Luckily, I was prepared when I found myself over the weekend in a situation for which I’ve been waiting over 6 years. It concerns the hell-hound. I’ve never told anyone this, out of fear of being ratted out by one of my so-called “friends” to her, but I’ve been carrying a meat cleaver around for a long time, harboring hope that she would eventually let her guard down for just a split second and give me just the slightest chance to end her reign of terror.
That time came on Sunday, as we sat in
I didn’t even think. Had I hesitated even in the slightest, I’m sure the outcome of the next few seconds would have been far different. I reached behind me and grabbed the handle of the knife ever-so-smoothly, ninja-like, as I’d practiced in my mind countless times, and brought it down upon her neck as swiftly as a guillotine’s blade, ending at long last her cruel, brutal dominance over my entire existence:
Above: The lack of blood only reinforced my belief that she was not of this earth, but a beast from the bowels of hell.
The sad look in her eyes in the picture, at her end, gives me faith that, as she took her last breaths, she regained some part of whatever soul she once had, and somehow felt gratitude for being freed from satan’s shackles. It was as if, while shuffling off her mortal coil, she became once again just a simple puppy, longing only to chase rabbits, romp with the other dogs, and maybe get a little belly-scratching once in a while.
Shoulda thought of that earlier.
Note to my younger readers: That’s not a real knife; she just likes to dress up on Halloween. So dry your eyes, little ones, for the demon dog remains alive and well, my antagonist for many more years, I’m quite sure.