The greyhound sentenced me to death. A pitbull sheriff had brought me in the other night. I can’t be sure what I’d done wrong. All I know is I was searching through the garbage for some food a Chihuahua family threw away when a Pomeranian had spotted me. Its bark rang out across the city, alerting the authorities. A human on the streets must be up to no good.
Bulldog guards ran from all directions to pin me down. I was dragged to a rickety, wood wagon. From there, a team of haggard humans pulled it forward. Whenever anyone of them slowed down they were bitten and scratched quite brutally.
I can’t remember much after that. My head had hit a tire rim. All I recall is waking inside a dank cell with forty other humans. Occasionally a mastiff passed outside on patrol.
The humans appeared famished and dehydrated. Some had wounds from fights they had gotten into with each other. Any food provided apparently was fought for brutally.
I didn’t have an owner; things looked grim.
In seventy-two hours a volunteer Dachshund would administer lethal injection. Some did not even make it that far, being dragged off mere hours after arrival. Even if their masters had come, they stood little chance against the odds.
Twenty-four hours passed. I had gotten a few bites of food that fell from a stronger human’s mouth.
Forty-eight hours passed. The only drink I had was sweat and what dripped off after others had secured their share of water. They had no compassion to share.
Seventy-one, seventy-one-and-a-half, seventy-one-and-three-quarters… I was granted a hearing. They were to determine if I was fit for adoption. A pug-child and her mother had thought I looked endearing.
The trial commenced. My lawyer was a Cocker Spaniel named Toby. He was black with a white chest and seemed largely indifferent to my plight.
“The court is now in session,” said a Great Dane atop his chair.
“This human,” began Toby “is an innocent dim-witted creature but deserves the compassion of those far better.”
I thought more was coming but that was all he said. Evidence passed from the prosecution to the judge in the mouth of a Newfoundland bailiff. He looked it over with a countenance inspiring little confidence.
“Let the record show,” a chocolate Labrador stated, “This human was roaming the streets without proper tags. He could have given innocent families any amount of disease or injury in his confused state. The only rational course is execution. I ask the jury to see the wisdom of our laws and not cave to outlandish emotional displays from the defense.”
“I believe,” said the judge, “he intended no harm. Therefore, I’m releasing him into the custody of –“
He never finished. A messenger came in to tell the judge the girl had picked another human. And I, out of time with no prospective buyers was strapped to a cold desk where the needle pierced my arm, sending me to darkness.