bunnii
just a little guy
- Feb 16, 2023
- 55
Last night I had a pleasant dream about my childhood dog. While it was nice while it lasted, when I woke up I was bombarded by memories of him and the other dogs. You see, when I was in the fifth grade, my mother's boyfriend moved in with us. He brought his two dogs with him, two females, and we already had one male. Of course they were all unfixed. At first things were good, aside from the crowding (the dogs were a great dane, american bulldog, and a boxer). Then the smell and messes started to build up. The dogs would piss, shit, chew, claw, knock over, and generally just destroy anything nice you owned. And how were they punished? With a beating from my stepdad. The bulldog was hit in the face so many times her eyelid was permanently swollen. I started going to school smelling like dog, and got bullied for it. My brother smelled even worse because he slept with the great dane at night. He never mentioned if he was bullied for it.
Anyway, the great dane and boxer ended up having puppies. I was there for the birth. I remember the blue sacs and squirming, mewling forms sprawled out in the kiddie pool. We raised the puppies in the house, which added to the smell. The beatings didn't stop either. Eventually, the puppies grew up and we sold them off on facebook- all except one. Yes, we now had four big dogs in a bungalow. That's when my parents decided it was time to move, so we did. Away from my childhood friends. Away from everything I'd ever known. The new house had two floors, but it still felt crowded with so many bodies stuffed in there together. At least the dogs stayed out of my room there, and I finally stopped reeking of dirty dog. That summer, the bulldog fell pregnant. Of course, we raised them ourselves again, this time outside. It was pretty nice, that summer. Since the puppies were outside there wasn't a constant whining sound echoing through the house and I thought the puppies were pretty cute. Again, we sold them off on facebook- all but one. We now had five big dogs in the house. None of which were neutered.
This is were the real tragic stuff starts happening, so brace yourself.
The male and the two puppies (who were also male) started fighting. Not play fighting, draw-blood-crazy-eyes kind of fighting. It would happen at least once a week. Sometimes my mother and step dad were there to break it up, but other times they were at work and my brother and I would have to wrestle on the bloody floor with these dogs for an hour to get them to separate. I remember my favourite jeans getting shredded and bloodied to the point I had to throw them out. Of course we were bitten too- all four of us have scars to prove it. My mother has it the worst, her whole wrist is mangled from a particularly nasty fight between the two oldest. Eventually, the females started getting in on it too. We would have to keep them caged for nearly 24 hours a day just so they didn't go at each other.
One day, I came home from school early. There was a dance that evening at the school so I came home early to prepare. I didn't end up going. What I found when I got home was my dog, my childhood dog, dead on the dining room floor. I was home alone, my parents were in court for my stepdad- I had to stay with his dead body for hours in that house. I took a knife and threatened to kill the other male, but I couldn't bring myself to hurt the dogs, even now. I don't really remember the rest of the day. My parents disposed of his body.
The fights kept happening and there was another batch of puppies, this one inbred, but I don't remember much from that time. I had started smoking marijuana quite heavily so everything is in a smoky haze in my brain. Thankfully we didn't keep a puppy from this litter.
Now that the house was absolutely trashed and frankly was traumatising to be in, we moved again. The dogs were still fighting and still caged most of the time. I remember one time the girls got in a fight in the backyard and no matter how loudly I screamed for help, someone to help, no one ever came. Story of my life. A year or two passed (weed brain) and my mother and step father's fights were getting bad. Well, they were always bad, but now he'd started making threats on her life. I was terrified of my own house and everything in it.
At some point, my mother got pregnant. It was a little girl. Her name is Eleanor. I thought maybe now that there was a baby in the house, something would be done about the dogs. I was wrong. A year later, another baby was born. His name is Oliver.
For the first years of their lives, I did everything I could to protect them. I kept the dogs far away, I turned up the tv when there was screaming, I locked them in my room when there was punching. One day it wasn't enough.
It was early morning and there was already yelling reverberating through the house. I listened for a while, since it didn't seem too bad, but then it got really bad. All of a sudden the noise stopped. I came running upstairs to see my stepfather lifting my mother off the ground by her throat, in front of the babies. I lost it. Grabbed a knife and chased him into the living room. The rest is a blur- the cops came. I remember one was clearly pretty high on cocaine (I knew bc my real father is a crackhead). He gave me a high five for protecting my mother.
He was gone after that, but his dogs weren't. I knew they had to go too. So I, little seventh grade Bunnii, went on facebook and found a rehoming group for them. My mother was dealing with too much at the time to help. I eventually found someone to take two of the dogs, and they did. I sometimes wonder how they're doing now. We kept two of the dogs, the two most docile, and the fights finally stopped. The house was finally.. quiet. My mother moved out of that house with my younger siblings and I moved in with my boyfriend after that. The bulldog passed away of old age last year, but the puppy we kept is still alive and well at my mum's. I sometimes worry he'll snap and go feral on the kids one day, but he's honestly a different dog now. So calm, so gentle. I'm glad I didn't stab him that awful day.
So anyway, that's my dog story, If you've read this far, thanks I guess. Just needed to get this off my chest and I have nowhere else to post this. Love y'all
Anyway, the great dane and boxer ended up having puppies. I was there for the birth. I remember the blue sacs and squirming, mewling forms sprawled out in the kiddie pool. We raised the puppies in the house, which added to the smell. The beatings didn't stop either. Eventually, the puppies grew up and we sold them off on facebook- all except one. Yes, we now had four big dogs in a bungalow. That's when my parents decided it was time to move, so we did. Away from my childhood friends. Away from everything I'd ever known. The new house had two floors, but it still felt crowded with so many bodies stuffed in there together. At least the dogs stayed out of my room there, and I finally stopped reeking of dirty dog. That summer, the bulldog fell pregnant. Of course, we raised them ourselves again, this time outside. It was pretty nice, that summer. Since the puppies were outside there wasn't a constant whining sound echoing through the house and I thought the puppies were pretty cute. Again, we sold them off on facebook- all but one. We now had five big dogs in the house. None of which were neutered.
This is were the real tragic stuff starts happening, so brace yourself.
The male and the two puppies (who were also male) started fighting. Not play fighting, draw-blood-crazy-eyes kind of fighting. It would happen at least once a week. Sometimes my mother and step dad were there to break it up, but other times they were at work and my brother and I would have to wrestle on the bloody floor with these dogs for an hour to get them to separate. I remember my favourite jeans getting shredded and bloodied to the point I had to throw them out. Of course we were bitten too- all four of us have scars to prove it. My mother has it the worst, her whole wrist is mangled from a particularly nasty fight between the two oldest. Eventually, the females started getting in on it too. We would have to keep them caged for nearly 24 hours a day just so they didn't go at each other.
One day, I came home from school early. There was a dance that evening at the school so I came home early to prepare. I didn't end up going. What I found when I got home was my dog, my childhood dog, dead on the dining room floor. I was home alone, my parents were in court for my stepdad- I had to stay with his dead body for hours in that house. I took a knife and threatened to kill the other male, but I couldn't bring myself to hurt the dogs, even now. I don't really remember the rest of the day. My parents disposed of his body.
The fights kept happening and there was another batch of puppies, this one inbred, but I don't remember much from that time. I had started smoking marijuana quite heavily so everything is in a smoky haze in my brain. Thankfully we didn't keep a puppy from this litter.
Now that the house was absolutely trashed and frankly was traumatising to be in, we moved again. The dogs were still fighting and still caged most of the time. I remember one time the girls got in a fight in the backyard and no matter how loudly I screamed for help, someone to help, no one ever came. Story of my life. A year or two passed (weed brain) and my mother and step father's fights were getting bad. Well, they were always bad, but now he'd started making threats on her life. I was terrified of my own house and everything in it.
At some point, my mother got pregnant. It was a little girl. Her name is Eleanor. I thought maybe now that there was a baby in the house, something would be done about the dogs. I was wrong. A year later, another baby was born. His name is Oliver.
For the first years of their lives, I did everything I could to protect them. I kept the dogs far away, I turned up the tv when there was screaming, I locked them in my room when there was punching. One day it wasn't enough.
It was early morning and there was already yelling reverberating through the house. I listened for a while, since it didn't seem too bad, but then it got really bad. All of a sudden the noise stopped. I came running upstairs to see my stepfather lifting my mother off the ground by her throat, in front of the babies. I lost it. Grabbed a knife and chased him into the living room. The rest is a blur- the cops came. I remember one was clearly pretty high on cocaine (I knew bc my real father is a crackhead). He gave me a high five for protecting my mother.
He was gone after that, but his dogs weren't. I knew they had to go too. So I, little seventh grade Bunnii, went on facebook and found a rehoming group for them. My mother was dealing with too much at the time to help. I eventually found someone to take two of the dogs, and they did. I sometimes wonder how they're doing now. We kept two of the dogs, the two most docile, and the fights finally stopped. The house was finally.. quiet. My mother moved out of that house with my younger siblings and I moved in with my boyfriend after that. The bulldog passed away of old age last year, but the puppy we kept is still alive and well at my mum's. I sometimes worry he'll snap and go feral on the kids one day, but he's honestly a different dog now. So calm, so gentle. I'm glad I didn't stab him that awful day.
So anyway, that's my dog story, If you've read this far, thanks I guess. Just needed to get this off my chest and I have nowhere else to post this. Love y'all
