Username:
wesleydog
Kennel Number:
Kennel 100
Name [of pet]:
Maverick
Maverick (MA ver ik) is a multi-gender American name meaning "independent".
Gender [of pet]:
Female ♀
Breed/Species [of pet]:
Canine >> Dog >> Basenji
Personality [of pet]:
Maverick is a Chicago stray, hypocritical and immune to the cold weather. She believes that every soul should be independent, and she doesn't believe in being interreliant. She strictly believes that any other soul can forsake you; that only you can forever stay true to yourself. She believes in staying true to herself, backing up every one of her beliefs with common sense and reasoning. She has a cold, bitter heart like the weather of her home city, and she isn't welcoming to strangers in her territory. She's a loner, happy that it's always been this way, and can't imagine sharing the streets with others. She doesn't know love or friendship, only knows of the loyalty that she's proven to herself. She believes in a dog's classification by strength, tolerance, and witts, not by eligance or beauty. She is fond only of the streets that she roams, and she works rather independently to live. In the spring and summer, she happily hits a hot dog stande to see what she can smuggle, and in the autumn and winter, she makes do with the dumpsters by the many pubs and hotels. She enjoys quiet, enclosed spaces where she can get the privacy that she is entitled to, and she tends to only hover in the shadows around the lobbies of the hotels and the streets that lead the many tourists to the museums and aquariums that her city is best known for. She's very precise and opinionated, and she loves having this in facts or evidence. She's a stranger to compassion, for with none shown to her, she's never been able to understand it herself. She picks fights in tough situations, and never tries to ease herself out of her problems. She's up to challange anyone, and accepts any challange with the motivation of winning. In only a few words, Maverick can be described best as a dirty, scavenging stray of the streets with a corrupted view of friendship and happiness that can make do with very little.
Background/History [of pet]:
Some dogs are characterized and made honorable by their titles. They think of everything for mutts today. Therapy dog, police dog, seeing-eye dog. But something should make strays special, too. Someone should recognize the loners that roam the streets independently sunrise to close. Someone should honor the dogs that fight their way up the food chain, struggle to live, have to be accustomed to the streets while other dogs find themselves by the fire in a warm, cozy house. And this is why I am proud to say that I am recognized. After all, I do have a title. They call me... a Chicago Stray.
---
In the blustery winds of a cold day, a limping Basenji female with a beautiful tail and the most gorgeous purple eyes finally allowed herself to rest from the cold. She was aided by the help of a large, red brick wall that blocked the wind from the direction it was coming from. She lay down, whimpering, stomach and heart heavy. The she-dog, this stray, was a pregnant dog, and she needed to find the proper place to deliver her babies. Being accustomed to Chicago weather, the Basenji knew that this was no ordinary wind storm. To her utter horror, it was a windier day than it averagely was, and the day that her puppies were to be born. It was a rush against the clock for her, a hide from the nature, and as she lay, she did her best to deliver the puppies. Shortly after delivery, the mother regained her breath and consciousness enough to count the puppies. Three. Three little darlings lay before her, their eyes fixed curiously upon her as if she were the most fascinating person in the world. They didn't know where they were. They didn't know this place. Their faces were so innocent, so clueless. They didn't know that their life was in danger. With the sense of urgency, the mother did not allow herself to get caught up in the moment. Facing the bitter wind, she perservered on, the scruff of one blind, cold puppy in her mouth. She left the other two with their closed eyes laying on the hard concrete. She intended with all of her heart to go back for them. She did. But it never came about. She took a few paw steps onward, the one puppy that she could save from this detrimental weather in her mouth. She carried her baby by the scruff to a low ditch, a ditch in the center of the city, nearest to the run-down baseball field, and she dropped her puppy there. With the intention of going back, she earnestly turned around, but it was too late. Her mind was clogged, her eyes were set upon the figure of one thing and one think alone. A whirling tunnel of grey smoke that lunged itself forward and backwards, a terrible tornado heading directly for the alley, for the houses, for the cars. Oh how she wished to be blind and young like her puppies. Closed to the world, so she wouldn't have any idea as to what was going on. She cried out in agony for the puppies she could not save, but she kept the body of the little one next to her warm, snuggled against it, and grasped her tight. She barked and she whined, but no noise could be brought to her ear, even those of her own mouth. Nothing was above the whistle of the terrifying wind that funneled, rolled, and whisped its way through her precious city. She watched in pain, in horror, until she could no longer bear to see it. Soon, she closed her eyes, and she found herself in a deep sleep, just like the puppy beside her. The largest of her small litter, the most fruitful, the one who's heartbeat flickered and slowed with her slumber. But there was no doubt about it. She and this puppy had survived.
---
As the she-dog awoke, she turned to the puppy next to her, still asleep. For a few moments, the fae forgot what had happened. She couldn't seem to place herself. Who she was and where, why the beloved city looked so tormented, and who the puppy that lay nearly underneath her belonged to. But then she remembered. It was her puppy. Lovingly, but forlorn, she leaned in, placing her ear to its chest. A slow, steady heart beat unmistakably pounded, and the fae trembled with overwhelming joy and thankfulness. She was lucky that even she was alive. She turned her eyes to the east and cast a glance to the sky, but by this time of day, there was no sun nor moon. It was dark, like the time on the sunset, yet her eyes did not catch on but one glowy figure in the evening dusk. What had happened here? The twister has spun it's web here; it had corrupted the city's streets and tunneled a path deep into the ground. Carefully, seeing no sign of an aftermath danger, she stepped out of the ditch, one paw at a time. She carried the whimpering, matted ball of her by its scruff, and the young darling whined and yawned as if to protest their moving. "Shhh.. it's okay," whispered the mother reassuringly. She looked lovingly down into the fur and trotted carefully over the street. The tread felt odd to her, it seemed to have more grooves in it, perhaps from the pebbles and stones thrown by the windstorm. They'd been taken up from the road and been thrown everywhere. Now chunks were missing where they should have been placed, small mounds of rock where they didn't belong. She sighed. She cared much for the well-being of her city, but there was much else to be explored. Something that she almost didn't check. Something, however, made her persist on. She knew that she had to. She took a few turns to where she'd been in labor, where she'd laid with her litter of three for nearly a day's time before the Windy City brought forth the heavy storm. There, her tired, scarred eyes rested on exactly what she'd expected. Nothing. The other two pups were gone. In agony, she cried out, wondering for the placing of her puppies. She lay down, there by the bricks, feeling as if she may die, caring not one bit more for the puppy she had dropped at her side. Why her? Why was this her fate? What had become of the puppies? She dare not ask or wonder.
---
It came to pass that on the tenth day after the storm, as Mother was nursing her daughter, the puppy's eyes blinked open to the world of wonders, wide with excitement, but waning with exhaustion. The mother looked to the babe, now exposed to the sights of the city. The mother feared for the puppy's young mind, wondering what she thought of what she saw. Carefully, she tended to the well-being of the pup as it suckled, licking her tufts of fur down, keeping her warm, snuggling at night. Each day, she allowed her daughter to suckle. She helped her to stumble on her feet as she aged, and she made a small bed for her in the pit of grass at the corner of the baseball field, among the weeds. It was a bed that kept the pair of them off of the concrete that split their paws and lodged pebbles into their fur and hide. As the days went by, it pained the mother to see her daughter grow. And on each and every day, the mother fae could never bring herself to name the puppy; for it would allow her to become too emotionally attached to the creature, and so she treated her as if it were not her baby, but rather her responsibility, one that would soon grow tiresome and old. It seemed that she counted off the days as the season changed from summer to autumn, counted off the days until the puppy could become independent, and could then be expected to live on her own. The mother planned her moves for the future tactfully and carefully, planned out how she wanted things to work out for her daughter, planned out when she would leave. But each day, the puppy grew stronger. And each day, she grew even more closely attached to her care taker, her shelter-provider. Before long, the puppy learned how to speak, how to bark, how to walk, and how to find her own food in the disposal bin in the alley. With each day, the mother found the dog developing a personality more and more like herself. She saw both she and her mate resembled in this puppy, and soon, once the puppy reached the peak of her independence, she knew it was time. On the night of the first day of the second month, she made her move in the shadows of the night. Before she went, she whispered in the deepest and softest voice she could manage, "Goodbye, my child of the wind." That was the last time I ever saw her. That's right. This puppy was me.
---
Things didn't go as smoothly as I'd hoped once Mother left. Of course, she'd taught me all of the most important things! Hey, I was a great hunter, as long as you counted scavenging for food through garbage cans, learning when to sneak up to the hot dog stande and launch my attack, and stealing food from the picnic blankets of the tourists in the park... And of course I knew where to find the best shelter. The corner of the baseball field, the park at night, the fountain by the Hilton at midday, I could find great places to rest, soak up some sun, or hide from the fierce winds that came with the ever-changing weather. I had everything that a real dog could dream of: food, water [the bay was easily my favorite place in all of Chicago], and shelter. But people were harsh and cruel. No one was looking for stray, even when I was looking for them. The packs of strays weren't looking for any leaders, and the hot dog men never wanted me around. They yelled curses and awful phrases at me, though I couldn't care the less. Being turned down by society, I turned away from it entirely on my own standards. No longer did I have any desire to be someone's pet, to communicate with other dogs to say anything else besides 'That's my food' or 'Get out of my territory if you want to keep your neck today, thank you', or to hang around the square or the fountain to beg for a hot dog or a scrap of bread. Thievery was a better tactic for me. I only wanted the dominance of the streets of Chicago. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was independent and I could care for myself. I didn't miss my siblings. Back then, I didn't know anything about them. I didn't miss my mom. She'd taught me everything I knew, but she had also left me where I was, and I was no longer too fond of her. I didn't miss my dad either. I never really had one; never met him, and to be honest, back then, I didn't know he was required in order for me to exist. I didn't need any friends. I needed the wind, the city, and the provisions for living. Food, water, and the likes. So, I began my independent life.
---
I walked past the boating docks, a confident spring to my stride. There was not a thing in the world that could bother me. Over the period of nearly a year, I'd built up my confidence and my abilities to much more than they ever were before now. At this point in my life, I was a very avid street-dog, in fact, it was perhaps the pinnacle of my enjoyable life of independence and liberty. As I directed myself to the disposal can of the widest alley, my scent glands attracted by the warm smell of baked chicken, but nauseated by the smell of rat feces, I had an argument between my senses in my mind. I soon decided to draw nearer to the garbage can. It'd been hours since I'd entertained my mouth with any sort of taste, and my stomach began to rumble ever so lightly, much to my horror and embarrassment. I knocked over the can with a swift kick of the legs, the metal beast crashing to the ground with the sound of metal hitting gravel. The loud noise attracted a bulldog of the sorts from the sides of the street where he'd hidden in the shadows just seconds earlier, watching me. Inquisitively, he looked at me. "Who are you?" he asked in a gruff, barking tone. I turned the conversation into an interrogation of him by growling to show my dominance. In grabbed the chicken in my mouth mid-growl and allowed it to drop at the base of my paws and structure. I had to avoid the question of who I was. In fact, in the past ten months, I'd only lived through life as a blur, a free spirit that did not retrieve any information of earlier dates. I'd been so eager to avoid civilization, that perhaps I'd even not found my own name out. I'd never understood why my mother had never called my by anything. My mind couldn't grasp why she didn't want me. Turning from the cold, stale memories that were the only ones which seemed to stick and reside in my head, I turned back to the bulldog that dared touch his feet to my ground. "This is my territory," I growled and rasped through clenched teeth. My voice was hoarse. I didn't do much with it but bark at the ducks by the bay or howl at the moon at night. It was not hard for me to manage a threatening tone. The bulldog stepped closer to me. "I'm not in anyone's territory," he began twith a cheesy, confident tone that bothered me like no other. "But my own," he finished the statement with one that set my anger off like a rapidly catching fire that was growing too quickly for someone to be able to hold the other end of the match. "Then we fight for it!" I exclaimed. I pounched before he could have any second thoughts for his sanity, or even back down. I intended to win this. I sank my sharpened jaws into his fat-contained ear lobe, leaving him hollering and screeching in pain in the highest voice he could manage. I sank my claws into his pawpads as I threw him to the ground, my body falling onto him as if I'd sprawled myself over him without any others intentions. "Listen here and listen real good," I said, squinting. I was already bored of this fight. "Go find yourself a new city," I said, "because Chicago is mine." As I backed away to retrieve my chicken, still much on its bone, he scampered away. I prayed he took my advice.
---
After this encounter, one thing could not help itself but dwell in my mind. When the bulldog had first approached me afterall, he'd inquired of my name. What should people call me? I'd never faced socialization before, nor did I want to, but it bothered me that I had nothing to call myself. No one of any importance, even those that lacked the proper education, went nameless. Certainly my mother'd had a name, and of course the bulldog must have. I began to believe that perhaps I was the only dog in the whole city that did not have something to call herself, though of course I could not have been the only stray. What I admired most of myself and what I saw most in myself was my gruff independence, my way of living life like it was all good and simple. It felt to me as if I ruled the world all myself, aside from the humans and their mutt-pets as well as the strays that wanted my title. In all reality, I ruled only the streets of Chicago. But I could not bear to go without a name any longer. So from there on, I called myself something that I found to fit me well, and made sure that any other canine contact I had felt obliged to do to me the same. I was named Maverick.
---
It was a cold autumn day, perhaps my favorite day of my life. Just like any other day, yet so different and perfect is the simplest of ways. I scurried over to the hot dog stande, and my eyes met my target, a juicy looking dog that flailed around in the server's hand. It looked so plump and round, so perfect to settle my hunger and tingle my taste buds. As he held down his hand yelling, "Hot dogs! Hot dogs!" I narrowed my eyes, taking a few steps and a flying leap to grasp it firmly in my mouth. It was perfect just how it was, meaty, juicy, and ready to eat. As I began to run, the owner of the stande (the server) recognized me. You could say that I was a frequent customer to this stande of his. I was very fond of his Chicago-style cooking. "Blasted, bloody street-dog!" he yelled after me, jumping as if he thought he just touch the sky if he worked at it enough. "Why you idiotic, dirt-covered, hairy beast! I ought to call the pound on you!" he yelled, but his words were followed also by several awful curses hurled right at me. As I ran to the ball-park from my spot of snacking, I scarfed down the hot dog and bun in two bites, allowing the taste to settle into my mouth. My stomach felt comfortable and happy as I sprinted towards the small hole at the bottom of the fence surrounding the makeshift baseball field. I shriveled down to a low sliding point and inched myself through the gaping opening that I'd targeted. Curling into the corner, as the wind blew painfully stinging dust into my eyes, I lay, thinking of sleep that I hoped would come. Another day with the hotdog to end it and the sleep to take it away and bring in the new day. Another day would come. Another day would go on. And soon, my lifestyle was bound to change in some way. If it was another day, my learnings of my past, I wouldn't know yet. One day though, I was bound to find out.
---
Now, I roam the streets. Perhaps one day I'll find a companion, perhaps not. But either way, I don't care. I prefer to come and go with the wind, my personality changing like the seasons. I'd rather be alone like a single sun in the sky than surrounded by many like me, just like it is portrayed in the stars. Perhaps I'm only destined to have one friend and one love. My city; Chicago.
Use [for pet]:
I've had my eye on Maverick since the very moment that she was donated. I was eager to go through the newest donations to see which pets that I should try for during this round, and I've found a lot of satisfaction in this girl's simple but all-natural design. I've been deeply inspired with a love for naturally colored canine characters recently, and I was very pleased to see this girl. I'd like to make her my very first naturally colored canine character in hopes that I can write her a unique history and get her some art, use her to love and adore. <3 I'd love to roleplay her sometime or do a collaborate story on her with someone, and I hope that I can use her as a prized character. It's been a lot of fun getting muse for this gal. I hope that with this added backbone to her character outline, you'll fall in love with her... just like I did. :'D
Other [Art, Likes, Dislikes, Mate, Age, Appearance, etc.]:
Art~
By Me:
By JerseyDusk:
By neonkiwi:
Mario Kart
].But he really doesn't mind that.He never gets disheartened by anyone or anything and is a quite a prankster.He is always playing pranks and learning new kind of tricks.
