Ralphie Smyth was the happiest dog in the whole world.
Despite his terrifying appearance, he was universally loved and trusted. Even blue-haired little old ladies would carelessly pet him. Hell, they even baked him homemade dog biscuits. Ralphie lived in a beautiful home in Midwestern suburbia with a slightly dysfunctional, yet loving family that damn-near worshiped him. He delighted in oodles of genuinely loyal friends, both canine and human. To Ralphie, this was the very best of all possible worlds. That is, until May 31. The day this charismatic, well-educated and caring Pitbull’s life began a roller coaster of events so astonishing it would soon make Ralphie Smyth as popular as Hiltie, but for all the wrong reasons.
On a balmy spring evening, the Smyth clan, like most other red-blooded, God-fearing American families, were fixing to park themselves in front of their 72 inch Phillips High Definition Plasma TV for dinner. Ralphie worked a double shift that afternoon. He was the tenured mascot of the little league and the basketball teams. Both played winning games that day and Ralphie was visibly bushed. Ten-year-old Suzy Smyth affectingly served Ralphie his favorite all-time meal; Jacques Gervais’ Mélange de Poulet with a side of tapanade. The television was playing but the Smyth’s were busy delightfully exchanging the day’s events. Ted Smyth comfortably won the families bread as an executive bedpan salesman; and a damn good one at that. In his spare time he was an amateur inventor. That morning a heaven sent marriage took place between Ted’s lifelong passion and his present occupation.
“Ellie my darling little crumb cake.” Ted said while whisking his adoring wife her off her feet. “You won’t believe what my commission is on this deal.”
“Oh my Teddy! You’re so excited. I like it when you get excited.”
“And those guys laughed at me when I showed them the prototype.”
“I remember that. Those meanies.”
“But who’s laughing now? Huh?”
“We are sweetie! Uh, what are laughing about though?”
“Ellie I just sold my very own invention to seven thousand animal hospitals. And the company hasn’t even purchased patent for the Smyth disposable doggie bed-pan yet. Can you dig what this means?”
“Oh my gosh honey. Is seven thousand a lot?”
“Is that a lot? Let me put it this way; I can pay off the house and your entire tuition.”
“Oh darling are you sober? I mean, serious?” Ellie wailed, on the threshold of tears. “Teddy honey, I’ve been feeling guilty about giving up a really good job to go back to school.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve been slaving away at the slaughter house for seventeen years now.”
“But I love working at Killin-N-Eatin. Those people are like a second family to me.”
“I know sugar-pie, but now you can finally go to college. We can at last afford it.”
“Pardon my interrupting Ellie.” Ralphie said. “But this time you should listen to your husband.”
“Do you really think so Ralphie?
“Ellie, ever since I was a puppy running around here tearing up your furniture, all you ever wanted to do is to become a mortician. Well, here’s your chance.”
“And you’ll help me with the science stuff like you said?”
“It’s called biology and chemistry. But yes, I will tutor you in the sciences.” Ralphie promised. Ellie was relieved and grateful but kept her lip buttoned because her little canine son had returned to watching the Antiques Road show. It was no secret Ralphie had a thing for Lara Spencer. Suddenly the broadcast was interrupted by a special news bulletin.
“Tonight a lone defenseless woman was badly hurt after being savagely bitten by a viscous bit bull. This makes the third pit bull assault this year.”
The words caught the attention of the entire family.
“Nanette Weldancamp was viscously attacked by the world’s most dangerous dog right here in front of The Museum for Overpriced Art. Mrs. Weldancamp had just received an award for her tireless efforts to keep fine art out of the reach of working class people when the crime occurred. I rode in the ambulance with this prominent humanitarian as she was being rushed to the emergency room. Mrs. Weldancamp said she was about to get into her limousine when the horrible creature accosted her. She told me her driver, who was French by the way, immediately surrendered but fled as soon as he saw the beast getting closer, leaving Mrs. Weldancamp alone and unprotected against the cruel and evil dog.”
A close-up picture of a teeth-gnashing pit-bull was flashed on the screen.
“This is a pit-bull. They are extremely dangerous and psychotic animals that will take your arm off and laugh in your face about it. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming. Have a pleasant night.”
“Hey, that dog looked just like Ralphie you guys,” Justin Smyth roared like a complete simpleton. “Hey Ralphie, did you go and bite some rich white lady?” He bawled even more stupidity as he tumbled to the floor with laughter. The rest of the family innocently joined in with innocuous chuckles. But Ralphie found nothing to laugh about. He was worried, and tormented. And for damn good reason.
“Do you guys know who that lady is?” Ralphie nervously quizzed them.
“I don’t know her personally, but…
“That so-called victim” Ralphie said anxiously interrupting. “Is the so-called trophy wife of Theodore Weldoncamp?”
“So?” Said Ellie.
“Heir to the Weldon’s Pickled Pig’s Feet fortune?”
“I love Weldon’s Pickled Pig’s Feet” she said excitedly.
“That’s nice Ellie, but what I’m trying to tell you is, I know that woman and she will deceive, inveigle and obfuscate the truth at the drop of a hat.”
“Ralphie, how do you know so much about her?”
“Because her Ritalin-popping son’s sorry-ass baseball team plays ours every other week and loose every time.”
“Ralphie’s right mom, that lady is a first class ho.” Justin offered in support.
“Young man, what did I tell you about using that kind of language in this house?”
“Okay, she’s a complete bitch then. The point is, Ralphie’s right.”
“Frankly you two, I don’t care who she is. Ralphie there is nothing for you to worry about.”
The Smyth’s took turns at trying to convince Ralphie there was no growing Pit-bull conspiracy. He was obliged for their affable platitudes, but his ever-reliable canine intuition was wagering something altogether different.
Three days later Ralphie was leisurely sauntering home from a ballgame around dusk on a deserted street. Out of the blue he heard a female voice crying hysterically for help. Ralphie thought it sounded a lot like Rupaul, so he went dashing in the direction of the bawling. He came upon an unattractive, yet well-coiffed, middle-aged woman clutching the pole of a streetlight screaming bloody murder. Before Ralphie was able to ask if he could help her, the frantic lady turned, saw him, and frenetically blared out.
“Help, Help! I was attacked by a pit-bull and he’s back! Help! Help!, Help! Get back you beast. I know karate!”
“No, no, no, I want to help” Ralphie shouted. He tried unsuccessfully to calm her down, but she kept shrieking, pointing at him, and screaming. A second later, the sound of police sirens could be heard.
“Thank goodness.” Ralphie said. “The cops will be able to calm her down and I can explain I am not the dog that bit her.” After hearing the words spoken aloud, the twisted logic dropkicked him back to reality. “Idiot, the cops don’t help dogs, they arrests them”. Ralphie didn’t waste a fleeting second, and high-tailed it from the scene. He ran home eluding the police by using an intricate series of shortcuts known only to animals and neighborhood children. He hid out in his dog house until it was suppertime.
At 8:00 he crept inside the Smyth home. At first everything was business as usual. Ellie ask Ralphie how the game went and what he felt like for diner. Like a thousand other nights, the family sat down in front of the TV. They were settling in to watch the season finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when, another news bulletin came on the screen. This time it was a live broadcast of a post-Pit-Bull attack. And the victim was the very woman Ralphie tried to aid.
“Oh my god! That’s the lady I tried to help just ten minutes ago. She thinks I bit her.”
“Ralphie! Schhhhhhhh.” Ellie said.
“You’ll see” Ralphie chimed in.
“This viscous beast bolted up to me and nearly took my leg off” The woman shouted into the camera. “Then he came back to finish me off.” She said collapsing into the arms of news anchor Jenny Chen who was already in tears.
“Hey, that’s Katrina Klintick, the mayor’s wife.” Justin said.
“Do you have any idea who this dog is?” The sobbing reporter asked.
“Of course I do”. She said with purple vein popping out of her head. “It was Ralphie Smyth”.
Now the entire family was dead silent and transfixed like zombies before the screen as the interview continued.
“I’d know that dog anywhere. He’s the mascot of some little league team in the poor part of town. And if you’re watching you vicious little monster, the police are on their way to get you right now”.
The segment closed with the theme music from Cops. Sarcastically, the lyrics were changed to: “Bad Dog, bad dog, what you gonna do? What ya gonna do when they come for you?” Ralphie broke into a cold sweat as he tried explaining to the Smyth’s what really happened.
“Ralphie, we’ll hire Johnny Cochran if we have to”. Ted Smyth said.
“But I didn’t do anything Ted. I tried to help her. Besides, Johnny Cochran is dead.” Ralphie cried.
“We know boy, we know. I’m just saying, if it comes to a trial we have your back.”
“Oh come on Ted, you guys can’t afford to spend money on a lawyer for me. I’m a dog for crying out loud.”
“Hush now Ralphie. You are a member of this family and family sticks together no matter what. Right?” Ellie said.
“Thanks you guys, but the cops could take me away tonight.”
“Ralphie you didn’t do anything wrong, so you’re not leaving this house and that’s all there is to it. I’m serious Ralphie. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Okay, okay. I guess you’re right.” Ralphie lied attempting to placate her. “I’m going to the backyard to meditate for a while. I really need to calm down.”
“Now you’re thinking old boy.” Ted said patting him on the head.
Ralphie quietly slipped out the back door. As he meandered towards his doghouse, a baleful reality set up camp in his canine psyche. He conceived the hopelessness of winning a case against a power-hungry and spiteful woman like Mrs. Klintick. He envisioned the Smyth’s plowing threw their savings, mortgaging the house, filing for bankruptcy and winding up homeless. Ralphie unhappily crawled inside his doghouse and consulted the I Ching. He looked up the hexagram and read the oracle aloud.
“The innocent warrior flees his captors. Only the free man can prove he is without guilt.”
Before the words timeworn words of spiritual wisdom could germinate in his head, he heard police sirens approaching the house. As the ominous blare grew closer, his fear magnified to the point of unmanageable shaking. His poor little brain was on over load and he realized he had only a matter of seconds to decide his fate. Sensing impending arrest, Ralphie hastily packed a doggie duffel bag, strapped it to his back, and began to set out into the night. He was about to slip into the alley when he turned around to look at the Smyth’s home. His home. It occurred to him that he might never see it or his beloved family ever again. A tear fell from his eye. He wiped it with his left paw, took a deep breath and pushed open backyard gate.
As Ralphie fleeted through the alleyway, he could hear police sirens had stopped at house. With all the strength in his mighty little bulldog legs, he stormed into high gear and sped threw the night until he wound up at an abandoned graveyard. He hid out for two whole days planning his next move. At nightfall, he crawled into the backyard of Pedro Evermill; a blind Border-Collie Ralphie befriended seven years before at doggie day-care summer camp.
“Ralphie, so good so see you again,” Pedro said coming out his doghouse. “You look good Ralphie.”
“But you can’t see Pedro.”
“I knew it was you didn’t I”? Pedro was not only a brilliant dog with a law degree but he also possessed incredible sensory perception.
“You’re the most popular dog in town my friend.”
“Pedro I didn’t bite that lady.”
“I know that you idiot. Come on, get inside before somebody sees you.”
“I don’t think anybody would come looking for me here.”
“Are you kidding? The cops have been here twice already.”
“Looking for me?”
“Oh no mate they were selling biscuits and tea for the policeman’s ball. Du-uh Ralphie. Everybody in town knows were best friends.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I said look you bozos, why the hell would Ralphie come here? Do you think he’d be stupid enough to go to the first place the cops would come to look for him?”
“Thanks.”
“No, no, no, I’m glad you’re here. This is a good place to hide out until the heat dies down”.
“That’s good lookin out Pedro, but what if the cops come back?”
“I could care less.”
“It’s reassuring to know you’re on my side.”
“Ralphie, I have a little surprise for you.” Pedro said with a curious wink. He gracelessly hustled to the other side of the three-car garage-turned doghouse and pushed what looked like a giant toy bone on the ground. The secret lever opened a trap door in the floor. Pedro motioned for Ralphie to follow him and they descended a staircase to an underground fall out shelter.
“What the hell is this?” Ralphie asked with his eyes bugging out.
“I built this last summer. Its only 2000 square feet but it’s a nice hide away.”
Ralphie trotted around the subterranean doggie bunker, which was essentially an out door park-indoors. The floor was covered with artificial grass; the ceiling was covered with vines and soft incandescent lighting. There was a wind simulator and three dozen Fica’s. The walls were covered with picture-perfect murals of rolling landscapes.
“So what do you think Ralph? Pretty snazzy eh?
“Yeah, it’s great Pedro, what if I have to live here- underground for the rest of my life?”
“Look pal, I really don’t think it’s going to come to that, but you’re welcomed to stay as long as you want.”
“Pedro, I’ve got to prove my innocence.”
“Whatever, but I’m telling ya now Ralphie, if you try to pay me for defending you, I’ll beat your ass.”
The gesture was kind enough yet Ralphie was still worried. It was true Pedro had never lost a case; but Ralphie knew the cards were stacked against him. The two mulled over the situation over the next week. During this time, a warrant for Ralphie’s arrest was issued. Wanted posters sprung up all around town depicting a mad dog purported to be Ralphie. It turned out Nanette Weldancamp and Katrina Klintick were long time friends and together offered a 100,000 dollar reward for information about Ralphie and a million dollars for his capture. Thus, a nation-manhunt, er, doghunt ensued.
News of Ralphie made the front page of the local paper all week long. After ten days of hiding out, Ralphie could stand it no longer. He decided to go home and turn himself in. Pedro was entirely against the idea and insisted on going with him just in case. Four hours later they finally reached the Smyth’s house. They snuck in threw the back doggie door, strolled into the kitchen, and ran right into Sgt Keenan O’Grady. Ironically, the officer was interrogating Ted and Ellie on where their missing pet might be. Ralphie was arrested on the spot charged with attempted murder, and resisting arrest.
“Don’t worry I’m on the case.” Pedro avowed through the bars of the county Dog pound. Two days later he was released on half a million dollar bail. the frantic and worried sick Smyth’s raised the money by mortgaging their home and using Ted’s big sales bonus. Ellie dropped out of school and went back to work at Killin-N-Eatin.. Ralphie was free for the moment, but he fell into a remorseful depression that seemed in escapable. What’s more, the unrelenting paparazzi made him a virtual prisoner in his in own home. The Smyth’s did everything possible to comfort him but that only made him feel worse due to guilt he over the family going so far into debt for him. To top off the agony, knowing his mom would now have to give up her dreams of becoming a mortician simply crushed his heart.
The story and the upcoming trial dominated national headlines making Ralphie a loathed celebrity to some and a champion for animal rights causes to others. The country rapidly became divided behind the issues causing protest, riots and uncountable numbers of arrest in every state. Jury selection was eyed with scrutiny because it was Pedro’s crucial objective to get as many dogs on the case as possible. In the end there were five middle aged housewives. Three men, a Yorkie, two Cocker spaniels and believe it or not a Pit-bull would decide his fate.
At the nationally televised trial, Pedro truly worked his tail off for his falsely accused friend. He brought in dozens of character witness’ passionately testifying on behalf of Ralphie’s good character. He even presented Dr. P.D. Hong. A successful veterinarian and renowned specialist on bite marks. Dr. Hong held up X-Rays of Ralphie's dental plate and photographs of the socialite’s wounds which clearly didn’t match and declared:
“If the bite marks don’t fit, you must acquit.
Pedro’s grueling cross examination of Mrs. Klintock. was so exact and fierce, it fatigued her enough to admit it was at least possible it could have been a different dog. At first this move successfully cast a shadow of reasonable doubt in the jury’s mind. Nevertheless the mayor’s wife made a strong case of her certainty in Ralphie's' identity because she did know him before the attack. The trial dragged on for three wearing weeks. Despite negative DNA sampling, more than dubious physical evidence and not a single eyewitness, Ralphie was still 100% committed to worrying. It was a known fact that Dogs accused of biting rarely got a fair trial and Pit-bulls have always been considered guilty even before conviction. And they are always convicted.
The jury deliberated for three lingering and tedious days. In the end, irony would resurface because it was the pit-bull who read the verdict.
“On the charge of resisting arrest, we the jury find the defendant Ralphie Smyth not guilty.” Pedro almost cracked a smile as he grabbed Ralphie's paw. They were both trembling and the apprehensive Smyth’s were practically on the rim of their fannies.
“On the charge of attempted murder of Mrs. Katrina Klintick,” the other pit bull said looking right at Ralphie, “We the jury find Ralphie Smyth … GUILTY in the first degree!”
Ralphie fainted right on the spot. Pedro was devastated. It was the first case he ever lost and it was for the most important dog in his life. His best friend. The Smyth’s were shocked and sobbing uncontrollably. The courtroom instantly became a virtual circus. Half the room was cheering over the outcome and half were ready to fight because they felt Ralphie was legally railroaded.
Ultimately, Ralphie was sentenced to ten human years behind bars and sent to Dirty Rotten Mongrels State Penitentiary. The Smyth’s drove a hundred miles every weekend to visit their convict pet. The family’s vigilance, tearful visits and persistent efforts to have his case overturned were the only things that kept him going. Nevertheless, prison was particularly rough for Ralphie because he was already notoriously famous before he went in and was admired by a lot of wayward dogs. All the critters in his cellblock laughed at his persistence of innocence. Except one kindly old black Lab named Champ Jones. A highly intelligent hound who really understood bad dogs.
“The minute you walked in here, I knew you didn’t bite that lady.” Champ told him the first night Ralphie arrived.
“What makes you think i’m innocent?” He asked with puzzlement.
“Ralphie, you ain’t got the face of a killer.” Champ
declared. “I’ve been around bad dogs my whole life. Hell, I’m a bad dog myself. And I’ll tell ya something mon confidant, the mangy-ass mutts in here, 99% of them ARE guilty. They’re sick Ralphie. Freud called it acute canine infirmity psychosis. And it can have an effect on you my friend. You don’t get rehabilitated here. You learn how to become a really, really mean animal … out of survival.”
In two shakes of a tail, Ralphie found Champ’s words to be a genuine understatement. The pit-bull didn’t change but he quickly learned to present himself in a friendly, yet intimidating manner. This worked for a long time. Until the Dane Brothers called his bluff. Mo, Joe, Bo, and Frank Dane were four mutts that only looked like Great Danes. They were all doing life sentences and ruled Ralphie’s cellblock. The gang confronted him one day in the shower.
“Ralph you little sawed off little house pet, what makes you think you’re so bad?” Frank said getting in Ralphie’s face.
“Yeah, all these other mutts may be afraid of you but we’re not.” Bo said, pushing him.
“Look fellas, all I’m trying to do is mind my own business.”
“Well now you’re our business. What do you think about that?” Mo said slapping Ralphie's hard across the back.
“Sorry boys I ain’t got time for this right now.” Ralphie said tying to walk away.
“What? Did you hear what this little punk said to us?” Joe shouted as he jumped in Ralphie’s path.
“Look you guys; I already know what this is all about.”
They all burst out laughing.
“Oh yeah? What’s it all about … Ralphie?” Mo said pushing him back a few paces.
“You guys feel threatened by me.”
“Man you really are a cocky little bastard.” Frank said spitting his words.
“No, I just happen to have a degree in psychology. But any idiot could see that you boys are jealous of the respect I get around here.”
“So now we’re jealous? Of you?” Bo said cracking up. In fact they all wound up laughing.
“I’m serious Frank. you guys beat and threaten these poor mutts. They all hate you and you know it. Whereas me, I treat these guys with respect consequently I’m well liked and admired. Naturally that eats you up inside because of your own personal deep-rooted insecurities, sense of intellectual inferiority and feelings of inadequacy.”
They all looked at each other stunned by what they have just heard. Then the four dogs started advancing.
“Ralphie, you’re going down now. So listen, we’ll try not to kill you dead. But we can’t make you any promises.”
“Bo, Jo, Frank, I don’t want to fight.”
“Now he’s scared.”
“Of you guys? Please. I’m smart that’s all. So we get into a fight, of course i’ll wind up betting you all within an inch of your lives. All they’re going to do is put us in the hole and they’ll add time to all of our sentences.”
“They can’t add any more time for us. We’re lifers.”
“Tough cookie for you, but personally I’d like to get out of here one day.”
“Boy Ralphie, for a dog that went to college you sure is stupid.”
“Are you telling me this little runt doesn’t know?”
“Know what?” Ralphie asked.
“You’re never getting out of here ya little fart. Pit bulls never make parole. Ever.”
“Yeah mister knows it all. Fido Goldstein was sentenced to three years up here. He did his time five years ago and guesses what? He’s still here, and he has a human lawyer.”
The Dane Brothers lost interest in fighting Ralphie when they realized they had beaten him psychologically. And they had. The trio of lucky witted browbeats were actually bellyaching as they left him alone and totally lost in reflection. Ralphie kept a diary from that day on, and began researching dozens of canine incarceration cases. To his astonishment in every instance, the pit-bull is always denied freedom after serving their time. The Dane Brothers hadn’t even touched the surface of how bad the situation really was. Ralphie was mortified. Eventually he talked to, or, tried to talk to Fido Goldstein who he found to be a mean old hound that wallowed in ennui and trusted nobody.
“I hate everybody.” Fido told him in the prison library, “I hate you and we just met.”
“At least you have God on your side.”
“That’s who I’m pissed at the most.”
Ralphie pressed on asking the inhospitable and scabrous old dog about his case and learned only a little more than he knew before. Fido came from a wealthy family, had a good education and was the former founder and conductor of the first all dog symphony orchestra. He was accused of biting a prominent music critic’s wife. His family spent a million dollars on his defense and he still couldn’t get justice. Ralphie looked at the embittered Fido; his own dismal future and saw what he was destined to turn into. As much as he tried to fight it, Ralphie was steadily slipping into greater and greater depression. Champ grew so concerned he secretly confronted Ellie and Ted one day after a visit with Ralphie. But there was nothing they could do to help him. After a year in the state pen, he hit a turning point. The diary entry from that day illustrates his epiphany.
Dear dairy
I’ve been having re-occurring dreams where I am escaping from here. Each time I get away Scott free. Then I started thinking about living in Pedro’s cave. It would still be better than being in here. I might be crazy but I think the time has come to break out.
He shared the idea of escaping with Champ Jones who, much to Ralphie’s surprise, thought it was an excellent idea. Ralphie invited Champ to come along
“Oh-no my friend, this is where I belong. I’m not fit to live among decent society. I know that.” He said putting a comforting paw on Ralphie’s shoulder. “But you my friend, it’s a great opportunity for you. And I know just how to get you out of here.”
The old Lab had blueprints of the entire facility, guard schedules, shift changes and a layout of the abandoned water tunnel that ran under the prison.
“Where did you get all this stuff?” Ralphie asked as he studied the schemes.
“Eh, you can get anything in here if you know the wrong dog.” Champ and Ralphie stayed up until dawn going over the details of the plan. Two nights later Ralphie was ready. He and Champ stood at the entrance to the air duck that lead to the tunnel.
“Ralphie, you stay in touch ya here.”
“It will be hard my friend.”
“Naw, just don’t send email. That’s traceable. But a letter isn’t. How weird is that?”
“Damn champ, I’m sure gonna miss you.”
“Oh, now don’t you go getting misty-eyed on me. You gotta get out here pronto. You’ll have plenty of time as long as you don’t get lost.” He gave Ralphie a hug and lifted the grating of the air duct. Ralphie slipped into the long windy shaft. With flashlight in his mouth, he crawled along the floor slowly until he reached a fork in the path. He saw the side panels Champ described, tore off the screen, and crawled into a bone dry water way and started running as fast as he could. He had four hours until sunrise and the journey to Pedro’s would take two, but he wasn’t risking any chances.
After twenty minutes in the tunnel, Ralphie reached the end which emptied out into a stream of water. He waded threw until he reached the park. He crawled out of the river and shook himself off. Then began his nocturnal creep threw the darkness. Fortunately he didn’t see a living soul except for a homeless man sleeping on a park bench. The man had that morning’s paper draped over his head. On the cover was a picture of a Pit Bull. Ralphie was too busy trying to look at the man’s watch to notice the headline. He clearly saw that it was three thirty, and he made great time. He scurried threw the night and finally reached Pedro’s house by four in the morning.
“Ralphie, what are you doing here?” the sleepy collie asked.
“I broke out Pedro. I’d rather hide out here for the rest of my life rather than live in…”
“Are you nuts?”
“What are you saying Pedro? I’m not welcomed.
“Didn’t you see the paper this morning?”
“Uh, I was a little busy this morning, ya know, running for my life.”
Pedro pointed to the headline. Ralphie’s eyes fell on the words: REAL PIT BULL CONFESSES! RALHIE SMYTH TO BE SET FREE.
“Holy papayas Pedro, this is great. I don’t believe it. I’m free. Pedro, I’ve been exonerated.”
“Ralphie, don’t you know what his means?”
“Yeah, I’m a free dog again. I can go home to the Smyth’s, I’m…
“You’re a fugitive from justice. An escaped convict. If they open up that cell in the morning and you’re, not there you’ll be charged with breaking out of a federal prison and …”
“Pedro, I gotta go”.
“I’ll say.”
“I’ve got two hours before they open up that cell for the morning head-count.”
Ralphie was back in the park running even faster than ever.
“What if they’re already looking for me? What if they have a manhunt looking for me right now? I could end up doing more time for breaking out of jail than I was sentenced to in the first place.” Ralphie ran for another twenty minutes then came to a divided path and stopped dead in his tracks.
“Wait a minute. Do I turn left, right, or what?” It swiftly slapped him; he left the map and flashlight at Pedro’s. “What a dumb dog I am. Dumb nothing! Stupid!” he cried in disgust. Without a second thought he started running back to Pedro’s house with even greater speed and anxiety. As he shot threw the blackness his heart was pounding and his legs started getting tired. He also began to loose confidence and hope. I’ll never make it back in time he thought as he started to slow down. Then slower, and slower. Finally, he stopped, collapsed on the ground and laid there completely out of breath crying his heart out.
“Why God? Why? Why me?” he wailed up at the sky. Ralphie stayed there another three minutes crying and trying to decide if it was even worth it to try. He concluded it was impossible and decided to turn himself in. He picked himself up and began walking towards an exit of the park. Hoping to find a cop so he could get it all over with, his thoughts were interrupted by a rustling sound coming from the woods. As he looked onward, he saw a light shinning getting closer. He squinted his tear-soaked eyes and to his amazement and surprise, it was Pedro.
“My God Pedro, what are you doing here?”
“Damn, I didn’t think I’d catch you. Honestly, but I had to try.” Pedro said completely winded. He dropped the flashlight, map, and knapsack on the ground.
“Thanks man, but I’ll never make it back to jail in time.”
“What are you saying Ralphie?”
“I’m giving up Pedro?”
“Giving up? You can’t. You gotta try Ralphie. You got to!”
“It impossible Pedro.”
“Nothing’s impossible Ralphie. I learned that from you.”
“You’re talking nonsense now.”
“Am I? Who was it that told me the only thing that is impossible is the thing we give up on?
“Okay, I said that but…
“Who was it that told me not to let lack of sight stand in my way when I went blind? Who? Who was it that told me I could go to law school and make it as dog’s attorney? Ralphie, do you remember what I had planned when they told me I would never see again?
“Yeah, yeah, you said you were going to commit suicide.”
“That’s right Ralphie. I wouldn’t be here today if not for you constantly telling me that NOTHING was impossible.
“That’s very nice of you…”
“I’m not trying to be nice you birdbrain I’m trying to tell you to pick your ass up and run like a bat out of hell back to jail. It’s only five o’clock, you have an hour and to get back.”
Ralphie looked at Pedro and in a flash realized he was right.
“You know Pedro, the only failure IS one who quits.”
“Yeah, yeah, but this isn’t time for philosophizing it’s time for active fleeing. So haul your ass outta here…NOW!
Ralphie didn’t even bother with a good-bye; he scooped up the map and flashlight and shot into the woods again. Now he had his groove back. Ralphie arrived at the place he was before and knew which path to take without even consulting the map. He sped threw the brush leaping over boulders, tree stumps and a couple of dead bodies. Finally, he made it to the where drain tunnel began and flew inside. When he got to the end, he saw Champ sleeping on the other side of the room.
“Champ, Champ, wake up damn it.” Champ slowly turned over and looked around the room. “Over here.”
“Ralphie? What the hell?”
“Never mind, just let me in.” He said looking up at the clock.
“What the hell are you doing back? You loose your mind someplace?”
“I’ll tell ya in a second. Here comes O’Malley, just pretend you’re asleep.”
Warden O’Malley stepped up to the bars with a newspaper in his hand.
“Hey Ralphie, wake up. You’re getting outta here.” O’Malley held up the paper. “Look at his old boy.”
Ralphie rolled over and with a genuine look of surprise and read the headline aloud.
“Is this a joke? O’Malley, is this for real?”
“Yep, that dog that attacked the mayor’s wife bit the governor’s niece and got caught. That’s when he confessed to the other crime.” The warden opened his cell. “Ralphie, I always new you were innocent. Always.”
Ralphie was released from prison that morning and was back home with Smyth’s by suppertime. That night the family sat down to watch the evening news, have dinner, and celebrate Ralphie’s return. They tried to at least. Outside hovered scores of reporters and photographers camping on the Smyth’s front lawn. The overturning of Ralphie’s sentence made him an even bigger news event than his conviction.
Over the next two weeks, he would wind up on Letterman, Jay Leno, and Celebrity Justice. Offers poured in from all manner of television producers. Ralphie turned them all down, accepting an offer from Random House. The publishing giant paid Ralphie and the Smyth’s one million dollars for his life’s story. The Smyth’s became his managers and the family moved to Beverly Hills.
A year later Ralphie’s biography: Dog on the Run topped the New York Times best sellers list and remained there for nine months. Steven Spielberg optioned the rights to his story and six months later shooting began in Hollywood, with Ralphie playing himself. The movie became the box office hit of the summer and Ralphie became a bonafide movie star overnight.
Ralphie went on to write and star in three more films, all of them more successful than the last. He was nominated for best actor and won; beating out Denzel. Ralphie had everything a dog could ever hope for. Or so it would seem. But it was Oprah who really got to the core of Ralphie's passion for this new life.
“Ralphie, you are one dog who has truly done it all. Best selling author, movie star, Oscar winner. I mean, honestly what is there left for Ralphie the pit-bull to do?”
“Well Oprah I’ll tell you,” he said taking off his Baumier sunglasses“, what I really want to do is … direct.”
THE END
The Tragic Life of Ralphie the Pit-Bull and all contents in the collection titled You Always Hurt the One You Love is protected by the United States Copyright office. Any publication, public performance, duplication, or recording is prohibited without the written permission of the author Gaz O’Connor. Copyright 2005
This is am uncorrected proof.
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