Monday, January 20, 2014

The Moment of Darkness

She was sitting on my bed, drinking a beer. She had that look in her eye as she scanned the just-vacuumed rug. Her glare landed on my sister, simmering with numbed down irritation. Knowing what was coming, I hid. I had experienced this before. Yet my sister seemed oblivious. She always was.

I watched as she lifted the glass again to her dry lips. Her eyes were red and weary. Suddenly, she lugged herself up from her seat and lunged at my sister. I saw her coaxing her toward that door to the room. Bad things always happen in the room. The room makes me nervous.

My sister finally clued in to what was happening and followed her haltingly... reluctantly. I could see that she was afraid to challenge her in her bleary red-eyed state.

Together they entered the room. The door to the room closed. I heard the extra click of the lock; the lock that was only used when the bad thing happened.

The fear crept through my body as I listened for the familiar noises of the dark deeds going on behind the door. I heard them and shivered. The ringing of metal. The clamoring of nails on porcelain.  The whooshing sound. The deep throaty voice saying, "Just stay." I was scared for my sister, but relieved to be out of the monster's sight.

After ten terrifying minutes, the door finally opened and my sister ran out, frantic and drenched. An involuntary moan escaped my lips as I shifted in my spot. I didn't mean to make a sound. I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I curled myself tighter into a ball and stayed as still as possible.

I watched as she climbed onto the white wooden box and grabbed at the tool she favored for the punishment that was next. It was high in a basket with a bunch of other items that she used to torture us. One would never think that a simple basket could hold all of my nightmares. I knew which one she was going to grab; I was right. I saw the familiar rubber handle and the angry metal teeth glinting in the light... taunting me. That one in particular haunted my dreams.

I groaned again and started to shake.

She went at my sister, who stood frozen. In a cloud of black, she released her agitation on my sister. My sister complied. There was nothing else she could do. She was trapped. When she was finished, she cleaned up the aftermath and stuffed everything into the metal food dispenser.

She was sick.... putting the proof of her torture where we ate.

I thought I was safe.

I was wrong.

She called my name.

I hid.

Then she called his name and pleaded with him.

I thought he would ignore her again. But he didn't. She had gotten to him. This time it was his voice calling my name. I knew my fate, it was unavoidable. At least they didn't take me to the room, as she had done with my sister. No, she skipped the room and gripped my immediate future firmly in her hand. That angry metal and black rubber. It was a fate worse than death.

Together, they lunged at me. As he held me, she assaulted me. Over and over and over. I felt like it would never stop. Every ounce of my flesh was violated, even behind my ears. The dead, musty parts of me floated like dying embers to the floor. I whimpered. I groaned. I opened my teeth and screamed. It did not stop them. They continued with their sick game until they were finished.

They even laughed at me. The humiliation was more than I could bear.

When they were done, I ran to the back door and stood shaking and moaning. She opened it and let me out, the sick smile still etched on her weary face. I felt so violated. I ran into the yard and took my frustrations out on a stick. I considered finding another home, but it was dark and cold. Maybe in the morning...

The next morning she and I walked together. I tried to stay mad at her, but I was distracted by her good mood, the sights and the smells. And my coat really did feel better since she removed the Cocklebur. I wonder if she'll throw the ball for me later....

Balls and Bones,
Red Dog

Her Side of the Story
By Her

Last night I cleaned the house for two hours. Afterwards, I opened a beer and sat on the couch, otherwise known as Red Dog's bed. My eyes were red and irritated from a facial that I had gotten earlier in the day; I think that the gal accidentally brushed the moisturizing mask in my eye. That is when Black Dog casually strolled into the just-vacuumed room. She was trashed out- covered with dirt, manure and hay. On top of that, she was shedding profusely. The proof was in the tufts of black hair that were dangling from her tocks.


Just before she nestled down into my cream shag rug, I pulled my weary body to my feet, set my beer on the mantel and drug her to the bathroom. I locked the door so no little person would open it in the middle of the bath, thereby unleashing wet, soapy dog into the house. I pulled the curtain back, invited her to climb into the tub and washed her. Gobs of black yuck floated down the drain. When she was done, I towel dried her and she ripped through the house like she always does after a bath. I think she felt better. She HAD to have felt better. I had just removed five pounds of farm yard, cat shit and last year's hair from her hide.

She ran to her dog bed and settled in. I climbed on top of the dogfood box and reached into the grooming basket for the Furminator. It is hands down the best brush for getting rid of dead hair coat. I use the same one on the ponies every spring to assist them in shedding their winter coat. I was careful, because the brush is sharp. I removed five giant handfuls of hair from Black Dog and threw them into the stainless steel trashcan in our mudroom.

I took a deep breath, rolled my eyes and groaned. I knew who needed the brushing even more. My little Red Dog was looking like a homeless Rastafarian, and I had felt a burr under her ear. Red Dog was hands down THE WORST dog in the entire history of dogs to groom. She howls and bares her teeth and makes noises like I am ripping out her toenails. She makes me fear for my face. The dog acts like she is going to bite me into Skittles-sized pieces if I use even a soft bristle brush on her. In essence, grooming her is retched for everyone involved. Mostly because she's an asshole.

I skipped the bath because I had seen the kids throw her ball in the horse water tank the day before. Naturally, her enthusiasm for the game of ball caused her to plunge into the slobber-strewn trough to retrieve it. That was sort of like a bath, right?

I sighed and called for Brock. I needed back up. Like something out of a fairy tale, he actually responded when I called his name. He held her head and front end and I went to work as quickly and carefully as I could with the Furminator, removing her dry red hair and choking on the barn dust. In hindsight, the horse tank was not the equivalent of a bath. I should probably write that down.

After I finished with the brush, I cut out the Cocklebur that was embedded in her long red hair just under her ear. Finally, we were finished with the torturous affair.

At that time, Black Dog was sacked out on her dog bed and Red Dog demanded to go outside. She was highly agitated and probably needed to take her anger out on a stick... or try to find new people to live with- people that know better than to groom their animals. 

I, on the other hand, was so exhausted that I forgot to finish my beer. I found it on the mantel this morning, warm and amber colored, reminding me of the horse piss that I had washed down the drain the night before.

I should probably scrub out that tub.

Fucking dogs. 

Wook how cute she is with her BONE!

Too bad this isn't adorable.

Peace, Love and Furminators,

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