A Dead DogApril 28, 2008
“We gave them lots of vetsin* yesterday,” our neighbor continued, “but they still live.”
That neighbor, btw, is only about 8 years old. He was just calmly telling me about their attempted murder of their dogs. The sun was also typically shining brightly that afternoon. I was also, as usual, on my way home.
One of the vetsin-tolerant dogs was sitting on our lawn as I called him to come to me. He was a black-furred mongrel that had a characteristic gait reminiscent of a velociraptor. Hence, his nickname Dino/Dinosaur. He was also a literal bastard son of a bitch. His mother came from nowhere and seduced our dog. Both are now inseparable except for the times when she does whatever bitches love doing –going after other dogs.
From one of those dogs came the sperm that fertilized one egg cell. Several months later, one of many puppies popped out of the bitch. Our neighbors took him and his brother in to give their son some pets. They gave him the name Dash. I called him Dashel in honor of Dashel Jameson of Krondor**.
What could have been a happy ending ended in tragedy. What started as a happy childhood was snipped in late adolescence. Denied proper nutrition, Dash and his brother would visit our home and wait for our dog to finish his meals. Oftentimes, they resorted to licking the empty plate. Sometimes, I gave them some scraps.
Apparently, these were not enough. Dash and his accomplice, another one of the neighbor’s dogs would hunt chickens for more sustenance. Nobody really knows who owns the chickens. They freely strut around the neighborhood as if daring us to kill and eat them. Those chickens are lucky. People here could not catch them, and would rather buy dressed chickens from the supermarket rather than perform the tedious job of slaughtering and preparing them.
Our neighbors, however, noticed their dogs’ escapades. They concluded that the dogs were no longer safe as they have already tasted forbidden meat. Having tasted and enjoyed live meat, they were now in a path that would lead them to kill more in order to appease their new addiction. They decided those dogs must die.
Dash made his way to me, and I petted his short, spiky fur. He, however, smelled like dead, decaying flesh. I quickly told him to leave me as I went my way to wash my hands. One washing with cheap, laundry soap did not erase the smell. I washed again, but this time I used a proper hand sanitizing wash.
The next day, Dash died. Several men wielding crude clubs came to the neighborhood. They wore rag-like clothes but were otherwise healthy. They had a rope which they used to catch him. They then bludgeoned him to death then dragged him off, probably to eat him. Dog meat supposedly goes well with beer. Those men surely had the look of drunkards.
Thus ended the life of Dashel:
He ate forbidden meat
And for this he was beat.
*Monosodium Glutamate (MSG)
** A character in the Krondor Saga by Raymond E. Feist.