Bumkong wanted to eat fresh dog meat, and he was willing to do anything to satisfy this craving. He turned to his friend, Sughse.
“There’s that stray,” he said. “Captain. The old dog at that abandoned building in Wadata.”
Sughse frowned. “What if someone catches us?”
“Bro,” Bumkong grinned, “nobody goes to that side of town. That building’s been dead for years.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. The dog is ancient. We’re probably doing the world a favour.”
Sughse shook his head. “This your craving sha. You go pay me o.”
Bumkong laughed and fired up his motorcycle. They rode through backstreets until the dusty frame of the uncompleted building loomed ahead, concrete bones under the early sun. There, lying outside like a retired sentinel, was Captain with its eyes closed, ribs rising and falling gently.
They approached quietly, the air tense with anticipation. Bumkong made the first move, lunging to pin the animal. Sughse moved swiftly, aiming the collar’s nozzle at its neck. But the dog stirred. It twisted away just as the collar came down and sank its teeth into Sughse’s hand.
“Waaaaayoooooo!” Sughse screamed, the cry long and jagged with pain.
Instinctively, Bumkong swung a fist into the dog’s belly. Captain yelped, but rebounded as it lunged, claws hitting Bumkong’s chest, knocking him backwards. Bumkong barely had time to register the wet breath on his leg before he felt its deep searing bite.
“Ayooooo!” he screamed, clutching his calf. With blood thumping in his ears and adrenaline surging, he scrambled to his feet and bolted for the gate. He remembered the machete and sticks they had seen earlier near the wall. At the time, he’d thought they wouldn’t be necessary.
Captain wasn’t far behind.
As Bumkong reached the gate, Captain launched, but Sughse, hand bloodied and shaking, grabbed at one of its legs. The dog hit the ground hard but sprang up again, now hell-bent on revenge.
Bumkong reached the pile and bent to grab a stick. That’s when he felt it again, fast-moving wind, paws, and then a hot pain at his backside.
“Yepaaaa!” he shouted, swinging wildly behind him as his face contorted in pain. Somewhere behind, Sughse had found his footing and was lobbing stones. One, two, three… Captain danced, dodging expertly. But it slowed him.
That moment was enough.
Sughse turned and ran for the motorcycle. One kick, and the engine screamed to life. He barely glanced over his shoulder before feeling a thud behind him. Bumkong, eyes wide and face wild, landed messily on the back seat.
“Faya dey go! Move!!” Bumkong yelled.
Tyres screeched as the bike tore away.
But Captain wasn’t done. The dog gave chase, its paws barely kissing the ground as it streaked after them like a demon released. The men glanced back again and again, hearts pounding, as though their gaze alone might keep the animal at bay.
Captain barked once, a sharp, piercing sound that wasn’t just a warning. It was a message: Don’t come back! Don’t ever come back!
Don’t come back. Don’t ever come back.
And they got the message. Loud and clear.
S. Su’eddie Vershima Agema is an editor, cultural advocate and development practitioner. Among other works, he is the author of Memory and the Call of Waters [Winner, Association of Nigerian Authors’ Poetry Prize 2022; Finalist, Nigeria Prize for Literature 2022). Su’eddie convenes and directs the Benue Book and Arts Festival (http://bbaaf.com), an international arts festival domiciled in Nigeria and England. He blogs at http://sueddie.wordpress.com, is @sueddieagema and @sueddieofficial on Instagram.
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