Foolish April Challenge: ANTHROPOMORPHISATION

Puppyhead

Puppyhead lost a foot and a half of gut and the rainbow is shimmering too close for comfort. ‘No comfort, just darkness,’ he says, eyes low and suffering. Even I can’t compare with that.

I tell him when he pulls through, good boy, we’ll both have scars. The pain comes from someplace in his eyes. ‘I don’t think there’s much wrong with him if he can walk,’ he’d heard. I’d heard it too. My fists have been clenched ever since.

We can’t sleep. ‘It's because I’m full of holes,’ he says, shivering. I pull a blanket over us, him in the dog-bed, me on the floor, one arm curled around so I can feel the rise and fall, rise and fall.