If you are offended by cruelty or profanity this probably won't be your cup of tea. Otherwise, I hope you like.
by Violet Séverine Blanchard
I am at my wits' end. That animal will be the death of me. Always crying. Always begging. Its incessant howling keeps me up nearly every damn night. I can’t even think straight anymore. I need my sleep. I swear, it acts as if I don’t give it enough attention. Is it hungry? Thirsty? Is that what it’s crying about? It eats better than most people do, I bet. I give it fresh meat and plenty of bones to chew on and sometimes I even give it scraps from my goddamn dinner plate. If you ask me, I spoil the hell out it. It’s not like I feed it the cheap, canned grocery store shit. Also, it keeps kicking over its water bowl but do I get angry? Well sure, a little perhaps, but I refill it every time. One swift smack of a rolled up newspaper and a firm finger pointed “No” usually straightens that out. At least for a little while anyways. It looks at me like I’m some wretched evil thing. Stop kicking your damn bowls over. Why is that such a hard lesson to learn?
I seriously regret ever taking the damn stray in. In fact, I’ve still haven’t even named the little guy. I don’t want to get too attached. You give them everything. Your attention, your affection, and of course there is always the money spent on food and whatever else. And what happens? They die on you. You give them years of love and what do you get? Nothing but stains on your carpet and then they die. They leave you sad and alone. But once you get a pet you forever rely on that unconditional affection. It’s like a bad drug habit. Life just isn’t the same without it. So you go out and get another until that one dies. Again and again.
When I was little I had to watch my dog get put to sleep. I put my dog down because some asshole tried to pet him and he got bit. Did I tell you to pet my dog you stupid bastard? Keep your stupid idiot hands to yourself. That man should’ve been the one put down. My dog just didn’t like being touched. People should keep their hands to themselves.
This time I feel like I’m the idiot, always a sucker for a sad and lonely pet. Once this one looked at me with its big glossed over, watery eyes I was hooked. Like a fish caught for dinner. A real sucker. That’s what I am. I give it everything it could possibly need. A nice warm blanket to sleep on. Obnoxious squeaking toys for it to play with. Three long walks a day. What else could it want? I asked the lady at the pet store about the nighttime noise and if there was anything else I could do. She was stumped. She said perhaps it needed to be taken to the vet. Maybe it was sick or something. The damn thing isn’t sick. I think it just hates me. It wants me to stay awake. That’s not the least of it either. It’s a biter. It’s bitten me several times already. Once it was so bad I needed to get eight stitches on my hand. I nearly passed out from the all that blood. I swear, no matter how nice I am to the damn thing it just doesn’t like me.
Maybe I should just put the poor animal down. Nobody else would put up with it. I’d know if it was sick. I’m a medical doctor. Well, I mean. I was thinking about going to medical school. I’ve read plenty of books on the subject and I feel that I am just as knowledgeable about medicine as some fancy idiot with a framed diploma. Hell, I had walking pneumonia last year and the doctor told me I was fine. That I just needed to get more rest. The bastard took my money and I nearly fucking died. Besides, I’m not going to let some vet take me for a months pay just to tell me that the animal’s fine. I think it pretends to be sick for the attention. I’m sure I would know if it was really sick. I can sense that sort of thing.
Why do I have such bad luck with pets? They always end up turning on me and need to be punished. I give them everything but it’s always the same story. Everything is fine at first but after a little while they always turn on me. Every damn time. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that if you give an inch they’ll take a mile.
Bad behavior has to be dealt with immediately. You just can’t let them run all over you. Like the time I got back from the emergency room after getting my hand stitched up. I strapped the animal down while it was kicking and yelping. I grabbed my needle nose pliers and one by one I ripped its little teeth out. Every last one of them. I know, it seems cruel but it had to be done. I mean, what if it had bit someone else? I’d get sued for every penny I own. Now, there’s no worry. You just can’t allow an animal to control you. You are their master and they must be loyal and obedient. The thing is, you just can’t trust a stray animal. They’re always either scared or angry. You have to be patient. You have to make them unlearn all of the bad habits that the previous owners instilled in them. Basically train them from scratch.
One minute you’re walking through the woods thinking life is great and you’re having this wonderful time with your animal and the next thing you know it takes off and you’re running miles just to catch the damn thing. Now we don’t leave the house without the choke chain. If the animal tries to run all you need to do is give it a swift, firm tug. One quick yank of the chain and no more desire to leave. Sadly though, I can’t keep my eyes on it every second of the day. I have a life you know. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times it’s tried to run away. One day it actually had the nerve to escape from its play cage. The tenacious little beast managed to dig a hole under the fence and run away. It even made it out to the main road but I pretty much knew that’s where it was headed so I just drove out there and clipped it with my car. The poor thing just flipped all funny and went limp in the middle of the street. Aside from a few cuts and scrapes and a leg that didn’t seem to straighten anymore it seemed fine. I wiped the tears from its eyes and tossed it in the trunk. No sense getting a mess all over the seats. The dumb animal’s pretty damn lucky though. Had it gone the other way, who knows what kind of shape it’d be in. I would have heard the traps go off and that would’ve been that.
I just love building traps and contraptions. I’m really good at it too. I swear the guy who works down at the hardware store, the surly guy with the sloped face, gave me all kinds of looks when I bought all that razor wire and gopher poison. I told him I had a serious problem with the furry little fuckers messing with my garden. He just kept staring at me with his lopsided face. I swear he’s always giving me that awful look. I don’t know. I guess if my face was all droopy like that I’d be upset too. I just wish he wasn’t so nosey. I had to tell him once to mind his own damn business when I asked him to special order some bear traps for me. You don’t have to tell me that there are no bears in these parts. I know that. Maybe I’m going somewhere that’s full of fucking bears. I’m not an idiot. If he kept asking so many questions we might’ve had some serious problems. I really dislike getting angry but that kind of busybody behavior makes me furious. I will not stand for anyone looking at me sideways. Mind your own fucking business. I won’t fucking stand for it. Do I ask you what you are up to? Do I ask you what you do on your days off? Do I ask you about your fucked up face? No. I don’t because I mind my own business. In the end he quit looking at me and pulled out the special order forms.
Anyways, after the serious runaway incident action had to be taken. I just can't have that sort of defiance in my house. A few snips to the ligaments in the knees and elbows and no more worries. It was a simple fix, even without my medical tools. It was a lot simpler than the extraction of the tongue last week. That one caused quite a scare. I did not anticipate that much blood loss. I suppose the scissors needed to be sharpened. Thankfully the soldering iron was hot enough to cauterize the veins. Those kinds of things are just so delicate.
This morning I was going about my usual routine. Water and food for the animal but the damn thing managed to scrape my face with its sharp little claws. It just kind of flung its limp leg at me. Got me right under my eye. Sometimes no matter what you do there is no taming a wild animal. It was the last straw. It had to be put down. That’s what needed to happen. I have no longer had a choice.
Lunch was perfect. A ham and Swiss cheese sandwich on rye with mustard. After lunch I poured gasoline on the stray and set it on fire. It was sad to see the poor thing react the way it did. It looked at me with such wide, weeping eyes, almost like it was asking for forgiveness. I’m sure that’s what it was thinking as it squealed and thrashed about, shriveling up into charred meat and black dust. After a while there was nothing but bones and ashes. Tomorrow I’ll go out and find a new pet. St. Mary’s School for the Blind lets out at every day at 2:30pm. I’ll drive by and watch a stray or two. Carefully shuffling home alone. Sadness hidden behind their brave little faces. Going to homes where nobody loves them. Where no one understands them. I’ll give them a home. I’ll give them love. I’ll take them in. My poor little strays.
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