Cujo
(stephen king)
Call me Cujo...however godforsaken a name it is, there is a philosophy to dying and even more so to those that are closer to death. I know I am going to die.Dogs that get rabies...God, how I hate that word, eventually get gunned down.
I guess this is a classic case of powerlessness. How in hell am I supposed to have known that there was an infected bat down in my favourite ferret hole?I have gotten over that bit when I felt downright scared for the first time...felt the first pangs of unknown fears...I didn't know that even dogs get palpitations.and when those few seconds when my heart raced ahead,I knew not what it was, but something my keepers refer to as fear.
I need help and I know it. and I am also beyond help. I know that because like humans dogs too have a racial memory ...and I understand that the disease is scrambling up my vital organs ...and my brain.Another thing actually... what bothers me the most, is that the children are frightened of me . And so their mother. I know I am not a pleasant sight...drooling and staggering about like some imbecile.
And let us not forget that I am a huge animal and I know that the children and their mother are also frightened of me because of my size...and more importantly, they can clearly discern that I am not in my senses.
The mother has for some reason locked herself up in her car and swings a baseball bat at me whenever I get closer.
I wouldn't even dream of attacking her.but there it is...
I know i will die very soon...but I wish that with all their ingenuity they could have done a better job of peering into the innards of a dog and devised something that could have cured me.
Now I have another fear to contend with.
Where am I headed and what will I find once I get there?
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- The Scars Of Love
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- Existence
- I Am Dead
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