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Gruff


A month has passed since I left the farm and Sparky. I can still hear his little “want to be” bark as he taunted the pigs, trying to goad them into a “fight,” which usually ended with me dragging him into the farm for mom or the farmer to patch him up. Now this is my home. This is the place where I am “taken care of,” if you can call it that. This dingy, old, breaking down house can barely keep the rain out. I’m lucky to even get a scrap of anything to eat. Once I tried to eat one of those burning tubes of paper that humans call, “cigarettes” but I soon found out that they where not eatable. My stomach felt like something was slowly trying to push and claw its way through my stomach. I was throwing up all night long with almost no foreseeable end. The next day I was kicked by the people who took me for creating such a large mess. I don’t know what’s worse, the pain of the cigarette or the feeling of feet pummeling me.

The people who took me in are beyond cruel. The woman with the tattoo goes by the name “Nikkei”. The large one goes by the name “Gordo.” The thin one goes by the name Todd, and the one that took me from the farm is called, “Draken.” He is the worst of all of them. Some times he throws beer glasses at me after he finishes their disgusting liquid. Other times he will beat me with his belt hen beat Nikkei, or Gordo, or anyone who happens to be there, usually me. Gordo usually got “High” as they called it, and on several occasions tried to eat me. Nikkei always kicked me when ever she had the chance. One time she kicked me out side and I fell down the steps and she screamed, “Ten points!” Todd doesn’t really do anything to me. I n fact he usually comes home late with one or more women at a time and doesn’t come out until the next afternoon.

“Where are you, you little piece of-.” I scurried to him, only after learning to get to him before he finished that sentence. Good you little runt, you’re learning! I got a surprise for you.” Draken pulled out a paper doggy bag and dumped it’s insides on the floor. It was a cat. Not a full grown one, and not a baby. A cat just as big as the bag. The cat hissed at Draken as it fell to the rotting wood floor. It looked at me with fearful eyes at the realization I was a dog. A pleading look came over its timid little face. “Kill it. Now.” Draken commanded shortly. The same pleading look the cat had came over my face. “Do it right F*****g now.” Draken growled. He undid his belt and pulled back his arm. My gaze returned to the cat and Draken’s arm lowered. “I’m very, very sorry friend…” I said to the poor scared looking cat. It gave a brief little “MEW,” that I guess meant, “Why are you doing this?”

I sat in the corner of what I assume was a kitchen at one point, just thinking. That cat was the first time I ever killed something. The first time I saw something die. The laughter of Draken, the taste of salty blood in my mouth, it was the single most horrific and evil feeling experience I ever felt. I could still see the face of the poor cat in my minds eye. That sad confused look. It reminded me… of… Sparky. When I left I saw the same expression on his face. It felt like I was killing Sparky an hour ago. I was scared, sad mad, and… and… something else. Though I was scared and ashamed I also felt, pleasure. Did I enjoy that? I thought confused. Am I a monster? The taste of the blood, the adrenalin, the feeling of control over the cat… I liked it. I thought. Nothing would ever be the same again… Ever.

“Good boy, Gruff!” Draken said in a mildly approving voice. It was the first time he ever said my name. I looked confused at this. Was he that happy with me after that atrocious thing I did? Was he actually proud of this?! He pulled out another doggy bag. It contained the same sort of dog treats the farmer gave us (me and Sparky) as a puppy, only he never gave us this many. Perhaps if he’s giving me this many then it was not bad that I did what I did. Perhaps this is what dogs have to do to get love and treats. That’s why Sparky wasn’t chosen. He wasn’t a good dog. HE wouldn’t hurt a fly, but I will. I will to make my master, Draken happy. Then I will get treats.

I licked Draken’s hand affectionately, leaving little specks of blood on his hand form the cat. He petted my head. “There will be more where that came from if you’re a good dog again, Gruff.” He said, looking at the almost empty bag of dog treats. I knew then I was home.