Submitted for the November 2024 prompt: Aspirational Utopias

I was on patrol in the mountains when reports of a rabid stray reached my ears. He’d been stealing food at night, breaking into chicken coops and raiding root cellars. At least three of those who had confronted him were attacked, sustaining minor injuries.

 

There had not been a death by violence on the island in many years and I wasn’t going to let it happen on my watch.

 

Villagers directed me to the scene of the most recent crime, a banana farm. Rain-softened soil made the stray’s frantic tracks easy to follow. They were deep impressions, giving me a good idea of his size. I’m no lightweight, but if it came down to a fight I’d have as much as I could handle.

 

“Over here!” someone yelled from the edge of the forest.

 

I took off at a sprint toward the shouts and barks. A wounded woman lay on the ground bleeding. Others gathered around to help her so I kept running, following a trail of chicken feathers into the woods.

 

I spotted the stray hunched over his kill in the tall grass. He was huge, with wild eyes and flashing white teeth. Hard to know if he actually had rabies, but he certainly looked the part. Since the disease had been eradicated here long ago, he had to be from off-island.

 

Newcomers rarely appear on our shores, be they canine, human, or otherwise. They either escape from or are abandoned by the occasional cargo boat. It’s a difficult problem at times, but a fitting one.

 

Our society was inspired by the original inhabitants of this land — dogs. It was once a sanctuary for thousands of canine outcasts. Many human caretakers live here now but are still outnumbered ten-to-one. People slowly found their way to this remote island as humanity deteriorated into chaos and destruction.

 

The wanderers were looking for a better way to live. They found it by modeling a new society on their four-legged friends. Love and loyalty lead the way. A unified community is possible when the alpha-dog myth is thrown aside in favor of the true wolf-pack structure.

 

Family.

 

Everyone is related and bound by mutual respect, which is why a lone wolf can be so threatening.

 

In my haste to contain this beast, I came in too quickly and didn’t notice the wind had shifted. He saw me an instant later and rose from the grass with a godawful howl. I advanced slow and steady, never breaking eye contact. We carry no weapons, armed only with our wits and bodily defenses.

 

The stray charged and I braced for impact, ready to fight tooth and nail. He veered at the last second, diving into a creek bed with steep banks. I rushed after, relieved that he was taking the predicted path of least resistance.

 

The trickling stream cut a swath through thick underbrush, taking the stray exactly where I wanted him to go. The others would be waiting. I called out to alert them as we approached the trap around the corner.

 

A tall earthen dam spanned the channel. The stray tried to scamper up the slippery slopes, but it was too late. My team sprung from the ferns, threw a net, and yanked the beast to the mud. He thrashed and fought, biting the man with the syringe and kicking me in the ribs. We subdued him long enough for the tranquilizer to do its work.

 

Now it was time for the operation.

 

* * *

 

The technological advancement that made our peaceful society possible was the empathy chip. It was created to facilitate mind-to-mind communication but had a much stronger impact on the transmission and reception of emotional energy.

 

When people are able to literally feel someone else’s feelings it makes hating, hurting, and killing them harder, which is why it was banned in so many countries. Development went underground and the chip was found to work on other species as well, allowing humans to experience a pig’s terror before the slaughter or the searing pain of a crab being boiled alive.

 

It also made the historic bond between mankind and canines much stronger, allowing for a high level of communication that surpassed even that of spoken language.

 

Having the empathy chip implanted is the only requirement to live on this island, and the only one we need.

 

An hour after the procedure, I watched gentle waves roll in while the stray’s anesthesia wore off. If the chip was working properly, this would be a beautiful rebirth. If not, things could get ugly.

 

The stray rolled over on the white sand and lifted heavy eyelids. He clawed at the small incision on the back of his neck, then finally noticed me sitting an arm’s length away.

 

A shock of fear passed between us. He radiated hunger and desperation, the anxiety of survival. I countered with calmness and caring as he slowly backed away. My warmth bounced off, scattered to the wind.

 

The stray scratched his neck again and curiosity turned to rage. What did we do to him? I exuded reassurance and offered a pulse of understanding.

 

It was done to me too, all of us had the chip — and that’s what made us safe.

 

This caused him to pause, head cocked. We didn’t care what he did or where he came from. He was already part of the pack. This deep sense of belonging and acceptance was absorbed like water in the sand.

 

The stray’s heart sparked with hope, a blip that ballooned into happiness and full-body relief. His shoulders dropped, jaw relaxed.

 

I broke into a smile, stepped forward, and extended a paw.

 

He shook it with a shaky hand, then laughed and scratched me behind the ears. I rolled onto the warm sand for a belly rub, satisfied with another job well done. And I didn’t need to sense it from him or even be told.

 

I knew I was a very good boy.