Back when I was just a boy about the age of seven, I like most children had a dog. His name was Mac, he was a wonderous little black poodle with a personality so birght and alive it was sure to bring up the mood of any gloomy guss, or negitive nancy. His eyes as black as a starless night sky showed great amounts of caring and compation. His little bark was as cute and his nose and his goofy smile whenever he would lay down on his back, Mac was very protective, often barking at passing cars and rondom stranges going for a jog, or bike ride. Mac pranced around with his chest puffed out in pride as he pranced around the house as if he were the owner of the house hold. Yes that was my dog, yes indeed that was my little Mac.
As the never ending tick tok of the clock ensured the passing of time, my little boy and I grew older. I became busy with friends and after school activities, and Mac well... Mac stayed in the yard, still keeping watch over the family. I still attempted to love on little Mac every chance I got and made sure to schedule in play time during the busy week. I started to notice his little body becoming fragile and his movements slower, I saw that how just an act of getting up to eat his food became a chore. I always thought he was just tired or feeling sad. Apart of me began to thing he didnt love me anymore, or I became a bad owner.
It was when I was about eleven that it finally happened. I came home from a playful educational day of school, to see my little Mac was not on his bed, nor was he in my room. I went into the kitchen were mother was cooking my favorite dinner (Tacos and rice) and she greeted me with a smile with a look in her eyes that I could tell she was hiding something. I asked her where Mac was and she quickly changed the topic, ¨How was school sweetie¨? I looked at her noting the slight horseness in her voice before I repeated myself, ¨Mother, where is little Mac¨? She looked at me with a smile that was like a mask and the face of dread was slightly peeking out of the sides. ¨H-he went with your father on a ride¨. I got a funny feeling in my stomach, almost making my feel as if I was going to be sick all over the floor. ¨He will be back right¨? She looked at me as if she was looking through me not at me, I must have had a pretty scepticle look on my face. ¨Yes, our little Mac should be back with you father¨. I felt a slight relief, but the feeling still sat in the lower pit of my stomach, and settled in, not planning to go anywere and time soon.
I sat and ate my dinner hoping to smother the horrid feeling with food, it was maybe an hour or two later that my father returned. I didn't even greet him, didint even give his existance any thought, I ran past and looked out side for my little Mac. ¨Where is he, where is Mac¨? I demanded with a worriesome tone that promised tears. They looked at each other and back at me, both with a rather dreadful look on thier faces. My father spoke ¨Son, we need to talk, why don't you go up to your room and we will be up there shortly¨. The feeling grew slowly taking over my stomach and making me sick and a little light headed. ¨Okay¨. I said to them trying to keep a strong look on my face.
When I got to my room I sat down on my bed and looked at the corner where Mac used to lay down. A montage of memories danced though my head of all the good times, his goofy smile to his little bark. Looking back at it now he was my best friend, I told him all of my deepest secrets and shared meals with him. A part of me felt empty, as if it broke off and died, shrived up and decayed. I tried to keep a positive thought, maybe he was getting medicen to make him move better, or maybe he is getting groomed and he will come home all nice and clean, ready to play.
After what felt like an eternity my mother and father walked in my room and slowly closed my door. Before I could spek my dad spoke, ¨Son, what we are about to tell you isn't easy to say, Mac was an old dog, you saw how hard it was for him to move, and you knew he wasn't going to be around forever...¨"I broke in, ¨Dad, I'm not a kid, you don't have to sugar coat anything¨. I spoke with aragane and bravery but the feeling took over my stomach and was hurting my chest were my heart was. My dad began again, ¨okay son, I had to put your dog down, Mac is dead¨. My mother wasn't looking at my face and my father was trying as hard as I was to keep a straight face. The feeling was to much, a wave of bile and tears over came me, orange liquid with chunks of dinner flowed from my mouth, and tears ran down like little rivers over my bright red face. My mother held me as my father rushed to get towles and tissues.
After about an hour of crying and an occosional vomit attack I layed on my bed, with both parents beside me. They apologized a million times it felt like and I eventually forgave them, well atleast I told them I did. After a fake smile and a few kisses they left my room, I sat on my bed staring out of the window. The sun was setting and a golden orange painted the sky, I looked up to the clouds wich were still white with brillant touches of yellow and thought to myself that it couldnt be over, he cant really be dead, my little Mac is out there somewhere waiting for me, howling and crying for my arrival. I sat there for what must have been hours, finally fully hid its face behind the moutain tops leaving the sky a black table cover wich someone had spilt salt on, my parents walked back in and held me. ¨Its time for bed sweety¨. My mother shown her kindest voice in years, ¨Come on champ lay down¨. my father spoke softly as he patted my head, ¨Mother, Father... can you show me where you burried him tomorrow? So i can say goodbye¨. I put on my best sad voice which wasnt that had given my depression. They both answered ¨Yes, now get some sleep¨. ¨Alright i will¨. They kissed me and left, the door creeked as they slowly shut it. I laid my head down and shut my eyes, I didnt take me long to fall asleep.
The entire night I had nightmares of the different ways my father could have killed my little Mac, scenes on my dad putting a bullet in his head, or slitting open his stomach and slowly pulling out his intestins while he wimpers for me to help, my father laugh and tells me if i move the same will happen to me. Id awake in a cold sweat, heart racing, and out of breath only to go back to bed to see my father choke my dog to death, or beat my little Mac with his fists until he is an unreconiziable pile of meat. Everytime I woak up I quietly weeped into my pillow with the images burned into my skull I didnt think i could take it.
When the morning came I felt even more drained then before I fell asleep, my eyes hrusted almost shut from the dried tears, mucuse and drool stained my pillow case while a deep wet spot of ice cold sweat covers the area where my body laid, and the scenec still played through my head like a movie stuck on repeate. The only thing getting me out of bed was seeing my dogs grave and saying goodbye to my little Mac. I showered and scurried down the stairs, both my parenrs sat waiting for me already ready. The time was about ten thirty in the afternoon. No words were really said besides small talk, I didnt wanna say a word to them more than I had to and they knew it. The drive was about twenty minutes until we reached a small clearing in a small neck of woods outside of town. We all got out and walked over to a still freshly covered patch of land where my dog laid. I sat down next to the pile and patted it and spoke softly, ¨Goodbye my bestfriend, goodbye my little Mac¨.
The rest of that day was a blur of crying in my room and charished memories I shared with my deseaced loved one. I dont recall eating that entire day nor leaving my room besides to use the bathroom, when ever my parents entered I shut them out and eventually they gave up. I changed my bed spread myself and prepared myself for another night of horrid nightmares. As I layed there that night I began to be bumbarded with waves of denial. Voices in my head began telling my Mac was still alive, he had to be, he in underground right now slowly dying and I was the only one who could save him. I began to panic wondering what it was I should do, My heart told me to go to him and rescue him, my brain told me to do the same, so I opened my window and leaped onto the ground below. Something snapped or chacked but I was to focused on saving Mac to really notice it. I ran, I ran for what sempt like hours with no rest. I had to save him, I had to save my Litle Mac.
After what seemed to be endless running I finally reached the pile where he was burried, not feeling any reprocssions from the long distance i had sprinted with a possibly shattered bone I began to dig. I clawed at the dirt vigeriously driving my hands through the soft and hard dirt. My finger nails slpit from hitting hidden rocks and the dirt quickly found its way into the fresh wounds making every finger movement horribly painful. I kept digging until I found what I imagine pirites find when they come across a treasure chest. I found my little Mac, his corpse was in a trash bad covered in rock salt, I dug my hand in to scoop him up ignoring the burning sensation from the salt on the nubs that used to have nice healthy finger nails protecting them. I ripped open the bag with my teeth and the stench of decay shot up my nose which caused bile to erupt from my stomach all over my shirt. I pulled Mac out and admired his body, a bullit hole was found in his nose and exited his stomach, He started losing hair and tiny piss ants swarmed his body. I Pulled him close and gave him a big hug and pressed my lips against his rotten teeth giving him a sloppy kiss. I wanted a kiss back... I missed Mac's kisses, I tried to gentaly open his mouth which only caused his bottom jaw to fall off into my lap exposing more little ants exploring his mouth and throat. I Presses my noes and my cheeks against his toung wich now felt like sand paper and crumbled a little upon impact. I Pressed my lips against his toung causing it to fall off and i smiled to the heavens for I was once again with my little Mac.
I missed how we played, I laid down on my back outting Mac on top of me and began to bet his fur watching it fall off and the incects scurry away. I pressed my head against his and told him how much of a good boy he was, and how much I loved him. I flung his corpse and watched it tumble. ¨Good boy Mac roll over again¨. I would say before throwing him again. I sat him on his back and gave him tummy rubs and blew into his belly, at one point i believe I cracked one his his little ribs. I grabbed sticks and tried to throw them into his now forever opened mouth, which caused his nose to split, leaving one half dangling.
Before I could play with my little Mac any longer I saw dright beams of headlight in the distance. I grew upse knowing it was my parens. I didnt want this special time with Mac to end, I grabbed a rock and lobbed it as hard as I could. Going through the windshield it struck my father in the chest causing a sudden stop. They both exited the car and before they got to me i grabbed Mac's tounge and bottom jaw. When they got to me they were absoultey apauled at the sight that was sitting begore them. Their song covered in dirt and ants with a swolen foot and missing all fingernails, The bottom of my feet where split and had ricked lauged in them from the sprint here. My father Spoke while my mother Picked me up, ¨Son what the hell do you think you are doing out here, and why is Mac out of his grave¨? I laughed and smiled ¨Mac is still alive he is just sleeping now, we were playing earlier¨. They looked at eachother and back at me and took me home, leaving the body of my little Mac uncovered and exposed.
The next few months consisted of hours of therpy and an endledd shower of pills of all different shapes and sizes. I was pulled out of school for showing a little girl Mac's Bottom jaw and began to rub it on my face before putting in on hers. That was taken away and I was not allowed within one hunderd and fifty feet of that girl or the school grounds. Through it all I still kept his toung that evenually turned into a deacyed pile I could rub on my face everynight before bed. I was never allowed to leave my house without supervision,this was because a few days after they found me a went out and drowned our neighbors dog in his water dish while they were at work, and a few hours later I hammered a nail through another dogs head, my logic was if I cant have my best friend, nobody can have theirs.
When I turned the age of sixteen I was sent to saint Monicia's insane aslyume where I was locked up in until the age of twenty three I never forgot about my last encounter with Mac and how i wish I could go back to how things were before his died. When releaced I started working at vet offices where I would put down the animals Every animal I put down I felt as if i was a little closer to Mac in some strange way, but the job didnt last long when the people started finding out their dogs tounge was missing. After being fired and having lost all contact with my parents I began going from town to town as a begger, on the side i still murdered small dogs and cut out their tounges blessing it to the heavens in hopes it would make it me little Mac's tounge, until I was finally caught again. I was sentence to ten years prision which quickly got bumped up to death row after I rapped my cell mate and cut out his tounge to add to all the dog tounges I collected over the years that I managed to sneek in by shoving them in my anus one by one with a small wooden stick. I am currently in isolation with only one week seperating me from lethal injection. I am telling you all of this so you know that I will finall be mith my little Mac when they stick that needle in me and I close my eyes with no regretes, Ill be going to him, my best friend.. My little Mac.