraid of a little (or a lot of) dirt, Söka is immune to almost every non-lethal kind of germ; now when I say this, I mean she will literally rub noses with the disease ridden. To her, life is just one big adventure. Söka doesn’t cower or become nervous when those around her do; she’ll stick up for the helpless and snap at the tough without fear. Maybe this is because actions are based on instincts, not rules or panic. Sometimes the world needs a bit of courage.
When it comes to hunting, Söka is hopeless. Could it be because of her tactics; dragging those feet along the ground, crunching every leave in her path, sneezing constantly as she inhales more than air in those loud breaths. But then again, Söka isn’t the best at finding prey either. There are no squirrels in the gutters, and you’ve got a better chance finding gold in the shop windows rather than crows or pigeons. Even the deer are nowhere to be seen, especially not in waste bins. The slums of Stockholm seem like a tough place to get fresh kill, and for a mutt that has lived there for the last three years, it’s a wonder she’s survived; well, not really a wonder. There’s one type of hunting Söka has mastered. Begging. Puppy dog eyes, lopsided head, the whimper, you name it and she’ll know it. Her territory is the train station, and her prey range from half eaten hot dogs to jam doughnuts.
When Söka is on the prowl, no sandwich is safe.
A dreamer they say, she’s a dreamer. Her thoughts run wild with imagination. She can make games with the litter that rattles past, barking at chip wrappers, rolling in leaves. Some stare and point at the dog that leaps through the air with grace. Children join her and are greeted with friendly licks, although quickly pulled away by their mothers. Söka doesn’t mind; the crowds, the children, the litter. They’re just playthings to her. She can make them be what she wants them to be and play with them too. Some say she is still a puppy who never grew up. Söka doesn’t just have day dreams either, but nightmares and fantasies. To a normal dog it may be just chasing a rabbit, but to her it’s something else. Thick under growth, a tingling sensation that burns her paws lightly. Not a person insight, not a sound. Just two hearts beating, both as rapid as each other. A fleck of grey beckoning in the sea of green, a snap, and then, the taste of warm blood seeping through her mouth; that’s a rabbit dream, her favourite. Then there is the nightmare, which visits her on the worst of days. Wet paws, shouting, crying, a sudden flash of light and a numbness cooling through her body. The taste of blood again, but it doesn’t share the warmth. This blood is cold, it’s bad blood. Then everything turns blurry and the pain dies away. Söka is always shaky after she wakes up, and has to trick herself into believing these dreams have will never happen; again.
Likes: Söka is one for humans. She has a unique fondness for most humans, but only if they return her love. Most dogs growl at them in terror. Generally these humans are children and sometimes adults. Especially homeless adults. Anyone who can lend a hand (for a good pat) is on Söka’s list. She doesn’t worry about appearance or smell, nor if they’re laying the gutter or buying a train ticket. If they have love, time and perhaps a little food, she won’t miss them. Sometimes, when Söka is feeling lonely, she’ll catch the train and sit between legs. Most regulars know her, and tourists are quick to find out about the “searching” dog. They say she goes on the train because she’s looking for somebody and the same by her wandering of the streets. Truthfully they’re right, but Söka wasn’t as popular when her lost one was still around.
Kebabs from Johnny’s grillspet store are nothing less than Heaven to her. The snapping sound they make as they sizzle above the hot coals. The peanut sauce that drips of them and into her mouth. The explosion that spreads through her body as they are inhaled. But most of all, the memories. Söka and Genevieve used to be the best customers at the store, coming there whenever they could scrape up enough change to buy a kebab or two. But since there is no more change or Genevieve, the closest she can get to one is outside the store window. Most of the time she is shooed away so not to scare customers, but occasionally they’ll throw her some scrap meat. Her heart is hungrier than her stomach though. Söka just sits there hopping Genevieve will come through the doors and greet her.
Dislikes: Injustice to others is as bad as injustice to herself. The gentle little mutt, who gives strangers her heart freely, can transform. A snarling, snapping, saliva spiting animal will be replaced in a moment after the first scream. Her heart beats faster, her neck hair bristles wildly and her precision becomes sharper (even with only one eye). If a gang of teens attack a child or woman, Söka will be ready to spring. The local predators know her all too well, and it’s not hard to spot them out. Some have thoughts of stabbing and beating her, or even try. But it’s hard for them, the policing rangers stick close to Söka’s side when danger is reported. We don’t know if her actions are for vengeance or just because she doesn’t like violence. It’s hard to tell when you’re dealing with dogs.
Although Söka is generally a very open and welcoming dog, her trust only lies with those who are trustworthy. In the environment she lives in, male dogs are the most untrustworthy you can find. They stink of urine and hate, eyeing females with a disgusting pleasure. There is no love of pity in a gutter dog’s heart, but only lust. Söka finds herself scared of most males, because of the harassment they gave her as a pup. She avoids them as much as possible, fearing the day one will attack her. They tease with rude remarks and spit, obviously not realising how capable Söka is to wound them. Even though she is partly blind, her determination makes up for it.
Background: Rain was pouring, and not lightly at that. It was washing everything in its path. Gutters gurgled and overflowed, with litter polluting the already foul water. Fresh rain dripped of the grey hats and umbrellas that moved in unison. A cardboard box was beginning to sag as it filled up with water, and the little creature inside it started spluttering to get above. She squealed with defiance and held on to the side of the box. With that tiny bit of pressure, the side burst and water dragged the choking creature out too. Ink from the box dyed her paws black, as it washed off from the box. It had said “Gratis valpar”, meaning she and her litter mates were up for adoption. Well, just her now. The others had been scooped earlier that day, their fates undecided. She trembled with worry and struggled to shake her dripping wet coat. It was going to be a long night.
Morning had overcome the darkness of that last evening. The pup dragged herself under a litter bin, hoping for some shelter. It didn’t smell much, mostly because the rain was so heavy. She watched busy feet shove past each other ungracefully. The pup leapt out of her cover to explore these new animals, curious. Some cussed at her, and some fell into others as not to stomp on the tiny pup. She yelped excitedly, having fun with all the attention. An angry old man scowled and kicked her side, sending the pup skidding across the pavement. She cringed, a trail of blood dripping from her mouth. People looked at the man in horror, but kept walking only this time further away from him. She felt a numbness cool her aching body slowly. The pup slipped in an out of consciousness for the rest of the day, unaware of the two hands that carried her away from death.
Snuggled into something warm, she woke up hazily. Two green eyes greeted her; just as warm as the cloths she was wrapped in. They belonged to a middle aged woman, who looked older than she was because of her ratty hair and wrinkled brow. She had crooked teeth, but it didn’t really matter because her eyes did most of the smiling. She tickled the pup maternally and held her closer. No one really noticed the homeless woman and her sickly little pup. There seemed to be much of both of these roaming around the busy streets of Moscow anyway.
A year passed and the pup grew stronger and wiser. Her skinny flanks filled out and her coat became sleek and healthy. The woman, Genevieve, had no food to feed her so she learnt to feed herself. Begging and busking made up their daily routine, usually unsuccessful. Most of the time the dog kept them both alive, stealing food from passersby. Sometimes she would take more than food, and be scolded by her master. Of course, they both knew Genevieve was gleeful on the occasion her dog “found” some money. Either way, both tried hard to scrape by and usually did. The love shared between the two of them was the strongest type of magic, able to resist the cold winters and foodless days to come. That and the grillspet which warmed their bellies, usually given to them free by young workers at the restaurant.
As their third winter together approached, Genevieve started to get slower. She slept more and talked less, snapping at her dog for the slightest of things. She gave up busking for a long while, leaving her companion to provide for them. Days went slowly and most of the time they were separated. Occasionally the dog would bring back some fresh pigeon or an old mouse, struggling to get scraps. The most rewarding part of her day was coming back to Genevieve and falling asleep next to her, finding more peace when sleeping.
Then one fateful morning, the unthinkable happened. Human and dog were sleeping close together, held tightly to one another. A shadow was cast upon the moon, and rain clouds lurked nearby. Footsteps approached them starting out soft and becoming louder, and louder. Faces appeared out of the darkness, with meancing scowls and crooked smiles plastered all over them. Their hands held knives and other weapons that could play the part for a blood splattered torture scene. Her heart beat slowly as her mind was captured in pleasant dreams; unaware of the danger closing in on them slowly. Young adults, under heavy influence, shared sickening comments amongest themselves. They were ready to attack.
"Look at this filth" spat one with sevral piercings.
"Shouldn' be allowed to live 'ere" snickered another, his skinny neck cranning forward.
A girl walked forward with a dagger, pushing the others out of the way roughly. "Well maybe we should find another place for 'em" her yellow teeth flashed in moonlight, the same colour in fact.
The dog's hair bristled, lip curling up slightly. Her intuition told her something was wrong. She started to blink awake but it was barely enough. A blood-curdling scream rose with the dawning sun, almost in harmony. Her fur was grabbed roughly and slashes tore at it in turn; obviously these attackers didn't know who they were dealing with. The dog thrashed about in a mix of terror and anger. She caught a blurry glimpse of her master, wailing like a pup. One of the attackers spat at her and got a recoil of sharp snaps to his face. She pinched onto his skin and tossed her head around as if his face was a chew toy. Yelling, blood and fury spilt over the fighters that morning. The dog was pulled away by another of the street gang, who held her down tightly and jabbed at her eyes. She winced in pain as blood filled her mouth; it tasted like burning and metal. Genevieve's wails soon turned into howls. The dog started to choke and her body shook in frantic spasms as she tried to fight but failed. Laughter, warmth, kebabs, blankets, birds, children, people and the train station numbed her burning limbs. She hated herself so badly, about to give up when the one thing she cared about to be lost forever. The numbing didn't stop, but something so much more painful than having her eyes gouged out went through her; regret. The dog inhaled (taking in
a lot more than air) and started to twitch. Love was the most powerful magic, so why shouldn't it help her? She tried to pull herself up on those broken limbs but fell back down. Her bones grinded into the ground sharply, blocking out the screams. The dog jumped up again and again, until she finally found her feet. They dodged blows from the surrounding people, guiding her confidently.