They were left to their own devices to defend their dogs. They formed self-protection groups, organized themselves into teams. The dog-walkers from each block tried to walk together. Many of them had armed themselves with makeshift household weapons: kitchen knives, cleavers, sprays. They tried to involve the larger community in the fight against the dog biter, but the larger community was of a different opinion. Dogs are their owners’ problem. Those who didn’t own a pet, or owned cats, turtles, goldfish, canaries, or other sorts of companion animals felt they needn’t threaten their own personal safety for the sake of dogs. Since the dog biter didn’t threaten them or their smaller pets, they didn’t help, offering only their emotional and moral support to the cause. The dog owners were on edge. If they had to leave home they often took their dogs with them now, fearing that the biter would break into apartments to hunt down the dogs left at home.

Zoltán met one of the bitten dogs at the greengrocer. It was a white pitbull mix. The red bite mark was on its left side. The dog sat by its owner’s feet, trembling every time someone walked in the door. Its owner looked at the dog shamefully, like the dog’s weakness was his own. He seemed to understand that something was now missing from his beast; that this dog was less than a dog now, and everyone could see it.

That night as Zoltán watched the park from the balcony, he kept thinking about that dog. Nikolett was out there in the night hunting, despite Zoltán’s warning of the risks. Who knew what the owners would do to her should they catch her one night. Maybe they would also discover their true selves that had been muted by life in a peaceful society. What would happen to Zoltán then? Would he be free if one night Nikolett didn’t return home?

Or on the contrary, would he become lost, like the dog at the produce stand, because he himself would now be less than what he used to be? He took up smoking, hoping that a new habit would help him discover some new, hidden area in himself to claim as his own.

Nikolett didn’t get caught that night, but something still changed. She came home, her body hot from the blood, and she drew a line in the sand.

‘This can’t go on like this!’ said Nikolett, taking a cigarette from him. They had agreed not to smoke inside the apartment they both loved, and now the heavy smoke in the kitchen promised a downward turn. Zoltán had known this moment would come.