He Was a Good Dog

for the amazing cover!

Denver, Colorado 2004. 

Ever since I was born, I could never remember a time when my American Pit-Bull Terrier Riley wasn't by my side. He was loyal, loving and protective. Every night, despite my parents protests, Riley would curl up beside my bed and wouldn't leave the room until I woke up. He'd follow me around the house all the time, as if he were my babysitter and wouldn't let anyone through the door without giving them a good sniff and lick. Growing up he was my best friend and even more so, my brother. We shared an unbreakable bond. We turned twelve on the same day, and although he was getting old, I didn't expect to lose him so soon in such a way as this.

He was a good dog.

A few weeks before our twelfth birthday, Momma told me to keep Riley inside, that he couldn't even go out for walks. When I asked why, she lied and said the vet said he needed to stay inside to keep from getting sick. We started letting him out into the backyard at ungodly hours, under our watchful eyes and only long enough for him to do his business before ushering him back inside. Riley wasn't too happy about this, but Momma promised it was for the best.

He was a good dog.

We went on like that for a while until the fateful day came; April 29th, Riley and I's birthday. Momma bought a cake with both our names on it. We knew cake was bad for dogs, but we all caved in and gave him a small piece anyway. We were all happy, but the entire time something about Riley was off. He was whimpering a lot and was being unusually cuddly. Every chance he got he'd lick my face or climb into my lap for a hug. Momma said it was because I had cake on my face.

He was a good dog.

That's when he became restless - the sound of loud, hard knocking echoed through the house and Momma told me to take Riley into my room, hide and be very quiet. I tried asking why but Momma shushed me, telling me there was no time for questions. With a reluctant nod, I lead a whimpering Riley into my small room, closing the door behind us. Together we huddled in the corner of my bed, my arms wrapped tightly around the big puppy dog that shook next to me. Something was wrong - very wrong, and Riley knew.

He was a good dog.

Heavy, audible footsteps crept closer and closer to the door. With every growing second my heart began to beat, faster and faster. Tears collected in my eyes as I realized what was happening. My teachers had gone over it a million times, and I was just now putting the pieces together.

He was a good dog.

Riley must have sensed my sadness as a low growl erupted from his lips while he stared down the door. I could see the shadows collecting beneath the door and I dug my face into Riley's warm body. 

He was a good dog.

Next thing I knew, two large men stormed into the room, peeling me away from my beloved pet who barked, whimpered and kicked yet refused to attack the men as they drug him away from me. "No! No! No! Momma, don't let them take Riley! Riley!" I shouted, getting up and chasing after the men. I began to throw punches but the men simply shrugged me off.

He was a good dog.

"Your dog is a danger to society and must be taken and humanely euthanized as a safety precaution." One of the men held me back as the other man shoved Riley out the door. "Danger?" I spat at him angrily. Momma snapped at the man as well, but what she said is something I'd rather not repeat here. 

He was a good dog.

"Marion County law, m'am."  I pushed passed him, racing outside just in time to watch them load Riley into the back of their van. 

He was a good dog.

"Riley!" I cried, letting the tears flood down my face. He barked in return, our cries for help could be heard all over town. No help came, however.

He was a good dog.

I remained outside, knelt down in the grass, wet from the previous storm. I watched as the van disappeared down the road, and didn't return inside until the sound of Riley's barking ceased and the wind became too strong for me to remain outside for any longer. Momma wrapped her arms around me, whispering unheard condolences to me...

He was a lover; not a fighter.