(This is the first picture I have of my dear boy)
Bare cage. Loud, frantic barking. Cold. Lonely.
Chacha's first 7 months of life were spent with a backyard breeder/puppy mill/hoarder.
How anyone could treat any animal like that is beyond me. Even more so my grandmother who always seemed so nice, but I know better now. (Thankfully, the animal control stopped her from breeding several years ago, but she still has so many dogs... I wish they would do more. I wish I could do more.)
I was only eight when she gave me Chacha as a Christmas gift.
I had met him a few times before then and he was always happy to see me (and be let out of the cage). He was so skinny it looked as if he was starving, and he had very little fur on his paws or tail. His dewclaws had been pulled out when he was younger. I am still very angry about that. How could anyone pull a puppies toes out?! Humans are monsters. Most of them are at least. He still bares the scars and has arthritis in his paws because of this. And he still loves her. I don't know why.
He is safe now. I will always care for him and love him.
He has been my best friend since that cold Christmas so long ago and I will defend him to the death if necessary. He is always there for me, to protect me. I feel safe when he is around and he feels the same about me. We are more then friends, we are family. Along with Callie and Fifi, we are a pack.
Could I ask for more?
No comments:
Post a Comment