Teeth

I walk into the room. The little beast in the carrier is hissing and snarling at me. Learing angrily at me. Spit flying, teeth bright. Its owner, oblivious to the danger, they smile and talk about their day. I suggest gas anesthesia so we can properly examine their bundle of furry and they dissaprove. We hold her down and muzzle her with the thick leather gloves I hope her teeth won't penetrate to my soft flesh. We hold her snug and I push the cold hard steel into her neck, drawing back on the syringe, the dark blood flows.