Brute

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

Simple, you would think. But the proof is in the pudding. And right now, my pudding is failing quicker than an amateur cook on the Great British Bake-off.

There was something inhumane about trying to bond through the metal links of the cage. In all my years working with rescues, no one had ever refused to let me in the room before.

I wondered what the poor beast had suffered. There’s no denying, he’s a brute, but that isn't his fault. His nature is all nurture, or lack thereof, that has been bread into him by the same bastards that pet him to rot in that ditch; I’m sure of it.

I look at his scars as he watches me warily, his eyes defeated. But there’s something there… hope, perhaps?

I try to usher him over with all the ‘here boys' and ‘hey sports’ I can muster. Leaning against the cage, I slowly manage to coax him closer with heartfelt reassurance.

I pull out my secret weapon, a deliciously delectable dog treat. My heart warms as he takes it; his haunted eyes staring back at mine. I nod, letting him know I understand. He can trust me. I am safety. I am love. His tail begins to wag, and I am sold.

Checking the corridor to confirm our solidarity, I slide the lock back and open the door.

His demeanour changes instantly, stopping me in my tracks. He's smiling oddly, with an almost savage satisfaction. Suddenly baring his teeth, he growls. I edge backwards, but it’s too late... He's airborne, his weight slamming into my body, forcing me to the ground. His hot breath engulfs me as his jaws open and crunch down across my face, tearing flesh from bone.