You'll have to forgive the sound of my voice, I was attacked by a dog when I was a child. He got at my throat and unfortunately, he tore up a few things.
Obviously, he damaged my voice box. He also made a mess of most of my arteries, and pulled some of my neck muscles until they were thin strands.
He pulled out my self worth and tossed it over his shoulder. Thankfully the doctors were able to reattach it because someone had the forethought to keep it on ice while I was rushed to the hospital. Honestly, the doctors did a great job. But things that are damaged won't ever be exactly the same so I have a scratch, like a stitch that never dissolved, in the back of my throat.
I assume the dog was abused as a puppy. I still remember clearly the shiny lump of a black scar on his shoulder as he stood over me clicking his teeth through my neck. The way the hair never grew back in that spot, and how it had concentric circles. It looked like a cold car lighter. A stone tossed in a lake.
And in that moment, even while laying on my back with far-away sounding people beating him on his thick head, I felt sorry for him.
I wonder if other animals have ever felt that way.
Maybe there is some small, quiet, universe-sized kernel inside the terror of all prey that is piteous of the predator.
And maybe the trick in life is to climb inside of that space and wait until its all over.
We met at the right time, that dog and I. I was too small to fight back.
But If we had met 20 years later, when I was tall and I could scream
i would have beat him and jabbed a burning stick in his muzzle because that is how human beings run this spinning grave we call home.
