17 years ago a dog was born. It was named Allen, after Clive Allen. Allen was the runt of the litter but was a fighter.
Even though he was the runt, he was the first of his doggy brothers and sisters to be picked out by the West family and their young son Timmy, who was blind. Or rather Allen chose them. As soon as the West family walked in to the barn of the puppy farm, he could feel that Jimmy had disablements. Allen padded up to him and licked his blind little face, almost as if to say "hey, it's ok, human, it's ok."
As the years passed, Allen felt his and the boy's bond was growing stronger by the day. Allen would eat Timmy's food off his plate when he thought he was struggling. He would push chairs out of the way so Jimmy would fall to the floor, sometimes cracking his head. "I've seen children break their backs like that." Myra, the Mum, would laugh, thinking she sounded like a teacher, when really she was just a lowly dinner lady and sometimes prostitute. Allen knew though that Timmy wanted to be down on the floor with him.
Then, one day, a fed up, malnourished, crippled, blind Timmy, hobbled lamely into the local police station. He told the officer on duty of his horrible woes. Sergeant Murray put his strong hand on the boy's weak shoulder, looked him dead in the unseeing eyes, and laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed like the policeman in that song 'The Laughing Policeman' by Charles Jolly (the pseudonym of Charles Penrose). And then had him sectioned.
"Good dog", Myra and Fred said in unison when they heard the news. They hated that little bastard kid.
You know, if you share one of those heartfelt true tales on Facebook? Just Google it first, chances are it's a crock of shit (italics, fuck you Facebook).
No comments:
Post a Comment