Journal of an Unwanted Dog - Chapter One

A/N: This story revolves around my real dog, Milo...some events are real (this part isn't, though) and some parts really happened. I think you could tell what and what not.

Day One: 6 ½ months old

My mommy hurts.

She swiped me today across my face with her paw. She told me that I couldn’t show myself to the dogcatcher, or we’ll all be sorry. I’m sorry, mommy.

My sister’s a black shih-poodle, like me, except I’m white and cuter. J I call her Gwen. She is four months older than me.

So, today Gwen and I went over to Digger’s Dump when mommy was out with daddy to get food. Digger’s Dump is a junkyard for dogs, filled with broken squeaky toys and moldy furniture. Humans drop off old doggie stuff there. Thank you, humans!

Gwen sort of digs in there, looking for some chew toy we could bring home. Then I sort of dig in there, too. I find a messed up purple squeaky monster with bright green polka dots. I put it in my mouth and wait for Gwen.

Five minutes later, I hear a honkin' of a car. Then I hear the bumping of a car against the cobblestone road. I know how to read (for we learn that in morning home school), so when I see a small, tan-ish truck with white lettering, I know what the sign says.

"Gwen," I yelp, "Hurry! The dogcatcher is coming!"

She stops digging for a moment and gets up. "Run, Milo!" she squeals, and we rush behind the ripped-up chair. Luckily, the trucker doesn't see us. When we get up to go back to digging, Gwen howls, for her claw was tangled in the loose string of the chair. The truck stops - we stop. I yelp - the truck backs up.

"Come on, Gwen! You could do it!"

"I...I can't! It's stuck there!"

"Come on, just hurry! The dogcatcher is near!"

Finally, with a good hard yank, Gwen pulls out her claw and tumbles on her back.  I see that her paw is bleeding severely. "Gwen!" I scream. The dogcatcher withdraws a net and was ready to put it down, when Gwen pounces out. She whines, and her paw pours out more blood.

"God darn it," the catcher yells. "Stupid mutts!"

He runs to catch up with me and Gwen, who are in the corner of Digger's Dump. We roll out of sight and tear off, leaving the dogcatcher scratching his head and thinking, where in Earth could those dogs have gone?

When we arrive at home (the corner of the street, the gated dirt part of town), we find mommy and daddy home. They have a mad scowl on their face. Daddy has burnt barbeque in front of him.

“Milo, Gwen, we are very, very disappointed in both of you,” daddy says softly. He does not know how to yell at pups like us. Mommy clears her throat and belts out, “you are to stay home for the rest of the week, no trailblazing out in the city there. And Milo – that’s what I get for naming you a measly cat’s name. I should have just let you go, like the rest of the litter.”

Mommy glanced at Gwen’s bleeding paw. Gwen was lying down, paw still drenched with blood. “Mom…I don’t feel so well,” she remarks weakly. Mommy looks at daddy. “Bandit, get the wrap stored in the box. Milo…go sit in the corner.”

I reluctantly stay in the dirty corner. Daddy hands mommy a bandage, and she wraps it around Gwen’s paw. She is whimpering by then.

When mommy leaves Gwen to re-coop-rate, she bolts toward me. I cower, but she is standing right in front of me, head tilted.

“Milo…! I am very mad at you. Was this your idea?” She never gave me time to answer. Now, this was the time I mentioned in the beginning. I’m going to repeat it now:

She swiped me today across my face with her paw. She told me that I couldn’t show myself to the dogcatcher, or we’ll all be sorry. I’m sorry, mommy.

It hurt. She left me in the corner, as an unwanted pup. I am writing – more like pawing – this on the far dirt part near home. I will now call this…let’s say…the journal of an unwanted dog.

And that’s the beginning, now.