In The Ring

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I’m pulled awake by the painful tugging at my collar and rough voices I’ve learned to fear. The metal chain digs into the cuts already around my neck from being pulled so roughly. I try to fight but the pulling gets harder and the big, dark human yells at me so loud it hurts my ears. I let him pull me now and as I’m dragged down the dark, long corridor, the other dogs watch me from behind their chain- link stalls lined with newspaper. Dobermans with gaping gashes on their legs, a Rottweiler with raking scars down his flank and muzzle, and other Pit bulls, like me, with their ears cut short, painful scabs lining the tips. Each one gives me a look that says, ‘Good luck, pal,’ though I know each one is sending out a silent prayer thanking the clouds that it wasn’t them the humans pulled from their filthy cages.

The human tossed me into the prepping room, the room that they put you in before the doors open and you are surrounded by more humans, shouting and laughing. Some of them throw things at you. Like right now. These humans throw sharp, painful things at me, trying to get me mad, so I would try to hurt the other dog that comes from the other side of the ring. I’ve done this so many times I know what their intentions are. If I hurt the other dog, they get green, folded pieces of paper. If I get hurt and don’t want to fight anymore, they have to give back the pieces of paper. I’ve learned that they don’t like to give away their paper. If they give any away, they blame me, and I’ll get thrown around and hurt and no food when they put me back in my cage. The other dogs will share food with me, even if they only get little bits. They pass the little bit they can give away through the holes in the fences til it gets to me, and I eat it, making sure I give them back the same amount the next time I get my own food and they don’t have any. I don’t know why the humans don’t share their paper like we share food. If they shared, those other dogs and I wouldn’t have to fight.

The door of the prepping room flies open and I’m pushed out into the bright lights and shouting. The humans point at me and speak to each other. Then the other dog- a large Rottwieler- comes out of the other side. We bark at each other, calling each other names that I don’t really mean. He looks nice enough. I know he doesn’t mean them either. The Humans who put us in here take off the leashes on our collars, and I lunge at the other dog. I don’t want to hurt him, but I know that if I win, my humans get the folded green papers, and I get to have dinner tonight, so I can give the Doberman in the cage next to me so food, since he didn’t get any last night. I attack the other dog with all I got and hope that some of his friends will give him food tonight, too.





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AvengedJasonFold said...
Aug. 19, 2010 at 7:39 pm

Interesting perspecitive--I can see you feel strongly about being against animal abuse and stuff. I love dogs just as much as the next guy but man, these kind of stories are always sad because i hate even thinking about how sad the situation for dogs in kennels and stuff is.

that said, your story is decent. One thing that would really help it would be trying to take out adverbs and replacing them with symbollic metaphors and figurative language. If you don't feel like doing that, simpl... (more »)

 
POPprincess said...
Aug. 18, 2010 at 8:11 am
Please rate this piece if you read it, it would be helpful. give your honest opinion, spare me the sugar coating, i can handle it. thanks!
 
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