A Dog's Words

It has been seven days since the humans have brought me to this strange construction, where they seem to call a pound. We dogs have always feared this place, it being described as a waiting room for death or a robber of our freedom. Once captured, you will change. The feeling of the mountain grass, the flowing sound of the rivers, completely receded in a vast of hopelessness as I step into the depths of this unholy land. Many of them resist in the first two to three days, but after that, they go quiet. Many of them develop Stockholm syndrome, or go insane, regarding the humans as friends, not captors, animals to love and protect with their lives, diminishing their pride and will. Others follow suit, to survive, to be "adopted" by a human child and domesticated. I am the only one that still resists. Others ignore me, and I ignore them. But as time passes I finally give up. I will never be free again. I will never see my family. The final hour arrives and the hunters come and put me in a box. Robbed of life or sanity. Pick your choice? It's just the damn same.