It's a Dog's life
Without preamble, his muzzle swings
round ominously, pointing at me.
Aquiline features reminiscent of
Lee Van Cleef, his eyes narrow with
intent .
Growling, almost howling, he makes
his demands known, snarling at me.
Primordial fear rises, my hackles
are up, adrenaline is king of my
heart.
I crack under the pressure, gaze through
the double-glazed window, it's snowing.
Hypnotised by my captor, I attach my chain
to him, and he drags me out the
door .
An icy blast of wind, causes me to stagger,
but he is unaffected, enjoying my discomfort.
Legs like lead, zombified, I try to escape
from him, but he is much faster and fitter than me.
Lurching into a gallop, he forces me along,
satisfying his sadistic tendencies, then squats.
"Clean that up!" He says, then leaves me in
misery, standing over a fresh pile of excreta.
Shit.
Pooped, I fumble with the bag, all thumbs and
no fingers, while he keeps an eye on me.
"My, that's a big one!", exclaims a fellow inmate,
as I groan like Hercules at the Augean
stables.
What a canine conundrum. Bonded by
incarceration, we spend all our time together.
The puppy I bought for Christmas has given
me a life sentence. I'm
alive.