Space Janitor (165) worried for Shep. On one level, he could see that the old dog was getting through to the younger Denabol. The audience that followed them up the corridor kept their eyes locked. They were watching Denabol with bated breath. The alpha dog was undergoing some form of test. Did the other dogs know what was going on? Space Janitor felt himself be very aware of what was transpiring before him.
Shep pushed even further. It felt as if he knew his life was in danger but did not care. Space Janitor observed his colleague. He still limped, but they had tried to fill the void where the bottom half of his leg had been. It was crude and not entirely level, but it seemed like it fit its purpose.
“You don’t need so many dogs,” Shep said. “The more dogs you have, the more you lose control. Why master other dogs, when the greatest achievement is to be a master of their own. It’s neither good nor bad. But only those dogs who have no control of themselves would feel the need to lash out and try and control others,”
Shep let the words linger in the air a little longer.
“Do what you want to do Denabol. Don’t feel the need to do what others feel you should do. We all have masters. Your master? The opinion’s of others,”
“That’s not true,” Denabol offered.
“You say that, but you don’t believe it,” Shep countered. “You feel that a good dog should seek to be the top dog. The more dogs, the higher the ceiling. The bigger the fall. We are not cat’s Denabol. We don’t land on our feet, and we land hard.”
Denabol listened. Was Shep going to get through to him?
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