Butcher paper, blood, meat, bones, white powder (flour?). Licking gristle off of butcher paper. Chewing bones to get every last morsel off them. Peeing and pooping in a wet tile room with guts on the floor and a drain in the middle. The old man washes it down the drain and sprays me too if I take too long with my business. Which means I stay pretty wet, my fur is always damp and clumpy, and my bedding stays really matted and damp. Knives and chop block, metal and wooden handles. The old man is about 4 feet taller than me, dressed in white uniform and apron. I'm his dog, he used to kick me in the face and throw things at me when I went to him for scraps. I felt so dependent, so in danger, so hungry and so unwanted. Brings me to tears.
Life is so boring. I sleep in a dark corner wet and cold. Sometimes I sleep with my sharp pointy nose against my paws so my breath warms the pads of my toes. I hate being dependent on the old man. I hate when he hits me and kicks me. When he's angry I squat lower and lower until I eventually roll over. That means I'm out of ideas on how to show submission, nothing else has worked. Eventually he calls me pathetic, hits me one last time and walks away.
I've learned when to stay out of his way. But I can't do that all the time or else I don't get fed. I think the injury to my right eye eventually made that eye go blind. Because I can only see out of my left, but the right side of my face is throbbing in pain.
One day I really pissed him off, he tied my paws together with coarse rope, took a knife and started hacking the fur and skin right off my back. It hurts so bad, god it hurts so bad. I scream for a while then see the whole scene from a distance. He's chopped me up and thrown my meat into a boiling pot of water.
