Isle of Dogs

Ten centuries ago, before the Age of Obedience,

free dogs roamed at liberty, marking their territory.

Seeking to extend its dominion,

the cat-loving Kobayashi Dynasty declared war

and descended in force

upon the unwary four-legged beasts.

On the eve of total canine annihilation,

a child warrior sympathetic to the plight

of the besieged underdog dogs

betrayed his species,

beheaded the head of the head of the Kobayashi clan

and pledged his sword

with the following battle-cry haiku.

He would later be known

as the Boy Samurai of Legend, RIP.

At the end of the bloody dog wars,

the vanquished mongrels became powerless house-pets:

tamed, mastered, scorned.

But they survived and multiplied.

The Kobayashis, however,

never forgave their conquered foe.

The Japanese archipelago,

20 years in the future.

Canine Saturation

has reached epidemic proportions.

An outbreak of Snout-fever

rips through the City of Megasaki.

Blizzards of infected fleas, worms, ticks and lice

menace the citizenship.

Dog-Flu threatens to cross the species threshold

and enter the human disease-pool.

In a special midnight-session

at the Municipal Dome,

Mayor Kobayashi of Uni Prefecture

issues emergency orders

calling for a hasty quarantine:

the expulsion and containment of all breeds,

both stray and domesticated.

By official decree,

Trash Island becomes an exile colony.

The Isle of Dogs.

Respect-o.

It's not fair to the dogs.

The path favored by Mayor Kobayashi

is cruel and unscientific.

For a thousand years,

these resilient animals have loved,

served and protected us.

Now, in their time of greatest need,

we forsake them again?

A tidal-wave of Anti-Dog hysteria

has crippled our moral judgment.

Give me six months, and I will deliver a serum.

I'm this close, dammit.

Dog-Flu will be eradicated. Snout-fever will be defeated.

Canine Saturation will be returned

to sustainable levels

and without mass-neutering!

Whatever happened to man's best friend?

No, no, no!

The crowd is calling for the immediate ratification

and approval of the mayor's proposal.

As a gesture of public solidarity,

Mayor Kobayashi is calling upon

his Assistant Hatchet-Man, Major-Domo,

to furnish the personal bodyguard-dog

of the mayoral-household,

Spots Kobayashi,

into the possession of the Committee

for Canine Desaturation.

Spots will be the first dog

to be officially deported from the city.

Six months later.

Nomadic packs of once-domesticated

house-pets, sick and hungry,

rove the garbage canyons and filthy ravines,

scrounging for scraps.

One hundred per cent test positive

for the Dog-Flu germ.

Symptoms: weight-loss, dizziness,

narcolepsy, insomnia,

and extreme/aggressive behavior.

Three-quarters display signs of early-onset Snout-fever:

high-temperature, low blood-pressure,

acute moodiness

and spasmodic nasal expiration.

The exiled dog-population grows weaker, sadder, angrier.

Desperate.

Hey, wait a second.

Before we attack each other and tear ourselves to shreds

like a pack of maniacs,

let's just open the sack first and see what's actually in it.

It might not even be worth the trouble.

- What do you say? - I'm not sure.

Maybe.

Alright.

A rancid apple core; two worm-eaten banana peels;

a moldy rice cake; a dried-up pickle;

tin of sardine bones; a pile of broken egg-shells;

an old, smushed-up, rotten gizzard

with maggots all over it...

Okay, it's worth it.

Get out of here and don't come back.

Sheesh, Igor. I think he chewed your ear off.

Hmm... Hmm.

I don't think I can stomach any more of this garbage.

- Same here. - Words out of my mouth.

I used to sleep on a lamb's-wool bean-bag

next to an electric space-heater.

That's my territory. I'm an indoor dog.

I starred in 22 consecutive Doggy Chop commercials.

Look at me now. I couldn't land an audition.

I was the lead mascot

for an undefeated high-school baseball team.

I lost all my spirit. I'm depressing.

I only ask for what I've always had:

a balanced diet, regular grooming,

and a general physical once a year.

I think I might give up.

- What, right now? - Right now.

There's no future on Trash Island.

You heard the rumor, right? About Buster.

- Not sure. - Can you remind me?

Who's Buster?

Uh, my brother from another litter.

- What happened to him? - Suicided.

Hanged himself by his own leash.

- Hmm. - Oh, boy.

I want my master.

Ah...

You make me sick.

I've seen cats with more balls than you dogs.

Stop licking your wounds!

You hungry? Kill something and eat it.

You sick? Take a long nap.

You cold? Dig a hole in the ground,

crawl into it, and bury yourself.

But nobody's giving up around here,

and don't you forget it, ever.

You're Rex!

You're King!

You're Duke!

You're Boss!

I'm Chief.

We're a pack of scary, indestructible Alpha Dogs.

You're talking like a bunch of house-broken... pets.

You don't understand. Uh, how could you? You're a...

Go ahead, say it. I'm a stray, yeah.

How does she keep her fur so clean?

There's no shampoo on Trash Island.

You heard the rumor, right? About her and Felix.

- What'd they say? - Felix? No.

- What happened to them? - They mated.

Ooh.

Who is Felix again?

All the ones I like: they're never in heat.

Hey, now, that puddle-jumper's flying crooked.

- Oh, you're right. - Ease up.

- Pull up. - He's gonna lose a wing.

Wow.

Part One: "The Little Pilot."

Small guy. Not much meat on him.

Yeah, is he dead?

- He looks dead. - I have a question.

Are we eating him, or is this a rescue?

We don't know yet.

Nobody's eating The Little Pilot.

Not even the dead body of him. Dogs don't eat masters.

You're not our leader. We all are. Let's take a vote.

All in favor of not eating The Little Pilot, say "Aye".

- Aye. - Nay.

First-things-first:

let's open his helmet

so he can breathe some air if he's alive,

then see if we can pull that

hunk of broken propeller-clutch

out of the side of his head if it doesn't kill him.

- Does that sound right? - Yeah, that's right.

Mmm-hmm.

Spots-u! Spots-u! Spots-u!

We get the idea.

You're looking for your lost dog, Spots.

- Does anybody know him? - Hmm. No.

Uh-uh.

Wow.

In response to questions

regarding the purported disappearance

of his ward Atari,

Mayor Kobayashi offers no comment

and urges reporters to respect

the privacy of the mayoral-household.

Atari, aged 12, was last seen early yesterday morning

rolling a small airplane onto a runway

at Megasaki Executive Airport.

24 hours later.

I bite.

I beg your pardon. Ignore that dog.

He's got Snout-fever.

Just please follow us.

Now, I never met him, but I asked around.