The topic for our Provincial English Exam in January was "fairness". Today I went in to get a copy of what I had wrote and received full marks on. Thought I would share it with everyone.
Because I Grew Old
The dim lights that come on every morning barely lit the room. Every day in here was the same. I felt cold, hungry, alone and scared. In front of me metal bars barred my view. The view of another abandoned soul. The rest of my view contained grey cement walls.
At night, there was a loud silence and bitter cold to this place. During the day, mournful cries filled the air. There was the feeling of thick, humid air, the smell of feces, and death.
Many times throughout the day strangers walked by, staring in at me. They scared me. I moved myself to the back of my cell and curled up in the corner. They just shook their heads and walked away. Other times, I was brought “fresh” food. It was bitter, tasteless, and made me ill.
Life wasn’t always this way for me. I once was loved. I had a warm home. Until I grew old. I suppose I became useless to them. They kicked me out the door and told me to “go”. Go where? They sounded so angry. I was scared and confused. I didn’t know what I had done wrong, but I would do anything to make things right. Was it because I was too tired to play anymore? Or because I had accidents waiting for you to let me out? I remember sitting by the door thinking that maybe they would let me back in. They never did. After awhile, a large white van drove up and a man got out. He walked over to me slowly. Maybe he was going to let me back in! I bounded over to him. I was so excited! Until I felt something tightly grip around my neck. He dragged me to the van and through me into a small cage. And now here I am.
More strangers walk by and look in, but quickly turn and leave. One comes to my cell alone, though, and doesn’t leave. I stay curled in my cold corner. She opens the door, comes in and sits down a distance from me. She stretches out her arm. Inside her hand, she holds a piece of food. It smells so good. But can I trust her? I look deep into her eyes and she looks in to mine. I think I can trust this one. I stand and cautiously make my way toward her. She keeps her eyes locked with mine. I gently take the food from her hand. As I lick my lips, she moves her hand over my head and loops something around my neck. I quickly remember the last time and start to pull away, but quickly pause. This does not hurt. She turns and walks out of the cell, holding it open for me as I slowly make my way out of the cell I have so long been confined to. Together we make our way down the aisle, pairs of sad eyes watching us from both sides. They are not all old eyes, though. Some are those of babies. What wrong could such a young one do?
When we reach the end of the aisle, she kneels and wraps her arms around me. I feel wet drops fall onto my face. When she pulls away, her eyes hold tears, while others escape down her cheeks.
Together again, we enter a brightly lit room. She picks me up and places me in a soft, warm bed raised off the floor and takes the lead from around my neck. She leaves for a moment. I allow myself to relax. She returns moments later with another lady. The first one hugs me and tells me she is sorry; that it is not fair such a bad thing should have to happen to such a good dog. I feel a gentle prick, but the warm embrace and comforting words keep me relaxed.
Then the other gives me a pat on the head and tells me I am a very good boy, too. He leaves the room. I have the feeling of wet drops on my body again and look up into her eyes, once more. The tears again are escaping down her cheeks. I lift my head and give a kiss on the nose. She laughs a little and more tears escape. I then lay my head back down on the soft bed and close my eyes. She tells me she loves me. I curl up closer to her. I love her, too. I take a deep breath, my last one, and drift into a peaceful sleep.
© Jessica Hansen
January 2008
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Originally Posted by Thomas Jefferson
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