05-26-2014, 10:14 PM
Amber isn't the sort of person one wants in charge of another little life. It's not because she's surly or she's quick to anger or because of what she does or does not do for a living. It's not because of her lifestyle.
It's because she doesn't want to fucking look after anyone, okay?
And yet. Days pass and there is still a little dog in her little blue house. That first day after the tussle in the alley she went out and she got some food for it, and she got some food for its hunger. Small bag of Purina from Safeway. Still-bloody cuts of meat from the butcher down the street.
For most of that first day the animal stays in the bathroom, scratching at the door, whining, growling, barking at her through it I know you're there I know you're there LET ME OUT pleeeeeeeze let me out? One at a time she fills up bowls - a serving bowl full of water and a cereal bowl full of kibble - and manages to shove them past the door. Amber slams the door shut, turns to lean against the wall, and slides down to the floor where she sits until things get quiet, running her fingers through her bi-colored hair. How can something so small be so fucking horrible?
Eventually she's going to need her bathroom. Later that evening she leaves the house, goes to get whatever the fuck it looks like a little dog would need. The kennel she gets is for something much bigger. She gets a collar and a leash and a stake to drive into the ground of her small backyard. A salesperson asks if she needs anything but makes a hasty and immediate retreat when Amber whips around to glare at her. It doesn't help her mood any that the people who could offer her assistance all back away, but fuck them. And fuck that dog. And fuck everything.
When she gets home she is almost disappointed to find the place intact. No signs of forced entry no signs the dog miraculously dug itself a hole through the tiled floor or burst through the door to freedom. God damn it. Amber goes to let the little monster out and maybe grab it and wrestle it into a collar and hook a leash onto that collar before dragging the little thing out to the backyard.
Where she leaves it staked so it can do it's fucking business and get some fucking sunshine or whatever the fuck it is little dogs she could easily drop kick two blocks away need. She takes the time to set up the crate - metal wiring with a double-door to get the dog in and out to reduce the chances a particularly smart animal will work itself free to terrorize the trash.
Amber isn't worried about the dog terrorizing her trash, she's worried about waking up with it gnawing on her leg while she's trying to fucking sleep. For the duration of the monster's stay in her care she won't be returning to home base.
She goes out to get it and bring it inside and finds its managed to catch itself a bird. There are feathers and blood everywhere this is going to be fucking fantastic.
"C'mon, you little asshole," she says, and prepares to drag the dachshund back inside.
Amber is not the sort of person wants in charge of another little life. Unless, maybe, that little life is a hardy little vitae-addict like herself.
It's because she doesn't want to fucking look after anyone, okay?
And yet. Days pass and there is still a little dog in her little blue house. That first day after the tussle in the alley she went out and she got some food for it, and she got some food for its hunger. Small bag of Purina from Safeway. Still-bloody cuts of meat from the butcher down the street.
For most of that first day the animal stays in the bathroom, scratching at the door, whining, growling, barking at her through it I know you're there I know you're there LET ME OUT pleeeeeeeze let me out? One at a time she fills up bowls - a serving bowl full of water and a cereal bowl full of kibble - and manages to shove them past the door. Amber slams the door shut, turns to lean against the wall, and slides down to the floor where she sits until things get quiet, running her fingers through her bi-colored hair. How can something so small be so fucking horrible?
Eventually she's going to need her bathroom. Later that evening she leaves the house, goes to get whatever the fuck it looks like a little dog would need. The kennel she gets is for something much bigger. She gets a collar and a leash and a stake to drive into the ground of her small backyard. A salesperson asks if she needs anything but makes a hasty and immediate retreat when Amber whips around to glare at her. It doesn't help her mood any that the people who could offer her assistance all back away, but fuck them. And fuck that dog. And fuck everything.
When she gets home she is almost disappointed to find the place intact. No signs of forced entry no signs the dog miraculously dug itself a hole through the tiled floor or burst through the door to freedom. God damn it. Amber goes to let the little monster out and maybe grab it and wrestle it into a collar and hook a leash onto that collar before dragging the little thing out to the backyard.
Where she leaves it staked so it can do it's fucking business and get some fucking sunshine or whatever the fuck it is little dogs she could easily drop kick two blocks away need. She takes the time to set up the crate - metal wiring with a double-door to get the dog in and out to reduce the chances a particularly smart animal will work itself free to terrorize the trash.
Amber isn't worried about the dog terrorizing her trash, she's worried about waking up with it gnawing on her leg while she's trying to fucking sleep. For the duration of the monster's stay in her care she won't be returning to home base.
She goes out to get it and bring it inside and finds its managed to catch itself a bird. There are feathers and blood everywhere this is going to be fucking fantastic.
"C'mon, you little asshole," she says, and prepares to drag the dachshund back inside.
Amber is not the sort of person wants in charge of another little life. Unless, maybe, that little life is a hardy little vitae-addict like herself.