Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: rabid dogs

8/Sep/2013

The Rabid Dogs #7 – Group Hugs and the Sudden Feeling of Being Safe Again

His bite is worse, no matter what you think you know. You have only seen his tongue hanging out of his mouth, felt the room quiver when he puts his rumbling stomach to the floor. You haven’t felt his teeth in you, and maybe that’s why I hone my teeth. I hit him once and he just smiled an escalating smile at me. Psychologists can cure everything. And I have honed my teeth and picked up a hammer. Today’s the day I get him fixed. I make an appointment with a psychologist. Then I finally bash that dog’s brains in.

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7/Sep/2013

The Rabid Dogs #6 – The Mutt, the Mouse, and the Mule

The hobby psychologist enters. She takes his coat.

The dog has a grimace that I think is supposed to be a smile, all teeth and dribble glistening from the sides of his Winston Churchill cheeks.

She has painted a clownface over her features; there is a frown inside a smile. She tries to make the frown unseeable.

Teeth sharp now, I practice smiling in front of the mirror. Is this a mouse smile?

He takes one look at the dog, then, after all this. “Looks fine to me,” he says, pats him on the head, and leaves without his coat.

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6/Sep/2013

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.

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5/Sep/2013

The Rabid Dogs #4 – Taurobolium

Bull’s meat is consumed at the top of the stairs

The  butcher has been told to leave the blood in

Juices run, in familiar grooves, down these steps

Trauma bonds us, it binds us, I have never felt closer

than when she picks me up to shield me from the blood and

her camel back breaks, I am in her arms, I feel the spine snap

Every vertebrae clicks out of place, and her screams scale the stairs

where they are met with growling and finely honed teeth and drooling

I want my teeth honed

I am already angrily drooling

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4/Sep/2013

The Rabid Dogs #3 – The Cellar Door is an Open Throat

My friends will always say, if they say anything at all, There are ways of gentrifying them without getting them fixed, you know. They cite studies. Psychologists, and psychiatrists, can do amazing things. He just needs to talk to someone. I lower my voice and I lean in and I tell them that I don’t care. I just want it to be over. The house is stained with testosterone, bull’s blood and saliva. No. I take their hands and I smile and I thank them, I let go of their hands and I say: Tomorrow we will get him fixed.

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3/Sep/2013

The Rabid Dogs #2 – Shepard Tone

She lies.

He bites me and draws blood. She becomes furious. She says this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Though she feels more like a mule.

She says the fixer-men will come tomorrow, all hazmat suits and goggles, and they will restrain him. It will be a quick procedure, painless, she says.

She has this way of always taking it to the next level, without moving at all. It’s this ever-escalating false pitch that always sounds like it goes up however many times you hear it.

Yes, for serious, for real: tomorrow we will get him fixed.

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2/Sep/2013

The Rabid Dogs #1 – Tomorrow We Will Get Him Fixed

There is a rabid dog living in the basement; tomorrow we will get him fixed. She says so week after week, picking up vase after broken vase. Tomorrow we will get him fixed, and he will stop biting me, and we can take him outside. It will be good for him. She speaks like that, like living terrified of the Cujo under our house is just a minor nuisance. We soliloquize; dogs have good hearing, don’t they? I wouldn’t know, I am just a mouse. I feel the vibrations in the floorboards. Tomorrow’s the day we will get him fixed.

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