Writer's Cramp: Bite Me

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Prompt: Write about getting bitten.

I’m chewing on a tough rawhide and softening it with saliva, when the plan comes to me. I scratch a floppy ear with my hind leg quickly as I think. I don’t like Don, and I plan to get rid of him. He smells bad, he’s mean, and he makes Missy sad. Ooh! I just found one of Missy’s socks. Score! It’s damp and smells of sweat, just how I like it. I toss it over my head and bat at it.

Oh, boy. The wet sock sticks to Don’s hairy leg. He peels it off and throws it in my general direction. “Scram!” he yells.

Don yells a lot.  Even though I am a bichon and don’t shed, he apparently still finds little white hairs on his work pants. Of course, that’s my fault. Or he finds me trying to sneak into the bed (where I used to sleep all the time before he came along) and kicks me out with a lot of swear words. I don’t even know why he yells at Missy ever. She is so amazing.

After most of these one sided shouting matches, she ends up crying. Sometimes, she ends up talking to me about how much this upset her and pets me as she cries. I lick her nose and that cheers her up once in a while, but not always. The last straw, however, was last night when he punched her in the face. I can already see the skin around her eye swelling and darkening. I am so distraught that I even forget to lick her nose. I wish I had done something then, but it all happened so fast.  I promise myself that the next time he pulls something like this, he is gone.

It’s now early morning, and Missy is in the bathroom, dabbing on some makeup over the black eye. It appears that Don is not completely finished with his evening fun, as I hear him crashing around in the kitchen, probably looking for a drink in the refrigerator. I think part of his smell comes from all the beer that he drinks on a daily basis. There used to be plenty of carpet for me to scratch my back on, but it’s now covered in beer bottles. Missy tries to keep it clean but she works a lot these days. After all, she has to support Don, who just became unemployed.

“I don’t know what to do, Toby,” she whispers to me. “I can’t go on like this for much longer. But he’ll kill me if I run away.”

It’s true that he’s told her this on several occasions. Although I doubt that he has enough brain cells to figure out where she’s gone, Missy certainly believes he can.

Suddenly, the bathroom door slams open. “You look hot,” Don slurs, staggering towards her with groping hands.

I growl at him for the first time. I previously just hoped that Missy would get rid of him eventually, but it’s obvious that she’s too scared to do anything. I can understand her feeling that way; my paws are trembling underneath me.

Don lifts his head and laughs uproariously. “Look, Missy, your itty bitty white dog thinks it can intimidate me. What a stupid runt!”

That’s enough. I lunge at him and bite him hard on the ankle. I am careful to do it over his jeans so that I don’t draw blood. I don’t want to end up in an animal control shelter. I’m sure I left a bruise though. Blech. He tastes awful.

Don screams like a little girl and hops on one foot. “Ahhhh! What the hell is wrong with your dog?!”

Missy looks at me with her eyes glowing with pride, and for the first time since Don has entered her life, I see a flame of hope. “The real question is what is wrong with you, Don,” she says, pointing a hard finger in his chest. He stumbles backwards and looks back and forth between her and me. “Get out of here, and I never want to see you again. I’m calling the cops on you if you come by again and I’m getting a restraining order.” A few more hard pushes on the chest, and Don is shoved out of the apartment.

“What about my clothes?” his voice has become shrill and whiny.

“Buy some new ones after you get a job,” Missy says, and after a few moments, we hear thumps fading in the distance.

She looks at me and starts laughing. “I think you just saved my life!” she exclaims, picking me up and dancing with me. I bark happily, wagging my fluffy tail, and lick her on the nose.

Over the next several months, Missy really gets her life back on track. She cleans up the apartment, gets a restraining order (although she doesn’t need it, we never see Don again), and takes me on long walks again. She’s gone on a couple of dates, and I was hugely unimpressed by them. I growl at the guys, letting her know my opinion. She nods once, and she never goes out with them again.

She meets Jeremy next, and I sniff him cautiously. He smiles at me and scratches behind my ears. Ahhh, heaven.  He’s nice, polite, and smells good. I don’t growl, and Missy smiles. After several more dates, I’ve decided. He’s the one. That night, I jump into his lap, and lick his nose. “Awww, he must smell our dinner on me,” Jeremy exclaims.

Missy gives me a secret little smile because she knows what it actually means.

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