The Guardian

    I crouched beneath the tall grass along the edge of the parking lot. My ears twitched back and forth uneasily and I whimpered. Just a bit because, truthfully, I was terrified. I had barely made it across the double-lane highway alive and the men yelling at me didn't help.
    Big, smelly men banging tailgates and leaving horrible fumes clogging my nose as they roared off in white trucks with huge tires. I knew what a truck bed was and theirs were cluttered with strange looking objects that were nothing like the wood or hay bales I was used to seeing. The beds of these trucks looked like torture chambers so I for sure wanted to stay away from them. I couldn't imagine getting stuck in there.
    "Hey, pooch, come here."
    A low, gruff voice was calling but I scooched back further. Every time the man moved forward, I retreated, watching him with alert eyes. I'd been told I had a strong gaze so I did my best to look tough. Near as I could tell, men weren't to be trusted. They would just as soon give you a smack as pet you. But, oh, I was so hungry my insides were rigid. I don't know how long it has been since I was dropped out of the truck near the highway, but long enough to feel like I was starving. Yes, I know I look grown up but I'm still just a pup, only five months old, and I don't have any idea how to feed myself.
    You might be wondering how I could know all these people words and understand voices. But I guess I was born this way. I don't know if I'm different or not. I'm just me. I do know that it's probably because I am here for a reason. I was born with a purpose. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm sure I will recognize it when it happens. I chose this life, but all of that pre-birth wisdom is sort of murky like that puddle I drank out of a while back. This life hasn't been quite what I expected.

    I was born in a dusty stable along with five brothers and one sister. Mom was really good to us. I loved it the most when she would lick me all over after breakfast and then let me snuggle up under her chin. That was prime territory so I made sure to eat first, shoving the others aside, and then squirm up to her face. She was great and I felt so safe.
    But then, one day I was yanked away from her while I was still having breakfast and thrust into the arms of a huge man with nasty breath who held me out by the scruff of my neck. He turned me one way and then another, cocking his big round head. His tiny dark eyes were tucked deeply into folds of red flesh behind a bulbous nose traced with blue lines. I made the mistake of looking down and got so scared I peed. It was a long way to the ground. The man just laughed and shook me a bit. I figured I should be as still as possible and maybe he would take me back to Mom.
    "She's a quiet one, eh?"
    "Yup, best in the bunch. The other little bitch yaps all the time."
    "I'll take her."
    I saw the men shake hands and the one holding me walked over to his big blue truck and sort of just dropped me onto the hot metal of its floor. I kept quiet. I saw some straw int he corner so I hustled over as fast as my stubby legs could carry me but I still wasn't real steady so I wobbled and fell a couple times.
    "She old enough?"
    "Sure. She's six weeks. Plenty old. Gotta get rid of the rest so that I can put their mum back to work."
    Then, before I knew it, the truck sputtered then roared, and wild wind was swirling around me, dust up my nose making me sneeze, as we zoomed off down the bumpy road. I heard a howl in the distance and I returned Mom's cry, but I don't think she heard me. I had been stolen and I knew that was the last I'd see of Mom. I tried to stay in the corner all curled up, though the vibrations kept sliding me out of it. I whimpered in my solitude and wondered where I was going to end up.


Anyway, things didn’t get much better from there which is why I have become pretty darned suspicious of men. But I kept watching the door of the big building because Wolfie told me that I would find my purpose here. Wolfie is the name I gave to my instinct, that inner knowing that tells us what to do, gives advice and generally tries to keep us alive. Like how it told me to be very quiet whenever Big Man came around and he might not notice me, especially when he was smelling like the brown bottles scattered around the trash can. Big Man named me Tough Nut. You would probably refer to me as stoic and aloof, and, oh yeah, wise beyond my months. Thus, the lack of trust in males.


~ to be continued ~