Dog

Wednesday May 15, 2013
Dog, present-day

purebred gray and white pit bull, 9 kg

Humans are confusing.

In my first four months of life, I thought I had them pretty much sorted out. I was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

I started off with my mother, whom I remember to be a beautiful speckled dog with sparkling eyes. A round, middle-aged female Human, our caretaker, would come into the fenced-in kennel to snap Human gibberish at us. She was a filthy creature, always smelling of sharp disgusting liquid and smoke. I never really interacted with her until I was six weeks, old enough to comprehend the world around me.

The Human came in one day. My mother wagged her tail and lowered her ears when she saw her, nudging her nose under the Human’s hand. I snarled at the Human. She glared balefully at me, her eyes too wide. She talked in a loud, angry voice and slapped my muzzle whenever I snarled. She hit hard. It always hurt, and I always tried to bite her hand. I was very scared of her. I bared my teeth.

“An aggressive one, this dog,” she said to her mate.

“Alright, I’ll break it in.” The male Human rolled up his sleeves.

I backed away from him, wrinkling up my nose with his smell, terrified. I didn’t know what he would do to me, I could just sense that his intentions were terrible. He grabbed for me, and with a horrified yelp I bit him.

He growled, his mean dull eyes glittering. He smelled of the same stuff that his mate did; a strong repulsive liquid that made my head dizzy and my tongue feel fuzzy. My heart was racing and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. My mother stared in concern, my brothers and sisters huddled next to her in terror. She whined softly and the female Human cursed, giving her a kick in the ribs that made her yelp in pain and sprawl to the ground. I cried and lunged for her, the fear wafting from my mother and my siblings too much for me to bear.

The male Human caught me and beat me with his large smelly hand, over and over. Each stroke took the breath out of my lungs and hurt terribly. His blows covered my entire body, blinding me when he slapped at my head, throwing me to the ground when he kicked at my belly. My nose bled, my tongue bled, my body writhed whenever that massive limb of punishment connected with my skin. The beating lasted forever. When the Human grew bored, he lifted the bottle in which the strong stench originated and threw it lazily near my head. I was so worn out I could only whimper in fear as the glass shattered, inches from my face.

“Darn, I missed,” the male slurred. He looked around, then stumbled back into the Human dwelling. I was left lying there, panting and whining with incomprehensible numb pain.

The female Human kicked me back into the kennel, where my mother licked me frantically, her long rasping tongue covering my bruises. My mind whirled; never had I felt such immense hurt. I was broken in.

My first beating.

I quickly learned that if I stayed out of sight of the Humans and got out of their way, they wouldn’t practice their wrath on me. But if I didn’t run off fast enough or obey, they would give me a hard slap or kick. A rebel snarl and they would inflict hurt like the first I’d experienced.

The kennel was never clean, always filthy with our waste everywhere. The female Human scolded us whenever we accidentally went, occasionally beating us with a broom when she smelled of the liquid.

Our puppy bladders weren’t very controlled; we couldn’t hold anything  in, despite our desperate attempts to escape the painful Human hurts. Two of my siblings died with disease. I still remember nosing their chilling bodies, their empty eyes staring where I couldn’t see. I wasn’t even weaned, yet I’d already seen more than a lucky dog would’ve in his lifetime.

My siblings had grown up in fear. Fear of constantly being beat. Fear of approaching the Humans when they smelled. Fear of death, something that we had already learned about early on. Fear of everything.

I was the only one that tried to rebel. And even then, my spirit was crushed with the hurt of Human. I learned to fear them, but I was the only one that hated them as well.

One night, the Humans fought more than usual in the house. Our kennel was outside, and we cowered in what little shelter we had near our mother, the cold concrete pressing up against us and the stink of waste in our noses. The sharp liquid smell wafted from the house, and we whimpered whenever there was the sound of glass smashing. It hurt our ears. I turned into the warmth of my mother, but she was scared too.

“What do you think we’re going to do, Mary, if we don’t get those bills paid? You think you’ll have time to tend to your precious little doggies?” the male Human was shouting.

“Shut your trap, Al! I’ll figure something out.” I heard the female Human sigh. A thump.

“The house will be in foreclosure! You want to become homeless?” Al yelled.

“If you’d only stop drinking!”

“Watch your mouth woman! Don’t you act like you don’t drink either!”

“Why you--”

“Don’t make me beat you, lady!”

“I’ll sell the dogs!” Mary screamed. Glass shattered on the floor. Then, silence. Silence was the worst in this place. We couldn’t see anything, just the dark shadows from the windows where sickly light leaked. My siblings and I huddled closer to each other for comfort. Next to me, one of my brothers trembled.

The shadows were still.

“I’ll sell the dogs,” Mary repeated, hanging her head. “Rayna, too.” My mother lifted her head at her name. “All of the pups. We’ll get a friend to sell them for us, make it look like they’ve been taken care of. We’ll use the money to the bills and I’ll find a job.” She raises her head. “Happy, Al?”

Silence. Then, “Get me another beer.”

I could hear Mary stand up and shuffle out of sight into the kitchen, defeated.

I buried my head in the belly of my mother. We were all tense. We might not have understood the Humans’ conversation, but we knew our fates would change. For better, or for worse?