Black Dog
He is a scrawny little mongrel. A fierce bite on him though. He often indulges his teeth on my flesh, despite most people suggesting I simply stop letting him rip open my skin. It is not always as easy as it sounds. He has been following me for some time now. His bark gnaws away at the inside of my skull. "I don't know how you put up with his constant barking," they say, but sometimes silence means violence. I welcome his bark. I am used to it now and some days I don't even notice he is there. Those are my favourite days. Though usually, it is not a day, it is an hour, maybe two if I am lucky. Then he will pick up a scent, a rotten hint of something so minute the human nose cannot detect it. He will proceed to act on it, finding the source of the stench and tearing it to shreds. That is when I lose control. You see, I did not buy or adopt this dog. Nor was this wretched creature given to me as a present on Christmas morning.
