I wrote a story for school and decided to share it with CS (: I would love some criticism/comments, I'm always looking for ways to improve my work. Please do not steal it, all work is © to me, Obscure.
ηєνєя נυ∂gє α вσσк ву ιтѕ ¢σνєя
I cower alone in the darkness, behind the bars which make up my prison.
I don't even know what I have done to deserve this. I have always tried my best to be a good dog, loyal to my master alone, and I never bit or snapped at his cat, even when it tugged on my tail. I always ate my food up, I always tried to help him...but none of that was ever enough. He always hurt me, beat me whenever, in his eyes, I did something wrong. He hit me with anything he could find- a rolled-up newspaper, his shoe, his belt...and every time he hit me, my heart broke. But, even in all the pain and sense of betrayal, I remained loyal to him alone. I loved him, but he never felt the same way; he never realised how much he meant to me.
Then, the pit bull stereotype started. It began when dogs, who had been trained to fight and kill, started attacking people. It wasn't the dog's fault, it was the owner's fault for poisoning the dog's minds with their malevolence and evil. But no, in the corrupt and obscured eyes of humans, the owners were not the cause of the problem- it was the dogs. Those dogs, unfortunately, were deemed as 'dangerous' and were put down.
Then, people began to be afraid of us. They dumped their dogs at the shelter, not considering the fact that the shelters, full to the brim with unwanted pit bulls, would slaughter their once-beloved pets, because nobody wanted pit bulls anymore. The media discriminated us, made us out to be 'monstrous creations', 'vicious and lethal'. To the truth, only the minority of pit bulls could be described as these claims. The majority of us were kind, loyal, gentle, lived to please, just like any other dog. True, we might look a little ferocious, but I think the humans should take their own advice and never make judgements based on appearance. Honestly, humans can be hypocrites!
My previous owner dumped me in this hellish place, and left me waiting for him. I am still waiting now, but I do not think he will return for me, judging by his furious expression the day he left me, but all I can do is hope.
Innocent dogs suffered the consequences. Innocent dogs were put down, innocent dogs were left unwanted. I am sure the same fate will become of me. The shelter cannot keep me for much longer. It is teeming with abandoned pits already.
Now and then, one of the dog wardens will come, with a silver noose attached onto a shining silver rod. The dog warden would hook this monstrous object around a dog's neck, tighten it so that it is impossible to breathe, and then drag the victim away into a room, in which nobody knew what happened. The only thing we knew, the dog who had been taken away would never be seen again.
I jump as the shelter doors suddenly swing open. A woman with a young child walks in; the woman's face one of disgust and horror as she gazes around at the ten or so pit bulls pawing at their kennels with hopeful faces and wagging their tails.
The little child toddles up to my cage and points happily at me. “I want this one, Mummy!” she cries, laughing hysterically. “It's such a cute doggy!”
The woman gasps, grasping her child by the hand and literally dragging her away from me. “No!” she cries angrily. “That dog is horrible. We're not having that...that monster in my house! We'll come back next week, dear, and see if there's any other dogs here.”
“But...but that doggy isn't horrible, or a monster! She's beautiful!” The little girl bites her lip, looking as if she is about to cry.
The woman shakes her head and disappears through the door in which she entered in, dragging the child with her who shot me one last desperate look.
Sighing, I settle back down in the corner of my prison. I am offended by the woman's disgusted words. Many people react like this when they come to the shelter, expecting to find a cute fluffy lapdog, but instead find several pit bulls gazing at them, the 'monster breed'.
Several uneventful hours pass, mostly filled by dozing or talking to the pits in the prisons next to me. They are nice dogs, but have had a rough life on the streets and are very fierce. Just as I am drifting between the borderlines of consciousness and unconsciousness, the shelter door swings open again and an older man with greying hair and a weather-beaten face shuffles in, grasping a little girl's hand protectively.
The little girl looks around at us in delight. “Look, Grandpa! Such beautiful dogs! Can we adopt one, Grandpa? Please?” She gazes up at her grandfather with hopeful eyes.
Her grandfather looks a little uncertain. “Well, I heard-”
“No, Grandpa! These are wonderful dogs! Please?” A look of despair crosses her face.
“Well, we did come here to adopt a dog, didn't we? I guess it would be okay. Choose one, then, my dear.” the grandpa says, a warm look chasing away the uncertainty.
His granddaughter runs up to my kennel, petting me lovingly. I wag my tail and my ears perk up, barking happily. She looks delighted. “I'll like this one, Grandpa. She looks lovely!”
Her grandpa nods his head in approval. “Yes, my dear, she does look a gentle dog. We'll take her, then?”
At that moment, a woman walks in with the shelter badge emblazoned on her shirt. “Have you chosen yet?” she asks brightly.
“Yes, we'll take this one, please,” the grandpa points towards me. The woman smiles, unlocking my kennel and coaxing me out. I follow eagerly; these people seem friendly and genuine. She attaches a lead to my simple chain-link collar.
“Here you are,” she says. “Just come through here, and we'll register your details and you can sign the dog's documents...”
The first night at my new home was the best night of my life. When I was brought home, the little girl lavished me with love and attention, as did her older brother. She owned a kitten, too, a little azure-eyed Persian who scampered all over me and tugged my tail, although I did not mind. The little girl had obviously done her research about owning dogs, and had already bought toys, food, bowls, beds, a collar and leash and treats in advance. She had also purchased a huge cage in which I could play when she went out and sleep in at night, as well as a kennel in the garden when I wanted to shelter from the heat or cold. She had even decided on a name for me: 'Chase', which was much better than 'Fang' or 'Demon'.
I had a delicious meal out of my very own bowl; the little kitten (who I learned was called Sky) tried to steal my food when I wasn't looking, but I chased her away playfully. The little kitten didn't see me as a threat at all, nor was jealous of me, but saw me as a thing she could scamper all over! Despite the age-old rivalry between cats and dogs, Sky and I became good allies.
The next day, I went to the vets to have my injections done. I could never remember going to the vets, so it was a new experience for me. I was a little afraid, but I put aside my fear to make my mistress proud. The injections didn't hurt one bit, and I was microchipped too, so if I ever got lost I would be easily returned to my owners.
That very night, my new family takes me to the local dog park. I am amazed at the sheer number of dogs there, all running freely- chasing balls for their owners, frolicking around in the grass, catching frisbees in mid-air...I am excited, and so gripped by a desire to join them in their play, that I wag my tail and strain on the lead.
“Steady, Chase!” my mistress laughs. She bends down and strokes my head. “May I let her off the lead, Grandpa?”
“Yes, my dear,” he replies, looking down at her affectionately. She unclips my lead, and I am off, running like the wind down the gentle slope, my paws flying over the soft ground, delirious with the sheer delight of being free and loved. Just as I am racing out of earshot, I hear my mistress say:
“She's a wonderful dog, isn't she, Grandpa? Just look at her run. I think people are wrong, Grandpa. Not all pit bulls are monsters. Chase isn't a monster at all!”
Her grandpa laughs, ruffling his granddaughter's brown hair. “And that, my dear, is why you should never judge a book by its cover.”
ηєνєя נυ∂gє α вσσк ву ιтѕ ¢σνєя
I cower alone in the darkness, behind the bars which make up my prison.
I don't even know what I have done to deserve this. I have always tried my best to be a good dog, loyal to my master alone, and I never bit or snapped at his cat, even when it tugged on my tail. I always ate my food up, I always tried to help him...but none of that was ever enough. He always hurt me, beat me whenever, in his eyes, I did something wrong. He hit me with anything he could find- a rolled-up newspaper, his shoe, his belt...and every time he hit me, my heart broke. But, even in all the pain and sense of betrayal, I remained loyal to him alone. I loved him, but he never felt the same way; he never realised how much he meant to me.
Then, the pit bull stereotype started. It began when dogs, who had been trained to fight and kill, started attacking people. It wasn't the dog's fault, it was the owner's fault for poisoning the dog's minds with their malevolence and evil. But no, in the corrupt and obscured eyes of humans, the owners were not the cause of the problem- it was the dogs. Those dogs, unfortunately, were deemed as 'dangerous' and were put down.
Then, people began to be afraid of us. They dumped their dogs at the shelter, not considering the fact that the shelters, full to the brim with unwanted pit bulls, would slaughter their once-beloved pets, because nobody wanted pit bulls anymore. The media discriminated us, made us out to be 'monstrous creations', 'vicious and lethal'. To the truth, only the minority of pit bulls could be described as these claims. The majority of us were kind, loyal, gentle, lived to please, just like any other dog. True, we might look a little ferocious, but I think the humans should take their own advice and never make judgements based on appearance. Honestly, humans can be hypocrites!
My previous owner dumped me in this hellish place, and left me waiting for him. I am still waiting now, but I do not think he will return for me, judging by his furious expression the day he left me, but all I can do is hope.
Innocent dogs suffered the consequences. Innocent dogs were put down, innocent dogs were left unwanted. I am sure the same fate will become of me. The shelter cannot keep me for much longer. It is teeming with abandoned pits already.
Now and then, one of the dog wardens will come, with a silver noose attached onto a shining silver rod. The dog warden would hook this monstrous object around a dog's neck, tighten it so that it is impossible to breathe, and then drag the victim away into a room, in which nobody knew what happened. The only thing we knew, the dog who had been taken away would never be seen again.
I jump as the shelter doors suddenly swing open. A woman with a young child walks in; the woman's face one of disgust and horror as she gazes around at the ten or so pit bulls pawing at their kennels with hopeful faces and wagging their tails.
The little child toddles up to my cage and points happily at me. “I want this one, Mummy!” she cries, laughing hysterically. “It's such a cute doggy!”
The woman gasps, grasping her child by the hand and literally dragging her away from me. “No!” she cries angrily. “That dog is horrible. We're not having that...that monster in my house! We'll come back next week, dear, and see if there's any other dogs here.”
“But...but that doggy isn't horrible, or a monster! She's beautiful!” The little girl bites her lip, looking as if she is about to cry.
The woman shakes her head and disappears through the door in which she entered in, dragging the child with her who shot me one last desperate look.
Sighing, I settle back down in the corner of my prison. I am offended by the woman's disgusted words. Many people react like this when they come to the shelter, expecting to find a cute fluffy lapdog, but instead find several pit bulls gazing at them, the 'monster breed'.
Several uneventful hours pass, mostly filled by dozing or talking to the pits in the prisons next to me. They are nice dogs, but have had a rough life on the streets and are very fierce. Just as I am drifting between the borderlines of consciousness and unconsciousness, the shelter door swings open again and an older man with greying hair and a weather-beaten face shuffles in, grasping a little girl's hand protectively.
The little girl looks around at us in delight. “Look, Grandpa! Such beautiful dogs! Can we adopt one, Grandpa? Please?” She gazes up at her grandfather with hopeful eyes.
Her grandfather looks a little uncertain. “Well, I heard-”
“No, Grandpa! These are wonderful dogs! Please?” A look of despair crosses her face.
“Well, we did come here to adopt a dog, didn't we? I guess it would be okay. Choose one, then, my dear.” the grandpa says, a warm look chasing away the uncertainty.
His granddaughter runs up to my kennel, petting me lovingly. I wag my tail and my ears perk up, barking happily. She looks delighted. “I'll like this one, Grandpa. She looks lovely!”
Her grandpa nods his head in approval. “Yes, my dear, she does look a gentle dog. We'll take her, then?”
At that moment, a woman walks in with the shelter badge emblazoned on her shirt. “Have you chosen yet?” she asks brightly.
“Yes, we'll take this one, please,” the grandpa points towards me. The woman smiles, unlocking my kennel and coaxing me out. I follow eagerly; these people seem friendly and genuine. She attaches a lead to my simple chain-link collar.
“Here you are,” she says. “Just come through here, and we'll register your details and you can sign the dog's documents...”
The first night at my new home was the best night of my life. When I was brought home, the little girl lavished me with love and attention, as did her older brother. She owned a kitten, too, a little azure-eyed Persian who scampered all over me and tugged my tail, although I did not mind. The little girl had obviously done her research about owning dogs, and had already bought toys, food, bowls, beds, a collar and leash and treats in advance. She had also purchased a huge cage in which I could play when she went out and sleep in at night, as well as a kennel in the garden when I wanted to shelter from the heat or cold. She had even decided on a name for me: 'Chase', which was much better than 'Fang' or 'Demon'.
I had a delicious meal out of my very own bowl; the little kitten (who I learned was called Sky) tried to steal my food when I wasn't looking, but I chased her away playfully. The little kitten didn't see me as a threat at all, nor was jealous of me, but saw me as a thing she could scamper all over! Despite the age-old rivalry between cats and dogs, Sky and I became good allies.
The next day, I went to the vets to have my injections done. I could never remember going to the vets, so it was a new experience for me. I was a little afraid, but I put aside my fear to make my mistress proud. The injections didn't hurt one bit, and I was microchipped too, so if I ever got lost I would be easily returned to my owners.
That very night, my new family takes me to the local dog park. I am amazed at the sheer number of dogs there, all running freely- chasing balls for their owners, frolicking around in the grass, catching frisbees in mid-air...I am excited, and so gripped by a desire to join them in their play, that I wag my tail and strain on the lead.
“Steady, Chase!” my mistress laughs. She bends down and strokes my head. “May I let her off the lead, Grandpa?”
“Yes, my dear,” he replies, looking down at her affectionately. She unclips my lead, and I am off, running like the wind down the gentle slope, my paws flying over the soft ground, delirious with the sheer delight of being free and loved. Just as I am racing out of earshot, I hear my mistress say:
“She's a wonderful dog, isn't she, Grandpa? Just look at her run. I think people are wrong, Grandpa. Not all pit bulls are monsters. Chase isn't a monster at all!”
Her grandpa laughs, ruffling his granddaughter's brown hair. “And that, my dear, is why you should never judge a book by its cover.”
.jpg)
