Fluffy Little Freak

A Monologue

It’s not like I ever liked that dog. I won’t miss him. I didn’t even choose him, if I wanted a dog bothering me all day and eating my food I would have got something strong. A muscled monster of a thing to scare everyone away. A Pit Bull. My uncle had a whole horde of pit bulls, always took them to the dog fights on saturdays. I was only a kid then and the fighters scared me, alright. The bitches didn’t though. They had dull, tired eyes and saggy bellies. They had the same scars as the fighters, but their fur was always falling out in tufts and caked in dust. 

This one though, my mutt, had chosen me. He wasn’t really a mutt either, he probably had a pedigree longer than the train line we traveled together. Some nosy little person told me that once. He said my mutt was a pomeranian, from Germany, and that he was really a very good example of the breed. One of the best he’d seen, perhaps. What did I care? All I knew was that this fluffy little freak had turned up one day, dragging a genuine leather leash behind him, and never left. Well not until a few days ago. He could be an amusing little thing, sometimes. He looked so comical with the puffball face and those tiny little ears. He made me look ridiculous, but he was pretty good for company. But I don’t miss him. Why should I? I was fine before he came, on my own.