A bleak landscape of stone. Stone and bone. Skin and bone. That is me. The bones they throw to me, those fierce turbanned men, are never enough to satisfy, but they keep me alive. The beatings are bad, but never enough to kill me. They call me Sack, a low, despised creature, yet necessary to them. If it were not so they would chase me away or spit fire at me from one of the long sticks they carry over their shoulders. Without me and my kind to guard the caves they would never dare to wrap themselves up in their blankets and sleep. Sometimes I am allowed to doze in the sunshine, but I have no warm blanket and at night the cold and the hunger keep me awake. Most nights a heavy silence hangs over the hills, but my ears prick up at the merest sound; a pebble dislodged and rolling down to the road miles away, perhaps. Then I bark and they all rush out. Usually, I have to dodge the kicks as they return to their blankets, angry at being disturbed, but that is nothing to what they would do if I failed them.

Some days are better. Groups of travellers have to pass by on the rocky road below our caves. Where they come from and where they are going to is of no interest to me, but the men are pleased to see them. They cover their faces, some even put on bright, shiny things that hook over their ears and noses and make it impossible to see their eyes, and they run down to the road to stop the travellers, shouting and brandishing their knives and their sticks. The travellers shout too as they are pulled out of their vehicles, kicked and beaten if they refuse to pay. A few escape, but most are robbed of everything they have. Some try to fight back and are killed and thrown over the cliff into the river. Then the men climb back up to the caves with what they have taken and begin to celebrate. Soon their harsh voices are raised in song and they sway together in the dance. While their backs are turned, I sneak up to the fire and grab what I can for my own private feast. I know better than to linger by the warm glow. It is better to take the food into the cold shadows at the back of the cave where I can enjoy it undisturbed.

The men keep some of the vehicles, even a bus they once filled with holes while the passengers were still inside, and they take it in turns to go back to their families. There are no women in the caves and those they snatch from the road do not survive to satisfy them for long. I suppose they sniff them out, just as I do when there is a new bitch in the area. I have heard the men laughing as they carry off the writhing bundles of cloth, but the wailing and groans soon die away and silence returns to the hillside.

Quite often they take me to the villages with them. The first time, I did not know what to expect. All the men were waiting in a big circle to see me fight. The other dog was no match for me and I soon had him pinned down. He was dragged off in shame and there were congratulations; not for me, of course, but for the men who had brought me. At least no one kicked me and I was given a bone to chew and some water before they all went off to bow down and touch their heads to the floor. The next time, I was the one who backed off and I was sore for days, but I usually win.

Sometimes the men bring back travellers to the caves and chain them up to the walls. They are given food and water and a blanket, but do not seem at all happy to have these luxuries. Some are angry. Most are terrified. The men force them down onto their knees and hold knives to their throats. Just as the travellers are sure that they are going to die, they are dragged up again. Their bodies shake and their faces are wet. Usually it is not long after that before they disappear and the men are happy again. They sit around the fire, smoking and passing around big wads of paper and bags that jingle. Some travellers are with us longer, though, and they are the ones who have their garments stripped from them before they are beaten with thick sticks or rubber pipes until their bodies are covered with bruises. Sometimes they have their ears cut off. The men taunt me with the ears, making me jump up and down with my mouth watering, but they generally let me have them in the end. I make short work of them, I can tell you! Other travellers are hung from iron rings in the ceiling to be beaten. Their bodies stream with blood and their filth splatters all over the floor. Then they are made to clean it up before they are beaten again. There is nothing in it for me, though. I can only look hopefully at the tender body parts dangling in front of my nose. They look much tastier than the ears. Every now and again, one of the men takes out his knife and makes a traveller scream by pretending that he is going to slice off the bits I fancy, but it has not happened yet. One day, maybe.

I have only ever known one creature that dared to help itself. Some strangers arrived late one night. Of course, I heard them long before they reached the road below the caves and the men were waiting for them, but they all seemed very happy to see each other. The strangers were carrying a gift, something rolled securely into an old carpet, tied with rope at each end. By the firelight in one of the caves, they unwrapped what they had brought and stood well back. What was revealed was gaunt and mean looking and covered in coarse hair, rather like me if I am honest, but it smelt foul. Its eyes were sly as it adjusted to the light and then it snarled, baring its big yellow fangs and snapping at the men. It took several of them to wrestle it to the ground and get a chain round its neck and then they fastened it to an iron ring in the wall at the back of the cave. During the days that followed it was given nothing to eat or drink and it howled and whined as it fought its chain. The men laughed, pointing at it and giving it the same name of Sack that they gave me, but they kept well out of its reach. So did I. It was a nuisance having it there because it had taken the space I usually used for my private feasts and I had no intention of sharing them. Instead, I had to take what I stole outside and risk losing it to hungry scavengers. It was a relief when the men decided to move it. They beat it unconscious before they picked it up between them and took it down to a cave at the bottom of the cliff. It was only a small cave, but deep and the entrance was close to the road.

I soon found out why they were keeping it there. The men were excited the next day as they waited for the first travellers to appear. Several groups meekly handed over their money, but then came the one they had been waiting for. The head of the family, a fat old man sweating under his black lambskin hat, shouted angrily and raised his fist. The men dragged him out of the car and forced him down onto his stomach on the bonnet of the car. It must have been red hot and he roared with pain and outrage as they pulled off his baggy trousers. They were not lusting after his meaty rump, though. They pushed him inside the cave. The snarling began at once and the chain rattled as the creature leapt forward to grab its first meal in days. It tore off the part it wanted most and swallowed it in one gulp. Before it could attack again, the traveller was dragged out into the sunshine and flung onto his back on the ground. He lay motionless, blood pouring from the big open wound and attracting flies from all around. There were no more arguments from his family who handed over everything the men wanted before the son was allowed to load the lifeless body onto the back seat of the car and drive off.

The men treated the creature better after that. It was never allowed to leave its cave, not even taken to join in the dog fights, but they gave it a longer chain and much better food than I got. It even had a blanket of its own as well as the old rug in which it had arrived. After they stopped beating it, it never tried to go for any of them and it only came to the entrance of the cave when they called it. Whenever it was set on to travellers the men laughed. I even saw one or two of them patting it on the back afterwards while its fangs were still bloody. I hated it and wished they would send it back where it came from.

As it happened, I did not have to wait long at all to get rid of it. One day, I was woken up from my afternoon sleep by a lot of shouts and bangs. The men were all running around, picking up their knives and their sticks, but they were not going down to the road. Instead, they were hiding themselves behind rocks and watching a big cloud of dust that was rapidly heading our way. It was made by a line of vehicles the colour of desert sand. They stopped directly below us and strangers in garments the same colour as their vehicles jumped out of them. They looked up towards the caves. There were a lot more loud bangs, from down there and from up above and behind me. I made myself as small as possible. Soon, the strangers were climbing up to the caves. Some of them fell and rolled back down again. Some of the men fell too. There were screams. There was blood, a lot of blood. Then it all went quiet.

Some of the men were led down to the road, their hands tied behind their backs. The strangers pushed and kicked the ones who did not want to go. Looking out of the window of one of the vehicles was the son of the fat man. He was wearing the black lambskin hat now and pointing at the creature's cave. A group of the strangers went in there with ropes and I heard more shouts, the snarls of the creature and a grating sound that hurt my ears. They had cut through its chain and it struggled furiously with the ropes as they carried it outside and laid it on its back on the road. Some of the strangers sat on it while another took something shiny from a box and jabbed it into one of its forelegs. It went limp almost immediately, which was odd because a small wound to the leg is usually just something to be licked and then forgotten. The strangers untied the ropes and then, the most curious thing of all, they took out some sand coloured garments, just like their own, and actually dressed the creature. Then, two of them got into the back of one of the vehicles and sat it down between them. If it had still been alive, it would have been very uncomfortable. Its head was lolling sideways onto the shoulder of one of the strangers, who did not look very happy about it and was holding a cloth over his mouth. Its back was straight up against the seat, its forelegs were dangling uselessly and its back legs were bent in the middle and reached down to the floor. It was just as well that it had no tail to be fitted in as well.

They all drove off. The men who were killed have been returned to the village. The men who were taken away have never come back but others have taken their places. Now my life has returned to normal and I am glad.