Post by Trivia on Dec 12, 2006 20:29:52 GMT -5
* * *
“He’s terrified of you!”
“I can see that clearly enough, thank you. What I need to see more clearly are those wounds he’s covered in.”
They were talking to each other, that he knew, though what they said and why they said it he could not fathom. The who of their conversation he suspected was himself, and the possibility terrified him. He had done nothing, of that he was certain: he had done nothing wrong. So why were they trying to get him to come near? His master had been perfectly content to let him alone when he was being good. Why did these men not follow the same set of rules? A man’s interest was not a good thing to have.
* * *
The man had come and taken him from his siblings, his mother and father and the kind master who had fed and talked with his parents. At the time, he had not resented the man, his siblings had been growing bored with his presence and he with theirs. The small pen had been annoying from the beginning and each night he had been called to return to it. His mother and father could not tell him why, but it was enough that the kind master told him to come. Leaving all of this behind had been shocking and overwhelming, but the man who had taken him petted him when he whined and gave him a treat when he was quiet. It was not much, but it was enough, and he quieted, settling well into this new life.
In the beginning there was not love, but their was mutual feeling. He stayed out of the man’s way and the man might occasionally pat him or give him a treat. There was usually food in his dish and if not, at least he could find water easily enough. There was no real problem until the woman left. He had grown to enjoy her company when the man was not around. She would hug him and be sure to give him cleaner water. Her voice was always comforting to listen to, and though there was something about her that felt wrong, the salt that often covered her cheeks tasted good. When she left, the man’s attention had no other diversion than him, and the man’s attention was not something to be desired.
The patting stopped and the treats dried up, as did the food, but he escaped often enough to find some bugs or grass that might keep him nourished if not full. Still, the man was no longer the same. Only minor infractions upon the set of rules they had both agreed upon were committed. Small stones, or anything palm sized would sometimes hit him, but he had yet to connect these hurts with the man who sat far away. They did not always come after the man spoke, and if they did, it was not always the same sound that caught his attention, and this confused him greatly. Why could he not see these strange objects hanging in the air? Why did he walk into them with such force? Only after many days of this did he begin to watch the man more closely and notice that the man did something to the stone or object before it hit him. With a flick of the man’s wrist anything could come at him, but only from the side that was facing the man. He learned this too, but still he had not learned to avoid the objects as they came at him. They were too quick, his starving body too slow.
It did not take long before he realized that the once adhered to set of rules had all but disappeared from the man’s mind. Still, he could not abandon the man who had pet him and slipped him treats as they drove away from his family. He had taken to slinking about the house and remaining outside as long as possible, but the winter was nearing and snow was falling every now and then. The man did not like being called upon to open the door and let him in, and new hurts arrived from the man’s hands. These hurts were more painful, for the man did not need to use his power to fling them across the room. A stick was wielded by the man now and he learned quickly this time that he needn’t sit and stay as he was told. The man’s anger could be spent on a chair as well as on himself, and if he moved quickly enough he could make it inside with only one hurt from the stick.
Slowly the hurts came when he was doing nothing wrong. In his mind, he knew that he had done no wrong and slowly began demanding a reason from the man that gave him these hurts. With each hurt he bristled and let his teeth show, but he could not bring himself to bite the man. To bite the man would be wrong and these days he was hurt for doing no wrong. The hurts that would follow such a wrong as biting the man would be terrible, and this he knew, but still he warned the man. In doing so he received blows that he now deserved, though they had sprung from doing nothing.
He did not know what to do, there was nothing he could do, but hide. The man knew the house though, and could find him. Every attempt he made to run away was observed and called to order, and each time he swiftly received punishment. He did not think he deserved this punishment, for the man had broken their unspoken agreement, but he learned that running was deserving of punishment in the man’s eyes, and he no longer ran.
Then one day, the man went too far. He had done nothing, and this time he knew for sure that he had done nothing. Still the man called him and with every delay became visibly angrier. There was an evil smell about the man and he recognized it, knew it made the beatings harder, the hurts more difficult to bear without biting the man. He came though, for the man called and the man held power inside of the stone in the man’s one hand and the stick in the man’s other. The hurts that arrived were too many together and powerful enough to invoke his fright. He bristled and the man swung faster, he bared his teeth and the man swung harder, but the man’s aim was miserable and the man’s hand kept drawing nearer to his mouth. Without further thought to the terrible hurts that would ensue, he plunged his teeth into the man’s hand. The man howled in pain and rage, and that rage must have cleared the man’s mind, for the man’s blows came down with more precision and more force. He could do nothing about the hurts now and only curled about himself as they numbed his body and left the man panting above him. There was blood on the stick and he knew it was his as well as the man’s. This blood brought the man back to himself for the stick became slippery in the man’s hand and flew from the man’s grasp.
When the man noticed that he was dripping blood onto the carpet, the man kicked him over to the door and outside. He was almost without energy, but still he knew that he was outside, and that escape was now possible. The man always slept when he came home with the evil smell on hi breath. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, limping away and leaving a trail of blood behind him. The man did not come to the door as he walked away and he looked back, hoping that the man would come, would call him back and let him back into the house. He might have bitten the man, but he still held some affection for the man, even after such a beating, he could not forget his part in the unspoken agreement; to love and obey.
The man never opened the door, and he continued to limp away.
* * *
Now, there were men in front of him, trying to coax him forward with a treat as the man had done many times. He was frightened, but he remembered the agreement; he must obey the man. Neither of these men was the man, but perhaps they might take him back. Slowly, he crept forward, but didn’t manage to make it all the way. The cold had chased all the warmth away, and his thin body bore no fat to fight it, besides he had already lost too much blood. As the men stood up and walked closer, his ears flicked back, but he did not bristle, he did not bare his teeth. He wagged his tail, slowly, slowly, slowly from side to side, and let his eyes fall shut.
“He’s gone now. He wouldn’t have lasted even if we found him earlier. He was in no condition to survive out here, but we may yet find who did this.” The man pointed past the bush to the path of paw prints and blood he had left in the snow.
“Why was he so happy to see us?”
“He still had some love in him, poor guy, but I doubt he was happy to see us.”
“He’s terrified of you!”
“I can see that clearly enough, thank you. What I need to see more clearly are those wounds he’s covered in.”
They were talking to each other, that he knew, though what they said and why they said it he could not fathom. The who of their conversation he suspected was himself, and the possibility terrified him. He had done nothing, of that he was certain: he had done nothing wrong. So why were they trying to get him to come near? His master had been perfectly content to let him alone when he was being good. Why did these men not follow the same set of rules? A man’s interest was not a good thing to have.
* * *
The man had come and taken him from his siblings, his mother and father and the kind master who had fed and talked with his parents. At the time, he had not resented the man, his siblings had been growing bored with his presence and he with theirs. The small pen had been annoying from the beginning and each night he had been called to return to it. His mother and father could not tell him why, but it was enough that the kind master told him to come. Leaving all of this behind had been shocking and overwhelming, but the man who had taken him petted him when he whined and gave him a treat when he was quiet. It was not much, but it was enough, and he quieted, settling well into this new life.
In the beginning there was not love, but their was mutual feeling. He stayed out of the man’s way and the man might occasionally pat him or give him a treat. There was usually food in his dish and if not, at least he could find water easily enough. There was no real problem until the woman left. He had grown to enjoy her company when the man was not around. She would hug him and be sure to give him cleaner water. Her voice was always comforting to listen to, and though there was something about her that felt wrong, the salt that often covered her cheeks tasted good. When she left, the man’s attention had no other diversion than him, and the man’s attention was not something to be desired.
The patting stopped and the treats dried up, as did the food, but he escaped often enough to find some bugs or grass that might keep him nourished if not full. Still, the man was no longer the same. Only minor infractions upon the set of rules they had both agreed upon were committed. Small stones, or anything palm sized would sometimes hit him, but he had yet to connect these hurts with the man who sat far away. They did not always come after the man spoke, and if they did, it was not always the same sound that caught his attention, and this confused him greatly. Why could he not see these strange objects hanging in the air? Why did he walk into them with such force? Only after many days of this did he begin to watch the man more closely and notice that the man did something to the stone or object before it hit him. With a flick of the man’s wrist anything could come at him, but only from the side that was facing the man. He learned this too, but still he had not learned to avoid the objects as they came at him. They were too quick, his starving body too slow.
It did not take long before he realized that the once adhered to set of rules had all but disappeared from the man’s mind. Still, he could not abandon the man who had pet him and slipped him treats as they drove away from his family. He had taken to slinking about the house and remaining outside as long as possible, but the winter was nearing and snow was falling every now and then. The man did not like being called upon to open the door and let him in, and new hurts arrived from the man’s hands. These hurts were more painful, for the man did not need to use his power to fling them across the room. A stick was wielded by the man now and he learned quickly this time that he needn’t sit and stay as he was told. The man’s anger could be spent on a chair as well as on himself, and if he moved quickly enough he could make it inside with only one hurt from the stick.
Slowly the hurts came when he was doing nothing wrong. In his mind, he knew that he had done no wrong and slowly began demanding a reason from the man that gave him these hurts. With each hurt he bristled and let his teeth show, but he could not bring himself to bite the man. To bite the man would be wrong and these days he was hurt for doing no wrong. The hurts that would follow such a wrong as biting the man would be terrible, and this he knew, but still he warned the man. In doing so he received blows that he now deserved, though they had sprung from doing nothing.
He did not know what to do, there was nothing he could do, but hide. The man knew the house though, and could find him. Every attempt he made to run away was observed and called to order, and each time he swiftly received punishment. He did not think he deserved this punishment, for the man had broken their unspoken agreement, but he learned that running was deserving of punishment in the man’s eyes, and he no longer ran.
Then one day, the man went too far. He had done nothing, and this time he knew for sure that he had done nothing. Still the man called him and with every delay became visibly angrier. There was an evil smell about the man and he recognized it, knew it made the beatings harder, the hurts more difficult to bear without biting the man. He came though, for the man called and the man held power inside of the stone in the man’s one hand and the stick in the man’s other. The hurts that arrived were too many together and powerful enough to invoke his fright. He bristled and the man swung faster, he bared his teeth and the man swung harder, but the man’s aim was miserable and the man’s hand kept drawing nearer to his mouth. Without further thought to the terrible hurts that would ensue, he plunged his teeth into the man’s hand. The man howled in pain and rage, and that rage must have cleared the man’s mind, for the man’s blows came down with more precision and more force. He could do nothing about the hurts now and only curled about himself as they numbed his body and left the man panting above him. There was blood on the stick and he knew it was his as well as the man’s. This blood brought the man back to himself for the stick became slippery in the man’s hand and flew from the man’s grasp.
When the man noticed that he was dripping blood onto the carpet, the man kicked him over to the door and outside. He was almost without energy, but still he knew that he was outside, and that escape was now possible. The man always slept when he came home with the evil smell on hi breath. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, limping away and leaving a trail of blood behind him. The man did not come to the door as he walked away and he looked back, hoping that the man would come, would call him back and let him back into the house. He might have bitten the man, but he still held some affection for the man, even after such a beating, he could not forget his part in the unspoken agreement; to love and obey.
The man never opened the door, and he continued to limp away.
* * *
Now, there were men in front of him, trying to coax him forward with a treat as the man had done many times. He was frightened, but he remembered the agreement; he must obey the man. Neither of these men was the man, but perhaps they might take him back. Slowly, he crept forward, but didn’t manage to make it all the way. The cold had chased all the warmth away, and his thin body bore no fat to fight it, besides he had already lost too much blood. As the men stood up and walked closer, his ears flicked back, but he did not bristle, he did not bare his teeth. He wagged his tail, slowly, slowly, slowly from side to side, and let his eyes fall shut.
“He’s gone now. He wouldn’t have lasted even if we found him earlier. He was in no condition to survive out here, but we may yet find who did this.” The man pointed past the bush to the path of paw prints and blood he had left in the snow.
“Why was he so happy to see us?”
“He still had some love in him, poor guy, but I doubt he was happy to see us.”