Dale and the Drug Dealer

This poem was written in answer to The Word of the Day Challenge:
Protest

Protest means: A statement or action expressing disapproval of or objection to something.

Here’s what I came up with…

Dale and the Drug Dealer

Fergal and his police German Sheppard Dale hadn’t been at work long this evening. Already they were on the trail a drug dealer. Road traffic officers had given chase to the dealers red Corsa, He’d ditched it and made off into the oak woods and river path on foot. With all the ways in and out of the area covered, the dealer was trapped somewhere within the dark woods.

“Find him, Dale.” Fergal urged as he followed his torchlight along the dark, earthen path. Something flapped away across the glassy, black water of the river. “Come out from the bush you’re hiding under. I know you’re in here and I will release the dog to find you if you disobey us!” he added loudly.

“Any luck, Fergal?”

Fergal took hold of his radio. “Negative, Joey. Anything your end?” Joey was another dog handler beginning the search from the meadow end of the river path.

“Negative. Heading your way, now. We’ll flush him out.”

“Roger that, Joey.” Fergal smoothed Dale’s ears and paused to scan the thick blackthorn and buddleia bushes growing beneath the willows and oaks of the woods. It was like peering into caverns, it was so dark beneath the leafy canopy.

Walking on again, he felt Dale tense on his lead.

The dog began sniffing intently.  

“Come on, Fella. Let’s find him.” Fergal urged as he tried to lead him on.

The dog put up a protest, digging his heels in while sniffing toward the bushes. He gave a throaty growl and pinned his ears back.

“What is it, Dale? Is he in there?” Fergal adjusted his glasses. “Come out! I’m releasing the dog and he will bite you!”

Dale barked, pawing the ground.

Fergal unclipped him. “Find him, Dale.”

The German Sheppard leapt into the dark trees with a snarl.

The dog handler lost him to sight in seconds. It left him feeling vulnerable, even the hoot of a disturb owl unnerved him.

“Joey, I think I have him here. Two-hundred yards from —”

Something cannoned into Fergal and blasted him off his feet. He smashed down amid bracken ferns and nettles. A shadow loomed above him, he looked into drug-affected, bloodshot, distant, and deranged eyes.

“You’re under arrest, get on the ground and give up, now!” Fergal demanded as he threw his attacker off.

Fergal barely got a foot beneath him before the dealer bulldozed him again.

A deep bark rumbled through the woods.

Dale appeared, head down and furious. He gave a warning bark and lunged

The dealer let out a hideous scream as he felt claws slamming into his chest.

Dale drove him down and barked up a storm, his teeth gnashing millimetres from the criminal’s face.  

Fergal climbed to his feet with pain flaring in his chest. “Good boy, Dale. Hold him,” he ordered with a wince. “Gah! So much for stab-proof vests protecting the wearer. This one made the shoulder tackle hurt more!”

“Please, get this hellhound off me, it’ll kill me!” protested the dealer. His face dripping in dog saliva.

“Shut-up, idiot! The drugs are making you see three heads. Dale only has one, but he will use his teeth if you keep fighting him. Do yourself a favour and keep still.” Fergal told him as a second dog appeared along the path.

“Fergal, you alright?” Joey asked running into the torchlight.

“Yup, the dealer got me but Dale got him better,” Fergal replied as he eased Dale from his suspect and cuffed him.

“Job well done. Dale,” said Joey chucking him a gravy bone treat.

The End

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Thanks for reading my friends. As always there are more stories and poems to be enjoyed (I hope) in the Short Stories and Short Stories 2 and Poetry Corner tabs.

Have a great day!

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