Secrets

Why I dont like dogs

"Who don't you like dogs?" Sam blurt out, abruptly interrupting my thoughts.

We had been walking down the rough sidewalk, blades of slivery grass sprouting through the cracks and Sam had her fingers brushing across the barbed wire fence causing a dull metal scrap I tuned out miles ago.

And just like that, my mind was pushed into utter chaos. Unwanted images flashed before my eyes, it was too late I couldn't stop it. I could only ride it out as best I could. Her. Always her. Towering over me, with her dead black eyes, empty. And that grin. It reminded me of a shark's toothy smile, sinister and calculated before tearing off a surfer's leg on the edge of a long surfboard.

I distinctly remember, I couldn't be more than 5, and hearing her whip our poor copper colored mutt, for getting in the backyard trash again. I can hear defenseless Pennie yelping in pain over and over. I wanted to save her, but I learned better. I quickly informed my foster sisters to be quiet as possible, pick up any toys on the ground and hid in their room's until it was over.

Fast forward to 14. I'm so excited I finally have a pet of my own in this new house. I don't have any friends but my foster dad took us to a farmers store; where we each pick out 5 cute fluffy little yellow chicks. Every day after school, no matter how many times I sat in the bathroom to eat lunch or dodge bullies in the hallway, I looked forward to running down to the basement and feed my newest little chick, who was slowly growing into a chicken.

I named him Pete. I know it was overused and predictable, but he looked so adorable with his golden feathers and chocolate brown spots on the tip of his beak and scattered over his wings, that it fit perfectly for him. I had gotten rather good at staying away...and out of trouble, with HER. And one night I noticed her, across the round dinner table next to a ceramic red bowl of corn, watching me intently. Studying me. I asked if I could do the dishes and she grunted, a yes.

"Did I forget a chore?" I thought. I started to sweat. Though the list of chores was long, I had gotten it down to a science so no, impossible, I did them all after my homework as usual. I bit the inside of my cheek. Calm. Calm down before she sees you. The corner of the kitchen clock ticked. 10 minutes. Foster dad would be home soon and distract her. I finished all the dishes in the sink and when I looked up into the kitchen, she had disappeared. I sighed, relieved and walked to my room to read.

The next morning I woke up excited, I decided to wake up early to feed Pete before catching the bus at 6:30 a.m. Some cornbread I had folded neatly in a paper towel square under my pillow, a snack for him. I opened the basement chairs cheerfully whistling until I arrived at the concrete bottom. There was the large box filled with piles of sweet smelling straw and round metal warming lights to keep the temperature cozy for the chicks.

"Pete" I whispered happily, beginning to unwrap my paper towel in my right hand, uncovering the still fresh cornbread. "Peteee." I now stated, he didn't seem to hear my whisper. He lay cuddled in the corner of the cardboard box. Strange, I thought, he usually stays cuddled with his sisters and brothers sleeping a peaceful pile with them. I pushed my hand into the box and gently nudged his little wing. But instead of his warm body, I was met with a cold hard carcass of him. I yanked my hand back as if stung. My chest tightened, I couldn't breathe. "Pete...." I could only look at him, half in shock half in disbelief. How could he have died yet all the other chicks were content and quietly sleeping?

I didn't want to believe it. I refused. And yet....she didn't like that I had started to become happy. Stupid. How could I have let this happen? I walked in every day, the excitement plastered over my face like a neon yellow sign. She saw something that gave me joy. But I let her see. I didn't bother to hide it like everything else, because, naive I didn't think this atrocity was possible. But after this day, I always would remember.

"Willow, are you okay?" I snapped back to reality. I was here, on the sidewalk but Sam had stopped in front of me her green eyes concerned, and red wavy hair tilted to the left in question. I replied, nonchalantly "I don't like dogs, because they're loud. And they smell."

And we contained our walk. But my memories remained. This was only one of many.