We’re a lot alike, me and the she.
We both look tough, look like we might hurt you, have a bit of a bad rep.
But, take a better, closer look, cos we’re soft, soft as butter, soft as cream.
We would never hurt anyone.
She reckons she rescued me, but if you ask me, i’m the one who did the rescuing.
Yeah, i was in a bad place, being trained to be a fighter, some thick as shit bloke, reckons he’s some sort of hard man, has me in a shed, kicks and punches me, trying to make me aggressive.
I’m just not that sort of dog, i mean, i’m not a pussy, i see a bitch i like, i can stand up for myself alright, but fighting, nah, its not me.
I like other dogs, want to play with them, play with the peoples, have a cuddle. But thats not what he wants and i feel his disappointment, his rage, but i just dont have the same anger in me.
So, i’m mostly in the shed, its dark and i’m lonely and sometimes i’ hungry too and then the she comes along, cropped hair, those army clothes, tough little face, looking for some battle, some war she can win and its love, love at first sight.
She picks me up, strokes me, her fingers are light, gently touching the cuts and scars, like i said i’m
not much good at fighting.
And i look into her eyes and i can see what she’s trying to hide, whats behind all her tough girl looks and i smile, that goofy staffy smile and she smiles back and takes me home.
Being with the she, well, its not always straightforward, sometimes, she forgets, forgets to take me out, blows all her money, doesn’t get dog food and sometimes she does things, things that scare me, things that make make me wish that i was back in that dark shed.
She cries and hurts herself, her arms have as many scars as my face, i don’t understand really, dogs we never hurt ourselves, why would we.
But afterwards, when she is curled up on the bed, i lie close to her and lick her arm as gently as i can, try and make it better, keep her safe, calm, be a good dog.