The Rabid Dogs #5 – Who’s the Coward Now?
He fell asleep with his face on a pillow in the middle of the room, white down feathers are everywhere. I’m at the bottom of the stairs with his bowl of water and my perpetual white flag. I brought a pair of shears.
I could grab hold of his teeth. I could fix him, and he would feel a surge of testosterone, the last his body could muster, and he would punish me with his last furious bites.
In the end I bite my tongue until I can taste the rust of those shears, and I go back to bed.