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The Legend of Taily-Po
Dedicated to the greatest Nephew of all time!
Once upon a time there was a rough and tumble outdoors man who thought he'd try his hand at living in the wilds of Appalachia, off the grid, like his favorite TV show.
So he packed up his three dogs- Mark, Paul, and Gossler- his shotgun and hatchet, his new hiking boots, and several cans of beans into his very fancy jeep and set off for an adventure.
Unfortunately he was not as prepared as he thought. He forgot shotgun shells, his hatchet was from a store better known for selling fashionable flannel than blades.
And he forgot a can opener.
Oh and he moved into his log cabin - bought sight unseen on a social media market place- on October 1st. It began to snow October 31st and did not stop. His glorious jeep did not have snow tires and after getting it hopelessly stuck in a snow pile he had to admit that he was not getting into town anytime soon.
So he collected his dogs, his dull hatchet and went hunting.
********
Now the mountains of Appalachia are not a supermarket by any sense of the word, but if you know what to look for, even in the depth of winter you can find food-mostly late season roots, wild turkeys or just nuts stored by the squirrels. The man did not know what he was doing and spent a lot of time and energy looking for "big game" until he and his dogs were exhausted and very hungry indeed.
As they turned away to trudge back to their cabin the dogs smelled something completely disgusting (which, if you know dogs, must have been unthinkable vile for them not to be instantly attracted to it) and began to whine and huddled together against their human. Dogs- in fact most animals who are not human,- know when danger is about and that the best choice is to run, and if running is not an option you then stand and fight. Unfortunately Humans, especially this human, are not smart enough to know when to run. They tried to create a barrier of dog flesh between the danger and their Man but three dogs, no matter how “good dogs” they are, cannot keep a man from making his own decisions.
The danger did not look like something that could reduce three very good Dogs into shaking bundles of terror. Often it does not. In fact it rather looked like a badger and a cat and an opossum had a baby: short stubby legs, wide thick body, coarse fur void black and shadow gray, with shining cold orange eyes. Most notably was the tail, long and fleshy, thick and prehensile, naked and thrashing as the creature scuttled up a winter-bare tree.
To the Dogs the creature smelled like old blood, rotten meat and the subtle sly intellect of a cat with a baby mouse. To the Man it smelled like shit and looked like dinner.
With the complete confidence of a man in the woods with only a cub scout’s level of wilderness training, he lifted his hatchet and let it fly.
In one story, the hatchet misses. The man and his dogs return to his cabin in defeat, eat their last can of beans and the next day the Man digs out his jeep and they limp home to their city with a bevy of (mostly exaggerated) stories of his season in the untamed mountains of Appalachia.
Alas, be it fate, fortune or a nasty twist of karma, the hatchet flew true. With a thunk and a splat the hatchet was buried deeply into the tree’s trunk, and the thick hairless tail fell into the quickly reddening snow. The creature? Not the dogs nor the Man saw where it had gone, so focused on the tail were they.
At the cabin the dogs, who still smelled the sly viciousness of the creature on its tail, ate the beans while their Man made a fast and rather disgusting stew of the tail, eating it all himself.
************
That night, perhaps for the first time, the Man slept well while his Dogs stayed up, whining and gently boofing, to comfort and console each other.
The scratching did not wake the Man; he didn’t wake until Mark and Paul began to growl at the door, and Gossler, trembling violently, attempted to get under the covers with him.
“What’s wrong, boys?” The Man asked, wrapping an arm around Gossler, giving him a comforting squeeze.
Paul came over to his Man and brother, to get his share of comfort before joining Mark at the door. The Man tried to call both back, but although Paul pranced back and forth, Mark refused, his short back ruff standing straight out, his lips pulled back and his guttural growl rose and fell.
“Damn boy, calm down.” The Man stood up and walked to Mark, crouching down to pull him away from the door. That’s when he heard the scratching and a high, feral chibbering that accompanied it. For one moment it sounded like “Taaa lee poo!’ but that was completely ridiculous. Whatever wild animal was at his door had to be crazy; to be out in this weather, trying to get into a cabin with three big bad hound dogs and their excellent hunter human. And it certainly couldn’t be saying over and over again something that sounded like human speech. And what did “Taileee POE” mean anyways?
He went to pound on the door, to chase the animal away, when the door shook on it’s hinges, as if a bull ox had thrown itself against it. The Man fell back, and his dogs crowded around him, licking his face and hands.
He was embarrassed, and ashamed, but more than anything he was suddenly afraid. The power of whatever was outside his door shocked him, and he had instantly thought of his uncle’s stories of Wild Men, crazed hillbillies, Cannibals wandering the Mountains of rural America eager to do terrible things to any foolish person- even a man such as he- be lost in their territory.
And like most Humans, fear made him mean. He shoved Paul and Gossler off him, and grabbed Mark’s collar, quickly opened the door and threw him outside, yelling “Go chase that fucker off, Mark! Earn your beans!”
A YIP, a SNARL, and a SNAP, and then silence. The scratching had stopped, as had the terribly human whine of “TAIL EE PO!” and the two dogs and their Man sat in silence. But Mark did not return. Not in five minutes, or ten.
But thirty minutes later the Man heard scratching at the back door. For one happy minute he thought Mark had come home, maybe even carrying whatever critter he’d been set upon. When he went to open the door he found Paul and Gossler blocking his way.
“Move, you goof balls. You don’t want your brother to come inside?”
When they didn’t, he used his foot to nudge them away, perhaps a little too hard. He was even more afraid than he'd been before, but again fear and shame made his angry instead
He threw open the backdoor to welcome Mark (he hoped) home. In an instant he saw the wide shaggy body, the orange glow of pupiled eyes, the gleam of razor teeth and a pink tongue waggling. He heard in that instant, clear as a bell, “My TAIL-EE-PO!” before Paul, fast as lightning, threw himself through the door frame, his momentum carrying both creatures far from the light of the cabin. The last thing the Man saw was Paul and the creature wrapped into each other’s limbs, teeth and claws ripping into each other.
The Man slammed the door, his heart pounding in horror, suddenly certain that whatever that creature was it was the same he’d de-tailed with his hatchet early that day. Under his breath, while he pulled chairs and dressers and his igloo coolers in front of both doors, he repeated what the creature said over and over, until he collapsed on to his bed, Gossler huddled as close to him as possible.
“My Taily-Po.” he whispered to Gossler, who shivered and whined. Gossler was the youngest, smallest and most “pet” of all three dogs. He went on hikes or bike rides when his Man wanted, but frankly a couch and a feel good movie was more his speed. The smells of the Mountains were fun, but he’d stopped having fun a few days ago when he and his brothers had had to split beans instead of their tasty meat food. The Man had made a terrible decision today and now he was all alone. No brothers, no couch and he could hear the creature pacing around the little cabin, it’s smell hurting his sensitive nose like nothing he’d ever experienced. But he had to be strong, and brave. Like his brothers. And so when he heard the panes of the window crack and crunch he did not waste a minute. He launched himself away from his Man and through the window hoping to finish the monster when his own brother’s couldn’t.
*************
The Man could not believe what was happening to him. All three of his dogs lost, chasing after some horrible monster, injured, dead?
And he was left on his bed, in flannel long-johns with a butt flap for pooping, terrified out of his mind.
He sat on his bed, waiting for his doom to return for him.
He did not have long to wait.
20 terror filled minutes after Gossler threw himself through the broken window the Man heard the sounds of talons digging into the wooden logs of his cabin. He heard the brand new but unmistakable sound of a large furred body dragging itself up his exterior wall, over and onto the roof and shuffling across shingles to the chimney stack.
All the while the Man heard clear as day, in a rasping singsong voice "My taily-po! Where is my taily-po?"
He knew the minute the creature crested the chimney because the calling voice took on a whole new level of creepy by bouncing off the stone walls, and coming out the fireplace, gaining volume as well as clarity in its nearness. The fire had been dying out, but was completely extinguished with the sheet of ash that fell upon it. Whatever few embers might have existed were then destroyed when the huge furred body dropped down into the Man’s abode.
He was paralyzed with a profound terror rarely known by the mighty human in this modern world. It was the complete knowledge that his death would be in claws and teeth and tongue and talon, that he would be not only killed but devoured and only- if he was lucky- bones would be left of him. Ask a rabbit why it crouches at the scream of an eagle. Ask the sheep why they huddle together when the smell of wolves reaches their nose. Why not run? Why not flee? Because the predator loves a hunt. And perhaps, by miracle, the eagle would pass them by or the wolves will find another ew to drag away. To be still is to be hidden. Yes even when you can now, as the Man could, see the whites of your death’s eyes, hear the wheeze of their lungs, and smell the sickly sweet stink of past prey digesting wafting from their gullet.
The creature was not huge, although it was wide and thick on short powerful legs, an American badger’s skeleton with the thick hide of a bear and the sleek muscles of a coyote. The face was all feline, cold in its hunger, jealousy and glee at a prey finally caught. It’s snout was long and flexible like an opossums, with the same wide mouth, but instead of the small little bug eating teeth, impossibly long sharp fangs shown like silver from the saliva of its maw. The tongue was prehensile, thin and flicking to and fro as if it was half swallowed live snake.
The Man was able to see all of this and more as the creature dragged itself from the fireplace and stalked across his floor. He saw the bright red blood on it’s talons- they dug into his wooden floors in perfect imprints-, the ragged right ear hanging by a piece of flesh to contrast it’s proud erect left, the one shining orange eye and the matted over eye socket, leaking blood and gore freely.
He might have felt proud that no matter what happened to poor Mark, Paul and Gossler, they had gotten a few licks in, but all thought and knowledge of his dogs had fled in his desperation and horror. He could think of nothing but, “I am dead. And no one will ever know what happened to me.” He did not even think, not once, to reach for his phone and record, although he had already edited his footage of the “hunt” that had brought this calamity upon his head since his dogs roused him long ago.
He watched the creature, chuffing and grunting, climb up his bed, settle itself, even groom it’s tummy -the tongue was so long, so pink, as it swiped down it’s belly to pluck a piece of errant flesh from its coat- before it turned its one eye upon him.
The creature narrowed its eye and waddled the short distance across the bed-ripping the mattress with each step- until it was practically in the Man’s lap.
“Where,” it said, in it’s singsong voice, “Is my Taily-Po?”
The Man blinked, his throat and nose completely blocked in self defense from the stink. However he managed to say “I… I don’t have it.”
The creature growled and said again, “Where is my Taily-Po? You have my Taily-Po.”
“No!” he tried to scream but it came out as a quiet shriek. “I don’t! I would never!”
The creature reared up and put it’s bloody paws on his chest, but did not push down. For one moment the Man’s brain tried to say “It’s like when Paul jumps up and puts his paws on your shoulder for kisses”, but it stuttered back to screaming stupidity before it could complete the journey from memory to thought.
“You. Have. My. Taily-Po.” the creature said, almost sadly, it’s feline head shaking no. "Give it back.”
The Man again insisted, “No. No! I don’t! I DONT.”
“You do. You. Have. My. Taily. Po.” each word punctuated with a small flex of it’s claws, it's bright pink nose waggling as it smelled his face. “Smell it.”
“I… Ok.” The Man put his hands up in surrender, and the way the creature’s head tilted and weaved, following the moving hands, made him instantly regret moving at all. “I admit it. I did have your… your… tail… y-po. I did. I’m so sorry! I was starving! I needed to eat! I… I… was so hungry. Please! Please! You have to understand! I would give it back if I could. But it’s gone. It’s gone. I… I was starving.” He babbled, tears running down his face, his stomach rolling and raging and trying it’s best to return what was left of the Taily-Po the easy way as quickly as possible.
The creature nodded slowly, again as if in sadness. “Poor you,” it crooned, it’s face moving so close the Man could see nothing but it’s mismatched eyes. “Hungry? Oh no. Been hungry too. Hunger hard.” It’s tongue flicked against the Man’s face to lick up his tears. “All must eat. What is Taily-Po to hunger? Taily-Po big and full. Much eating on Taily-Po.”
And then it’s lips turned up and the Man saw even more teeth. He saw only teeth. He smelled only death and decay. He felt only the claws, so sharp to almost not hurt, and the weight of the creature pushing into him. He thought nothing but the screaming void of absolute horror. “Eating to you. Pride to me. Power to me. Important to me. No. No. Taily-Po more important than hunger. Must have Taily-Po back.”
The claws began to rack down the Man’s torso and he heard the creature say “Kill then eat. Eat then Kill. Not eat and leave alive. Bad. Bad. Bad.”
**********
Gossler had run until he could not anymore. He had chased the monster, the beast, through the woods, keeping it’s scent in his nose, its rump in his eyes and his ears pinned back so he could not be distracted by the screams of owls telling each other death was about.
Until suddenly he couldn’t smell the monster anymore. The sickly sweet stink of rotten meat was gone, the blood drops he’d been following missing, and the regular night animals had all breathed a sigh of relief.
He was lost, alone and far far away from his Man, his brothers and a failure. Gossler, in despair, raised his face to the shining moon and howled his feelings. And miracle of miracles he heard an answer. Gossler, called again, heard the answering call, and, finding untapped stores of energy he didn't know he had, took off.
After several stops and calls, Gossler and Mark found each other. Mark was limping, his front paw a bloody mess, and he had scratches all over his body, but he was alive. Gossler bowed, cleaned his brother’s face and the two laid their heads on the other’s shoulder, a canine hug. They cleaned each other’s injuries as best they could- Gossler had not been aware his face was covered in tiny cuts with shards of glass in them- and then they began to search for Paul. By dawn they had found him, in a deep hole his jaw too swollen to howl. It had been Gossler who had found the stink of the creature with Paul’s scent. But it had been Mark who’d found the hole.
They needed a human. They needed their Man. Neither dogs wanted to think about what horrors were befalling their Man without them, with the monster about. Non-human animals are too practical for that. Solve the problem at hand, the future will come whether they think about it or not.
Mark’s paw was still bleeding, so it was up to Gossler to find help. Indoor boy that he was, the deep instincts of a wolf still lived with him, and by midmorning Gossler had found a trail in the snow, with the smell of a human on it. He followed it doggedly-pun not intended- until he came upon a small house, made of metal and wood and stone, smelling of human sweat and smoked meats. Gossler didn’t bother being polite. He threw himself at the door, barking and baying and begging for help.
************
Her name did not matter. She hadn’t used it in years. She didn’t vote, didn’t watch tv or use google. She had fled into the woods decades ago, she and her cats, and only interacted with others when absolutely necessary. She hunted, and harvested wild plants, and read books she traded for on her twice a year trip to the nearby towns.
She knew, like the Taily-Po, that unless you killed, you didn’t eat, but she did not take the pleasure out of it the beast did. She knew of the beast; had heard it sing to itself as it went about its business; had even seen it, and seen it disappear right before her eyes. She kept well away from it, and kept her cats inside during winter when it seemed to hunt in her territory.
She did not know of the Man, or his dogs, although she had heard the baying of the brothers that morning, thinking perhaps they were wild canids and was happy they had returned to her land, which frankly had too many deer and elk of late.
So when she heard Gossler barking and whining and scratching at her door the woman was surprised and cautious. No self-respecting wolf would come to a human’s door, but a particularly clever coyote- creatures who would occasionally greet her with a yapping “Good Day!” in passing- might think to visit for a bit of jerky and a moment by the fire.
She peaked out her window and immediately opened the door. This was no sassy coyote or sleek fox, but a clearly domesticated, clearly injured hound dog. The dog gazed up at her, his tongue hanging out in exhaustion, his poor face and body covered in cuts that slowly oozed blood down his black and brown fur. The Woman knelt down, offering her hand and the dog sniffed her, and then collapsed.
“My gods he’s dead.” she worried, but no, when she scooped the dog into her she could feel him breathing, panting. “Poor thing.”
While the dog, Gossler according to his tags, slept she gently cleaned up his cuts and wondered what happened to this fine looking hound. If it had been a car accident the glass would have been thicker, not this cheap window pane, and while he looked well cared for she thought he was too skinny.
The dog woke up when she brought him a plate of chopped and quickly browned venison, and after he ate it, he began to pace and scratch at the door. He’d look back at her, boof and then look at the door. “Outside? You need me to follow you? Ok. Hold on.” She put on her winter gear- leather fur lined overalls, hat, boots and finally her snowshoes, grabbed her shotgun, backpack and followed Gossler into the woods.
Rested and fed, Gossler was ready to rescue his brothers, and the woman moved almost as fast as he wanted her too. It took only an hour to reach the hole where poor Paul was trapped, with Mark standing guard. Mark greeted his brother, and sniffed the woman perfunctorily before leading her to the hole.
Paul was still alive, thank goodness, but he was looking rough, his face swollen and bleeding, too weak to even boof a greeting to his brother or the woman.
“Well fuck,” the woman whispered. She’d never seen three animals in such a dire situation. The biggest dog clearly had an injured paw, and was covered in deep scratches, but the dog in the hole-damn tourists thinking to catch a bear or wolf dug these then forgot about them, only to have the next seasons’ tourists falling into them- was in a very rough shape. For one terrible moment she thought a bullet would be the kindest thing, but looking at the three sets of desperate eyes she knew that wasn’t an option until it was the only option.
She quickly got to work. Using branches, the ropes and tarp she always had in her pack she created a pulley system, to get the dog out of the hole without hurting him further. She dropped into the hole, and gently lifted him onto the sling, pulled in up and to the left onto the snow next to the hole, then followed herself. Each dog got water- still warm from her thermos, and a bit of pemmican- dried meat and fruit jerky- before she converted the sling into a sledge, tied it around her waist, and lifted the largest dog over her shoulders.
Gossler stayed by her side, his eyes and ears perked to attention, and every time they heard a strange rustle or snap the Woman stopped, moved her shotgun into the ready position until Gossler moved on.
It took slightly longer to get back to her cabin, but they made it safely, and the Woman bundled the dogs into her ancient powerful truck and took off for the nearest town with a vet.
Each dog needed care. The middle dog, Paul according to his tags, had a broken jaw and fever from exposure in the hole. The jaw was from a powerful hit- the vet said likely a wild boar- and the fever had just started. The jaw was set, and wired, and he was given fluids.
The largest dog, Mark, needed stitches and the gored leg needed to be removed. Gossler got his cuts cleaned, and had almost worked himself to death finding his brothers and the woman. All three dogs got a month's supply of antibiotics, pain meds and were ordered to couch rest and all the game meat they could eat. Gossler got a kiss from the vet tech for being such a good brave boy.
***********
Winter settled in earnest around the Woman’s cabin and while there had been a few tense conversations between the dogs and the cats around who had priority of the best spot by the fire, it was a lovely season.
While Mark and Paul healed, Gossler went with the Woman while she hunted, harvested and patrolled her land. He found that while, yes, he was still an indoor boy, he did not mind going out with her. She was strong and precise in her movements, spoke to him gently while they walked, and always shared the best bits when she field dressed her kills. Eventually Mark then Paul joined them, but their injuries had sapped their energy and stamina, and often they bowed out midday while Gossler and the Woman kept going a few hours more.
Not to say that it was all outside time all the time! Most days the Woman and her animals stayed inside, cooking, cleaning, keeping her store of supplies full, then sitting and reading. She read aloud and did the voices and Gossler thought it was way better than tv. Except for the Christmas movies. Those were still the best.
The the dogs did not forget about their Man or the beast that had so devastated their lives. Even the Woman suspected what had caused her new dog friends' injuries. Every time that winter they went out the Woman carried her shotgun, extra shells and flares. The dogs, most often just Gossler, strode by her side, constantly vigilant to protect their new Human.
***********
As spring settled over the land, Mark and Paul had adjusted to their new bodies quickly once their wounds healed. Paul's jaw healed quickly and Mark moved on three legs just as well as he had on four. And although each dog now had white furred scars over their bodies, it didn’t bother them.
And one morning all the boys were ready to lead their new human into the woods to wrap up their first lives.
“What’s up guys?” She asked, crouching down to give them all scratches and pets. They were clearly distracted, pointedly looking at the door, muscle taunt and ready to go. She thought for a minute, then packed her gear, including a sleeping roll and extra food and drink. “Ok, guys. Let’s go.”
They were actually much closer to the Man’s cabin than the dogs thought. It took only a few hours to pick up the scent, their own mixed with their Man’s, and by mid afternoon Mark, Paul and Gossler were confidently, almost gleefully prancing around their Woman, showing her the trees they remembered, and the trail they’d taken daily.
Until, that is, they got close enough to their old property to smell the same sickly sweet reek of rotten meat and malicious death that announced the beast's presence. The dogs all crowded around the Woman, seeking pets, licking her hands, so close she had to shuffle not to trip over them, the last mile.
The house had clearly been empty all winter. The door was closed, but the window Gossler had burst through was still broken, and the jeep had 4 flat tires and a huge tree branch on it’s roof.
“Oh. Oh. Boys is this… home?”
They whined while she nudged them away from her feet so she could peek through the hole made by Gossler, her flashlight mounted on her shotgun, both a very comforting weight in this house of death.
In the dim light she could see shadows, dust and deep gouges in the wooden floor. She could see a collapsed bed and torn sheets, but luckily only the vague outline of whatever was also in the destroyed bedding. She didn’t want to or need to see any more of that, thank you, and neither did the dogs. They knew what was in that cabin, and she certainly wasn’t going to do any good by dragging a mutilated corpse out for them to mourn. She did, however, want to see what was written on the wall. It was in big scarred lettering, and she wondered if the man had taken a Bowy knife and scrawled a message or warning as his last act. A body didn’t need burying but a message on a wall should be honored.
Her flashlight however did not show the Man’s name or any message from him. It simply read:
I got my Taily-Po Back