Alpha Dog Within a year, Rufio lost his status as alpha dog. When Roxie offered her advice, Rufio should have reminded her of her place verbally and physically, but he was a sucker for a good strategy, and hours of PBS, Alpha Dogs Cyber Force cartoons, and day dreams while tied to a gazebo had made Roxie a brilliant tactician. Daily, she went on adventures in her mind. Each adventure required her to outsmart herself to keep the conflict even, exciting, and complex. She borrowed tactics from Sun Tzu, Hezbollah, General Patton, and more. The best writers in Burbank couldn’t push Captain Mastiff and Feline Fatale’s respective crews as far as Roxie’s imagination did on a lonely weekday morning in the backyard. Rufio had mostly memorized his tricks from the police academy. New tactics didn’t come as easily to him. Rufio’s limitations as a leader became apparent. He always needed to be the point dog and never trusted another dog with very much responsibility, and rightfully so. The dogs were motivated by fear, which made them slow and hesitant. They weren’t free to make mistakes, so they didn’t take the risks at opportunities to steal or kill food. Roxie obeyed orders and learned how foraging and hunting missions worked. She learned her packmates: their strengths, where they felt confident. She suggested organizing teams accordingly. The dogs gained weight. Rufio lost his status because of three virtues. He listened. He recognized and respected intelligence and good ideas. He knew Roxie was a better leader for his pack, and had the character to step down as alpha dog to become her beta. Roxie let the former police dog keep most of his power. “I’ll be the good cop, and you’ll be the bad cop,” she said. Although, if you ask the members of the pack, they will say it was because Rufio loved Roxie, and Roxie didn’t love him back, making him in her power.
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A Stray Rufio killed a female stray who wandered into their territory. He dragged her corpse into the pack’s den under the brush and far from the path. The lost dog smelled like the yellow of death. Since it was the custom that the leaders eat first, the dogs, including Rufio, waited for Roxie to eat. The canopy of leaves covering the den was loose enough to let in the stars and the glow from the city streets. The food was presented on its side with her legs like she was running from a game rigged against her. The food’s eyes were open and looking at Roxie. “It’s best not to identify with her,” one of the dogs suggested. Roxie glared at Rufio, “This is neither food nor happiness; this is a crime.” She knew this would make the police dog put his tail between his legs. “We eat too well to do this. Bury her. No dog deserves to become shit.” 47