My Dog is Dead but that’s Okay

Lulu.

When smashed bottles, screaming and bloody bruises became the normal in my childhood Lulu licked the darkness away.

She had bug-eyes, a flat face and short legs. Lulu, my dog. My bestfriend. I got bullied by other kids for owning such an exceptionally ugly dog, but the only ugliness I could see was in them.

When the drugs from my Mother's scantily-clothed friends entered our air Lulu wouldn't let them near me. She roared with her tiny body and growled with her sharp teeth, tearing into flesh when threats appeared. Who knows where my Mother went then.

Lulu bit just about everybody, including innocent kids at the park. She was wild. I guess she wasn't a bad dog for that, it must be confusing for a little animal when threats are in the home and outside appears safer.

I remember dark nights when I'd wake up crying, unable to move. Her small legs and wet nose would find me paralysed back then. Her little body and warm breath would keep me company back then. Usually I'd get bitten the next day if she was angry.

This little dog, Lulu, was my whole world. I spent all the pocket money I had to buy her treats, and medicines the shopkeepers recommended. Going home was easier because of her.

Lulu must be dead now, but that's okay.

She taught me what true love meant when I grew up in hell. I loved that mini demon, and my scars are love-bites from memory.

She might be gone, but in my heart I will never forget her until I'm in the ground ready to see her little body pounce on me, and hear her roaring bark again.

Or feel her bite me, that's just as likely.