The Pug

Her name was Linda.

She was 48 years old. Most people would tell her that she was still young, that she had so much life left to live.

They didn't realize that, what she couldn't say, was that in so many ways, she had already given up.

She was morbidly obese, and her health was failing. But it wasn't so much that. She was severely mentally ill, and the medication didn't do much to help. A life-long predisposition towards sadness and hopelessness was her fare in life, and it had never changed.

She lived with her beautiful 22 year-old daughter Vanessa and Vanessa's boyfriend Jason.

But Jason was emotionally and physically abusive to Vanessa. Linda had witnessed it herself countless times. The rage, Jason putting his hands on Vanessa… The ugly purple bruises his rage left behind.

And there was no true helplessness like that of seeing your child hurt and knowing there wasn't a thing you could do about it.

Because Vanessa would not leave Jason. No matter how much Linda begged her to.

One day, Jason began talking about how much he wanted a dog. This went on for about a week.

The next day, Linda was asleep in her bed.

But suddenly she felt something wet and warm against her cheek. She woke up to find, before her eyes, the most adorable sight she'd ever seen: a pure-bred pug puppy.

"I just bought her," Jason said to Linda. "Her name is Pretzel."

Linda snuggled close to the puppy’s warmth and softness. The puppy’s tongue darted in wet, hot swipes against her cheek and mouth. Linda could only revel in how soft and silky the puppy's fur was underneath her fingertips.

Jason gave Pretzel a bath. Afterwards, he instructed Linda to pat her dry. The puppy was shivering in her arms in the towel, but soon Linda was able to get her warm. Linda held the puppy against her chest, cooing to her and patting her gently on the back, rocking her back and forth like she did with Vanessa when she was a baby.

But Jason seemed angry.

“Don’t go getting close to my dog. She’s mine,” he barked menacingly. “Not yours. You spoil people, Linda. You spoiled Vanessa. I don’t want you spoiling my dog.”

Linda tried to pay him no mind.

But eventually, it happened.

She and Vanessa were watching TV in the bedroom. Jason was drinking. She suddenly heard him cry out, and then a loud slap ricocheted through the air. The puppy’s heartbreaking whimper could be heard all throughout the apartment.

Jason had hit the dog.

“Damn mutt! She was chewing on the computer wires!” he yelled.

And Linda collapsed into a fit of tears. She could do nothing but sit and cry. It was like every hurt in her life had culminated in that moment. She kept thinking of that warm, tiny body she had earlier patted to sleep on her breast. The blind trust and vulnerability of the small animal. The pinched, adorable face.

But nobody noticed Linda weeping. Tears slid hotly from her cheeks, and she wept alone. Jason was on the computer in the living room with the puppy, and Vanessa was too absorbed in the television program to notice that her mother was upset.

At some point, Jason came into the room.

“What’s wrong with you?” he spat at Linda.

“Nothing,” was all she could muster.

“Typical.” He had already associated her crying with one of her depressive modes, something he hated and made fun of regularly.

But Linda’s mind was already working.

The next day she arrived at the animal shelter with Pretzel in her arms. As the lady took the puppy from her arms, Linda sobbed uncontrollably. She didn’t know what she would tell Jason and Vanessa. She didn’t know what would happen to her.

But at least one soul would be spared Jason’s cruelty.