I’m walking my dog -- the bigger one, the hound. He suddenly leaps into some bushes, completely disappearing, obviously after some critter. I yank furiously on the leash, reeling him back in. He comes out of the bushes, a baby groundhog in his mouth.
My dog is chomping and shaking the thing, and I’m yelling, “Drop it! Drop it!”
He is semi-obedient. He drops it.
The groundhog lands in the dirt, on his back, his guts spilling out. Yes, he has been disemboweled. His paws are swimming meaninglessly in the air. His mouth is opening and closing in tiny gasps. He’s slowly blinking his tiny eyes as the darkness rushes in.
It feels like it takes forever, but it’s only a second or two – then the groundhog is still, silent, dead.
My hound is wagging his tail, delighted. The white fur of his snout is stained red with blood. He licks some of it away. He’s giddy with the kill, but now that it’s over, he’s ready to continue our walk.
Dogs are psychopaths.
Picture a serial killer who drags a straight razor across the throat of a child. The little kid gurgles and chokes on blood, then dies. And then the serial killer says:
“Who wants ice cream?”
That’s a dog.
1 comments:
I love groundhogs, especially the babies, so this was a particularly horrifying story for me. But it made me laugh too.
(By the way, my word verification word is shitily.)
Post a Comment