The boys liked to roughhouse, pull my tail or show me a biscuit and take it away, but they were my boys and I loved them.
The Daddy kept his distance. He almost never had a good word to say, but he was the pack leader and I loved him, too.
One day he said, “Get up, boy! Get up, there!”
I wanted to prove I was a good boy. I wanted to show him I knew what to do. I wanted him to call me good and love me, so I jumped up and went into the kennel.
He shut the door and I waited, but there was no treat. Then they all got inside the car, and it started to move.
I began to cry. I didn’t want to be alone, but I wasn’t scared at first. Then the car started to move very fast. The wind felt like thorns against my skin. My eyes teared up and hurt. It was hard to breath. Then I was scared, and I got the sick.
The car slowed down, and finally it stopped, and I was happy. They got out. I thought they would let me come down, but the Daddy looked at me sternly. He had a hose and started spraying me with water. I think he was trying to drown me. I barked and barked but nobody helped me. The boys were laughing.
It felt very cold when the car started to move again and I was still wet. I stayed in a corner, making myself small. I couldn’t stop crying, but now I was afraid they would hear me and punish me for making trouble.
I wish I knew what I did wrong.
Then we stopped again. The daddy was looking at me. He reached up and opened the kennel door. I was sure he was going to kill me, and so I ran.
I heard the boys shouting my name. Yelling for me to come back. But they were also laughing and I knew they wouldn’t protect me from the Daddy, so I kept going until I couldn’t go anymore.
I was hungry and thirsty. I was lost and alone. I lay down to die. I saw the lights come toward me, but I couldn’t move.
The car stopped right next to me. The grill was so close I could feel its heat.
The stranger got out. I barked to scare her away, but she came right up to me. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t angry. She talked to me softly, and said, “C’mon. C’mon boy.” So I followed her. She opened up the door of her car and let me inside.
That was when I knew I was home.
God Almighty! I knew nothing about this, and now I almost wish I still didn’t. How come the incident isn’t better known? I speak from the other side of the pond, but I’m still surprised I hadn’t heard about it before.
For a dog to run away from its supposed master is telling. Please can you see to it that Mitt Romney doesn’t win the White House? (Apart from anything else, I have £5 on an Obama second term.)
Bow wow!
The story is pretty well known here. Most people are tired of it and the right has countered that Obama admitted to eating a dog* when he was a small child in Indonesia.
The Vegas money is on Obama, and he is ahead in the polls. However, as my better-half keeps pointing out it’s not how many votes that counts, it’s who counts the votes.
Pray for us.
(*Updated to include missing dog as noted below.)
Your reply puzzled me at first. I mean, I know that Republicans can be a tad chauvinist, but could it really be party policy that Americans abroad may not eat? I think you’ll find that you, like Mr. Romney, are missing a dog. I trust that this is all you have in common with the great man.
Thanks, Iain for pointing out my missing word typo. I will correct it immediately.
I am what Marion calls the “Better half” but I assure you I am the worse half. I wouldn’t be surprised if Republicans thougt that any American who went abroad was already suspect (because why would you want to leave the chosen land of exceptionalism) but if you MUST (say for work) then play it safe and stick to McDonalds.