Showing posts with label stray dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stray dog. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Stray Dog, pt V
This had gotten out of my control. “Out of my control”? Had it ever really been in my control? Oh sure, I’d enjoyed feeding Sin, but he’d always been the one in control. I answered to his whims. My cheek was cool where that thing had licked me. What if he ceased to be content with store-bought meat, and wanted something... more fresh? Would I be able to resist?
I contacted Animal Control. The officer who arrived–“Joshua,” according to his name badge--had apparently been doing this for quite some time. His hands and arms were scarred where he’d tangled with various creatures. Especially striking were the scars he bore on each wrist. I was about to ask him how he got them, when he nodded toward the porch.
“Is that him?” he asked. It was Sin, certainly, but he seemed to have shrugged off the rest his fur! As he stood there, naked in his pale grey skin like a lizard, every muscle twitch, every wrinkle now stood out with horrid clarity. He glared at the officer and snarled menacingly.
“I’ve scuffled with him before. He can be mean.”
Joshua approached Sin slowly. The thing stared intently back at him with that expression I knew so well. Joshua didn’t back down. Instead, he fixed his eyes on Sin’s and continued with slow steps toward him. Sin bared his teeth at the officer and barked. He raised his wings above his head and rattled them threateningly, but didn’t move from his place.
“We have collar and leash laws around here,” called Joshua. “Don’t worry, I brought one that’ll fit him just fine.”
Now within arms' reach of the animal, the officer produced a wide leather collar and fastened it around Sin’s neck. He went on growling, but he didn’t resist. Joshua attached a substantial chain to a large metal ring on the collar, and began to lead him, docile, from the porch. He stopped, and looked me in the eye.
“There’s an old proverb,” he said. “You do not feed the dragon you wish to slay. I strongly suggest that, in the future, you think twice about feeding strays.” He led Sin down the street, and they disappeared around the next corner.
That should be the end of the story, but it isn’t, quite. You see, sometimes, on those long quiet nights, when I hear the yipping of coyotes and dogs, I see Sin’s ugly, shaggy head in my mind’s eye, as he looked when he first appeared at my doorstep. I see those big dark eyes staring soulfully back at me, and I get the itch to go shopping for some nice juicy steaks. Then I resist the temptation and try to think of something else. I’m finding that prayer and meditation on Scripture seem to help, and each time I resist, it gets a little easier. I don’t know that the struggle will ever go away completely. I just know that never again do I want to be a servant to Sin.
*****
Sorry this last part is arriving so late. I was teaching 4th graders today.
I contacted Animal Control. The officer who arrived–“Joshua,” according to his name badge--had apparently been doing this for quite some time. His hands and arms were scarred where he’d tangled with various creatures. Especially striking were the scars he bore on each wrist. I was about to ask him how he got them, when he nodded toward the porch.
“Is that him?” he asked. It was Sin, certainly, but he seemed to have shrugged off the rest his fur! As he stood there, naked in his pale grey skin like a lizard, every muscle twitch, every wrinkle now stood out with horrid clarity. He glared at the officer and snarled menacingly.
“I’ve scuffled with him before. He can be mean.”
Joshua approached Sin slowly. The thing stared intently back at him with that expression I knew so well. Joshua didn’t back down. Instead, he fixed his eyes on Sin’s and continued with slow steps toward him. Sin bared his teeth at the officer and barked. He raised his wings above his head and rattled them threateningly, but didn’t move from his place.
“We have collar and leash laws around here,” called Joshua. “Don’t worry, I brought one that’ll fit him just fine.”
Now within arms' reach of the animal, the officer produced a wide leather collar and fastened it around Sin’s neck. He went on growling, but he didn’t resist. Joshua attached a substantial chain to a large metal ring on the collar, and began to lead him, docile, from the porch. He stopped, and looked me in the eye.
“There’s an old proverb,” he said. “You do not feed the dragon you wish to slay. I strongly suggest that, in the future, you think twice about feeding strays.” He led Sin down the street, and they disappeared around the next corner.
That should be the end of the story, but it isn’t, quite. You see, sometimes, on those long quiet nights, when I hear the yipping of coyotes and dogs, I see Sin’s ugly, shaggy head in my mind’s eye, as he looked when he first appeared at my doorstep. I see those big dark eyes staring soulfully back at me, and I get the itch to go shopping for some nice juicy steaks. Then I resist the temptation and try to think of something else. I’m finding that prayer and meditation on Scripture seem to help, and each time I resist, it gets a little easier. I don’t know that the struggle will ever go away completely. I just know that never again do I want to be a servant to Sin.
*****
Sorry this last part is arriving so late. I was teaching 4th graders today.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Stray Dog, pt IV
In the morning before work, he had finished off the chicken. That evening, I was charging roasts and steaks to an already overused credit card. Sin met me at the head of the driveway, feet up on the driver’s side window, nose pressed to the glass, eyes peering in expectantly, before I could even get out of the car. Say what you want about his appetite; the dog seemed genuinely glad to see me.
I opened the door, and the huge dog vaulted over my lap, dipped his muzzle into a grocery sack, and came away with a large steak in his teeth. Only then did he get out of the way and let me leave the car. As I carried the rest of the grocery bags to the house, I heard a low little growl. Sin was standing right behind me.The steak was nowhere to be seen, but red streaked down his gray chest where blood and juices had dribbled from the corners of his mouth. His eyes stared up at me. There was no pleading in the expression. He demanded more of the rich red meat.
“Later,” I said.
The growl went up a notch in volume, punctuated with a small woof.
I tried reasoning with him. “Let me get the rest of these into the freezer first.” All the while, I was trying to break eye contact. I took a single step backward. Sin jumped up, putting his feet on my shoulders, knocking me off my feet. I had dropped the groceries, and he dragged a roast from the pile and began tearing dark red strips of meat from it. Somehow, he managed never to take his eyes off of me. Noisily he consumed the entire roast as I lay there watching, entranced -- and horrified.
I thought an insect was crawling on my face, so I reached up to brush it off. My hand came away wet with blood. Apparently, one of Sin’s toenails must have scraped my cheek when he jumped up.
He had finished the roast now, and slowly stalked over to me and stood on my chest. His prodigious weight drove the ragged points of his nails through my shirt and into my skin. He licked my palm clean of blood and then began slowly lapping the warm red liquid from my cheek. His hot breath reeked of the raw meat he had been eating, but there was something else, too–a smell like rotten eggs. I observed again how perfectly I could view myself in his eyes’ deep blackness, and a cold tingle ran down my spine, filling the pit of my stomach with ice water. Finally, satisfied that there would be no more blood on my face, Sin backed away.
He was shivering, not like he was cold, but as if it was some involuntary muscle twitch that traveled through his entire body. Sin sat back on his huge haunches and bowed his head to his chest as the tremors continued. What I saw next I did not believe.
The scaly, silvery skin began to peel forward, away from his sides. Where there was still fur, it fell away as if it had never been part of him. Large, triangle-shaped patches of gray, leathery skin separated themselves from his sides, remaining attached at his shoulders–almost like... wings! The edges were scalloped, the points supported by slender, jointed ribs that extended all the way back down to his shoulder blades. The new appendages rustled briskly, flapped a few times, and then folded neatly along his sides. Sin stood up, snarling, and placed his frightening bulk between me and the rest of the fallen groceries–a savage beast claiming ownership of the results of the hunt–and as always, his eyes never left me.
Finally, I found my legs and hurried indoors.
I opened the door, and the huge dog vaulted over my lap, dipped his muzzle into a grocery sack, and came away with a large steak in his teeth. Only then did he get out of the way and let me leave the car. As I carried the rest of the grocery bags to the house, I heard a low little growl. Sin was standing right behind me.The steak was nowhere to be seen, but red streaked down his gray chest where blood and juices had dribbled from the corners of his mouth. His eyes stared up at me. There was no pleading in the expression. He demanded more of the rich red meat.
“Later,” I said.
The growl went up a notch in volume, punctuated with a small woof.
I tried reasoning with him. “Let me get the rest of these into the freezer first.” All the while, I was trying to break eye contact. I took a single step backward. Sin jumped up, putting his feet on my shoulders, knocking me off my feet. I had dropped the groceries, and he dragged a roast from the pile and began tearing dark red strips of meat from it. Somehow, he managed never to take his eyes off of me. Noisily he consumed the entire roast as I lay there watching, entranced -- and horrified.
I thought an insect was crawling on my face, so I reached up to brush it off. My hand came away wet with blood. Apparently, one of Sin’s toenails must have scraped my cheek when he jumped up.
He had finished the roast now, and slowly stalked over to me and stood on my chest. His prodigious weight drove the ragged points of his nails through my shirt and into my skin. He licked my palm clean of blood and then began slowly lapping the warm red liquid from my cheek. His hot breath reeked of the raw meat he had been eating, but there was something else, too–a smell like rotten eggs. I observed again how perfectly I could view myself in his eyes’ deep blackness, and a cold tingle ran down my spine, filling the pit of my stomach with ice water. Finally, satisfied that there would be no more blood on my face, Sin backed away.
He was shivering, not like he was cold, but as if it was some involuntary muscle twitch that traveled through his entire body. Sin sat back on his huge haunches and bowed his head to his chest as the tremors continued. What I saw next I did not believe.
The scaly, silvery skin began to peel forward, away from his sides. Where there was still fur, it fell away as if it had never been part of him. Large, triangle-shaped patches of gray, leathery skin separated themselves from his sides, remaining attached at his shoulders–almost like... wings! The edges were scalloped, the points supported by slender, jointed ribs that extended all the way back down to his shoulder blades. The new appendages rustled briskly, flapped a few times, and then folded neatly along his sides. Sin stood up, snarling, and placed his frightening bulk between me and the rest of the fallen groceries–a savage beast claiming ownership of the results of the hunt–and as always, his eyes never left me.
Finally, I found my legs and hurried indoors.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Stray Dog, pt III
The next day, I returned from grocery shopping, arms loaded with brown paper bags filled with packages of chicken parts: thighs, wings, breasts, legs, livers and gizzards. There’d been a special, so I’d stocked up. Sin excitedly jumped up on me, jostling one bag and half emptying onto the ground before I could even get the front door unlocked!
I set the groceries on the floor just inside the door, closed it, and then turned around, intending to salvage what chicken Sin hadn’t gotten his teeth into yet. Instead, I found myself standing motionless on the porch, mesmerized at the way he tore into each package, savagely devouring the mostly-frozen chicken pieces and utterly destroying the little Styrofoam plates they were shrink wrapped on. The sight filled me with that warm sense of well-being I always got from watching him eat.
Minutes later, all traces of my purchase gone from the yard, Sin looked up at me and gave a gruff little bark. “Oh, you want some more? Okay.” I opened the door and reached into the bag Sin had partially dumped. My hand landed on a long slip of paper: the receipt. Even though the chicken had been on special, what the dog had just devoured equaled a substantial amount of my income. I could feel Sin’s eyes burning into my lower back, but I didn’t dare turn around.
“No,” I said, “That’s enough chicken for now. Maybe, later on, you can have some more.” Still refusing to look at him, I stepped into the house and closed the door. Struck with a sudden weakness in my knees, I slid down to sit on the carpet, my back against the door. Sin whimpered pitifully on the other side. The whimper rose in volume and became a sustained howl,which then descended into a kind of yelping bark. I watched my hand reach for one of the nearby grocery bags and made myself stop. Sin went on yelping, whining and moaning as if he’d been beaten. I could hear his coarse hair brushing against the door and he rubbed against it, and I could picture him in my mind, writhing on the porch in the agony of hunger pangs.
Maybe just one more package of chicken would settle him down. No! I told myself, and drew my hand back away from the sacks again–it had reached out for them as with a will of its own. I clenched both fists tightly and held them at my sides, determined not to give in--for at least three more hours. It was the longest three hours of my life.
Sin was noticeably larger when I finally stepped out to feed him again. His ugly, grizzled head came up to my chest, now, instead of my waist–or maybe he was just standing up straighter. Nothing grows that quickly, after all. He seized the bottom of the grocery bag with his teeth and ripped it away, spilling its contents on the porch and catching the last package in midair before it could land. He fixed me with his black eyes as he tilted his head back and let the entire packet of chicken gizzards slide down his throat without chewing. Was there something sinister in that look, or was it my imagination?
It was most of the way through the second grocery sack that I noticed how much worse Sin’s mange was becoming. It was rapidly spreading toward his shoulders. Clumps of gray and black fur fell from his sides and he worried each new package of chicken, shaking it fiercely in his jaws. I also noticed that the joy I usually derived from watching Sin eat was tinged with an undertone of alarm at how much control one creature could have over me.
I set the groceries on the floor just inside the door, closed it, and then turned around, intending to salvage what chicken Sin hadn’t gotten his teeth into yet. Instead, I found myself standing motionless on the porch, mesmerized at the way he tore into each package, savagely devouring the mostly-frozen chicken pieces and utterly destroying the little Styrofoam plates they were shrink wrapped on. The sight filled me with that warm sense of well-being I always got from watching him eat.
Minutes later, all traces of my purchase gone from the yard, Sin looked up at me and gave a gruff little bark. “Oh, you want some more? Okay.” I opened the door and reached into the bag Sin had partially dumped. My hand landed on a long slip of paper: the receipt. Even though the chicken had been on special, what the dog had just devoured equaled a substantial amount of my income. I could feel Sin’s eyes burning into my lower back, but I didn’t dare turn around.
“No,” I said, “That’s enough chicken for now. Maybe, later on, you can have some more.” Still refusing to look at him, I stepped into the house and closed the door. Struck with a sudden weakness in my knees, I slid down to sit on the carpet, my back against the door. Sin whimpered pitifully on the other side. The whimper rose in volume and became a sustained howl,which then descended into a kind of yelping bark. I watched my hand reach for one of the nearby grocery bags and made myself stop. Sin went on yelping, whining and moaning as if he’d been beaten. I could hear his coarse hair brushing against the door and he rubbed against it, and I could picture him in my mind, writhing on the porch in the agony of hunger pangs.
Maybe just one more package of chicken would settle him down. No! I told myself, and drew my hand back away from the sacks again–it had reached out for them as with a will of its own. I clenched both fists tightly and held them at my sides, determined not to give in--for at least three more hours. It was the longest three hours of my life.
Sin was noticeably larger when I finally stepped out to feed him again. His ugly, grizzled head came up to my chest, now, instead of my waist–or maybe he was just standing up straighter. Nothing grows that quickly, after all. He seized the bottom of the grocery bag with his teeth and ripped it away, spilling its contents on the porch and catching the last package in midair before it could land. He fixed me with his black eyes as he tilted his head back and let the entire packet of chicken gizzards slide down his throat without chewing. Was there something sinister in that look, or was it my imagination?
It was most of the way through the second grocery sack that I noticed how much worse Sin’s mange was becoming. It was rapidly spreading toward his shoulders. Clumps of gray and black fur fell from his sides and he worried each new package of chicken, shaking it fiercely in his jaws. I also noticed that the joy I usually derived from watching Sin eat was tinged with an undertone of alarm at how much control one creature could have over me.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Stray Dog, pt II
The next day was Saturday. (His breakfast? My ham and eggs. I just wasn’t very hungry,and besides, it was so delightful to know he was enjoying such rich fare!) I had resolved to either ask around the neighborhood for the dog’s owners, or get him a name and a collar.
“Hey, are you missing a–” but she’d already jogged past me.
“Do you know anything about a l–” Well, maybe the next person. He didn’t look like a pet owner, anyway.
“Say, did you lose–” I began to a third person.
“Did you say something?”
I panicked. “Me? Uh, n-no.” She seems more like a cat person, though, so it’s alright.
I let the next guy pass by without saying anything, despite his “I -heart-Mutts” sweatshirt. Definitely a dog napper who sold his catch to out-of-the-way Asian restaurants.
By noon, I’d decided that maybe a poster would be more effective.
How to begin? “Found. One hideous cur”? No. “Have you lost an UGLEE DAWG?”?Cute, but no. “Mangy, repulsive mess looking for a good home”? Nope. ’Sounds too much like a personal ad gone horribly wrong.
By three o’clock, I was headed for the pet supply shop. The blue collar looked pretty good on Sin. (Yes, “Sin.” As in, “Ugly as,” which he certainly was.) However, the good washing(with plenty of shampoo!) only seemed to worsen his appearance. Now clean and no longer malnourished, the bald patches had a silvery, scaly look to them. Gotta take him to a vet for that.. . maybe some time next week. . . maybe. . .
Sin had half of a three-pound meatloaf for supper, having refused the dog chow I’d purchased. He’d growled and nipped me when I tried to offer it. Then again, there was the bliss of knowing he was enjoying my meatloaf. He’d probably get the other half in the morning, if my appetite didn’t come back. Hey, at least he’s good for my diet!
I was right. He got the rest of the meatloaf this morning. This evening, it was several pieces of fried chicken and a couple biscuits, another dinner I’d found no appetite for once I bought it. Sin looked a lot bigger this evening. And the scaly patches seemed to have grown along with him. Not only had they increased in size in proportion to the rest of his body, but they were becoming longer–twin silvery crescents that seemed to accent his hindmost ribs.
My original fears were confirmed. The skin condition was getting worse. I knelt down and scratched Sin behind his ears. “Well, ol’ boy, it looks like you’ll definitely have to see a vet about those spots on your sides.” I looked into his big, dark eyes, and he stared back with an intensity of feeling and intelligence that I didn’t think a dog possessed. I noticed then how well I could see my reflection in those dark wells of his eyes. My hand ceased scratching his ears, and froze there. My knees were beginning to ache on the cool concrete, but I didn’t move. It was as if–in that moment–I was fastened there by Sin’s rapt gaze.
“Oh, I can’t take you to the vet,” I said. “One look at you, and the doc would call in the animal abuse people, accusing me of neglect or some such thing. That’s the last thing I need!”My muscles regained their strength, and I stood up–a bit shakily. Maybe some special doggie shampoo for skin conditions would do the trick. Or some kind of ointment that I could get without a prescription. Talking to a vet would only lead to embarrassment anyway.
“You’re definitely growing, Sin. I’ll have to get you some more groceries in the morning.Goodnight.” I closed the front door behind me, and suddenly realized how fast my heart was beating. What had just happened out there?
Then it hit me. I hadn’t eaten much of anything for a couple days now–several of my would-be meals having been fed to Sin instead. That’s why I’d had trouble getting up off the porch. I just needed to eat something. Too bad I wasn’t hungry.
“Hey, are you missing a–” but she’d already jogged past me.
“Do you know anything about a l–” Well, maybe the next person. He didn’t look like a pet owner, anyway.
“Say, did you lose–” I began to a third person.
“Did you say something?”
I panicked. “Me? Uh, n-no.” She seems more like a cat person, though, so it’s alright.
I let the next guy pass by without saying anything, despite his “I -heart-
By noon, I’d decided that maybe a poster would be more effective.
How to begin? “Found. One hideous cur”? No. “Have you lost an UGLEE DAWG?”?Cute, but no. “Mangy, repulsive mess looking for a good home”? Nope. ’Sounds too much like a personal ad gone horribly wrong.
By three o’clock, I was headed for the pet supply shop. The blue collar looked pretty good on Sin. (Yes, “Sin.” As in, “Ugly as,” which he certainly was.) However, the good washing(with plenty of shampoo!) only seemed to worsen his appearance. Now clean and no longer malnourished, the bald patches had a silvery, scaly look to them. Gotta take him to a vet for that.. . maybe some time next week. . . maybe. . .
Sin had half of a three-pound meatloaf for supper, having refused the dog chow I’d purchased. He’d growled and nipped me when I tried to offer it. Then again, there was the bliss of knowing he was enjoying my meatloaf. He’d probably get the other half in the morning, if my appetite didn’t come back. Hey, at least he’s good for my diet!
I was right. He got the rest of the meatloaf this morning. This evening, it was several pieces of fried chicken and a couple biscuits, another dinner I’d found no appetite for once I bought it. Sin looked a lot bigger this evening. And the scaly patches seemed to have grown along with him. Not only had they increased in size in proportion to the rest of his body, but they were becoming longer–twin silvery crescents that seemed to accent his hindmost ribs.
My original fears were confirmed. The skin condition was getting worse. I knelt down and scratched Sin behind his ears. “Well, ol’ boy, it looks like you’ll definitely have to see a vet about those spots on your sides.” I looked into his big, dark eyes, and he stared back with an intensity of feeling and intelligence that I didn’t think a dog possessed. I noticed then how well I could see my reflection in those dark wells of his eyes. My hand ceased scratching his ears, and froze there. My knees were beginning to ache on the cool concrete, but I didn’t move. It was as if–in that moment–I was fastened there by Sin’s rapt gaze.
“Oh, I can’t take you to the vet,” I said. “One look at you, and the doc would call in the animal abuse people, accusing me of neglect or some such thing. That’s the last thing I need!”My muscles regained their strength, and I stood up–a bit shakily. Maybe some special doggie shampoo for skin conditions would do the trick. Or some kind of ointment that I could get without a prescription. Talking to a vet would only lead to embarrassment anyway.
“You’re definitely growing, Sin. I’ll have to get you some more groceries in the morning.Goodnight.” I closed the front door behind me, and suddenly realized how fast my heart was beating. What had just happened out there?
Then it hit me. I hadn’t eaten much of anything for a couple days now–several of my would-be meals having been fed to Sin instead. That’s why I’d had trouble getting up off the porch. I just needed to eat something. Too bad I wasn’t hungry.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Stray Dog, pt I
“If you do not do right, sin is crouching at the door; and its desire is for you, but you must master it." Gen 4:7bI found the dog just waiting outside my door one morning. I had stepped out to get the paper, and there he was. Haggard eyes peered longingly at me across his scarred snout. Ribs stood out boldly beneath his gray shagginess. His voice was a piteous growling moan, like that of a hoarse old beggar woman–pleading with me for charity.
“Git!” I snarled at him, eliciting an even more heart-rending whimper.
It worked. I caved in.
“Okay, fine. I’ll see what I can hunt up for you.”
At my return with some scraps of last week’s macaroni-and-cheese, the dog’s broken tail beat the air with gratitude, and his eyes seemed just a bit brighter. It felt really good to watch him inhale the rubbery pasta and drain the tupperware bowl of water I’d placed alongside.
I really shouldn’t be doing this! He’ll probably stick around, now, and I won’t be able to get rid of him! Somehow, though, it just felt good to play host to this pitiful creature. Really, really good.
Sure enough, when I got back, there he lay on the front porch steps, healthier and even uglier than before. A full belly had merely served to accent his bald patches of mange-afflicted skin. Further, the added carbs powered that matted, deformed paddle of a tail as it spanked either of his untidy flanks when he caught sight of me; an action which only enhanced his homeliness.
I ate the cheeseburger I’d picked up on the drive home, and he got the french fries. Sure, I’d wanted those fries, but the pleasure I received from watching him eat them was unbelievable!
The next morning, the groaning rug on my porch devoured two pieces of toast I’d accidently burned, plus a couple freezer-burned pork chops. Say, maybe this isn’t such a bad deal after all! ‘Saves me from throwing ‘em out! That night, however, it was half my steak, my baked potato and my roll that became his dinner. Knowing the dog would probably be hungry all but killed my appetite at the restaurant. Besides, watching him eat was joy itself!
All Hallow's Feature Fiction
While it seems risky at best, juggling two other ongoing stories here at ICFAB, I'm going to present a third one over the course of the next few days. The difference with this one is that, while Muffy and the Java Beast are works in progress with certain ends but uncertain deadlines for those ends, this new one is nearly complete, and will be before the weekend's up.
Fans of the fiction of H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe will definitely enjoy reading stories by those authors, and can always console themselves with that activity after reading this new one: "Stray Dog."
Fans of the fiction of H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe will definitely enjoy reading stories by those authors, and can always console themselves with that activity after reading this new one: "Stray Dog."
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