I just keep eating. I could stop myself at any time, but I choose to not stop. Never mind that I may be double the weight that my vet says I should be, never mind that I take an entire minute to stand on my own, and never mind that I can walk no more than ten steps without having to lie down, exhausted from my own weight. If there is food, I will eat it; and I wouldn't trade any morsel of food for the world.
At least now I can say that I have sympathetic owners. Things weren't always so for me. So to understand why I feel compelled to eat every scrap of food my owners give me, I must inform you of my past. My dreary, dismal past.
I remember nothing about my mother except that she always taught me to apreciate edible ever given to me, a skill that would serve me well in the future. I was born, my dear reader, in a grimy, malodorous slum-alley that smelled of human urine, vomit, feces, and alcohol. Yes, I was born a stray, not something that I'm proud of.
In case my dear reader hadn't gathered, I am a dog, specifically, a Black Labrador Retriever. I am not sure of my place of origin, nor even where I am now. These things were never important to me, so I never found out. I am a standard twenty-three inches at the withers and 163 pounds, I know, more than double my ideal weight according to breed standard. My name is Saxe. At least, that was the name given to me by my previous owners.
Speaking of whom, when I was born, as soon as we were weened, my mother left. I harbor no resentments because, in complete candor, I would have done the same thing. We were a nuisance and a burden to her, so she had no reason to keep us.
But, anyway, when I was hot, hungry, and alone with my siblings, a man came when I was sleeping and picked me up. I of course awoke and squirmed around, but his grip was ironclad. He brought me to his truck, which smelled of tobacco. Not a pleasant smell, but still better than my previous habitat. The man drove like a madman, which is why I am still hesitant inside a car to this day.
When the truck stopped and I got out, I discovered that we were in the middle of nowhere. Stixville, we shall call it. And I immediately new that something was off. Inside, I could hear an older and a younger woman's voices yelling at the top of their lungs. Immediately, the man barged in, started yelling at the both of them to shut up. A shouting match ensued, followed by a loud slap that I only heard, because I was cowering in the corner, afraid for my life. Eventually, the shouting reached a climax before it died off.
Then, I noticed a boy, perhaps, in human years, 14 or 15, who picked me up and tried to soothe me. But by his own trembling, I could tell that he was afraid too. He took me into his room and tried his best to comfort me. The boy was the only solace that I had in that house. He was a quiet, thougtful boy who talked to himself a lot about things that I didn't begin to understand. But I enjoyed his company and he seemed to enjoy mine. He also tried to feed me as often as he could, but…   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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