Fanta & Patch

The old female wolfdog was aging, she was beyond thirteen this summer. Her old bones were creaky and her joints ached each day--she knew her death was near. Fanta limped to the Alleys, hoping to at least catch a glance at her eldest son, Patch. Just as she neared, she caught sight of a large male. When he saw her, he began to torment her.

"Leave me alone," Fanta rasped, but the male had no ideals of doing so. Just as he pinned her to the ground and went to kill her, Patch intervered.

"Go away, you mangy mutt," Patch snarled, lunging at the male. They began to fight viciously, the battle seemed more so for death than to defend a female. Just as the unknown male bite into Patch's throat, Fanta jumped in and killed the male.

Patch lay on the ground, panting wildly. Blood pooled from his throat into a sticky, crimson puddle. Fanta laid beside her son. She whispered softly, licking at his wounds.

"I'm sorry Patch, that I abadoned you."

Patch looked at his mother with soft eyes. He managed to lick her muzzle before he laid it down, near death. Just twenty minutes later, Fanta died. They lay, side by side, just like they had walked into this alley many years ago.