Friday, December 21, 2012


Over the winter Daisy came around during the day. She brought me scraps from her man's table. I didn't think that was wise of her. I did that once when I was still in my family's home and the woman gave me a big scare with a broom. But Daisy reassured me that she's been very sneaky and that her family is very forgiving anyway. I thought it was sweet of her.

She also taught me a lot about what it means to be a dog. "We are pack animals," she said. "We aren't meant to be alone apart from the pack. The family is ours to serve. They provide us with shelter, food, and protection. And we are meant to be loyal and to do everything we can to show them that they are loved."

It confused me. If we were meant to be with our family, then why was I outside and kept apart from mine? That question stumped her. And my heart sunk when she gave no response other than to look down. It told me only one thing.

I was no longer a part of my family. They didn't want me. That was why they wouldn't feed me except for days when the boy would remember. They didn't want me. That was why the man beat me. That was why they tied me outside to suffer in the cold.

I had licked the moisture off the grass to keep myself from dying of thirst. My elbows were no longer soft. Instead they were bald and rough by the callus that had formed from the rough ground. My coat was dull in color and thick with grime. My belly ached all the time. And my joints were shaky with pain.

Why didn't they want me? What made them leave me here to die?


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