They threw me out the car like I was trash still breathing. I rolled up to the curb, breath cut, leash wrapped around my neck so tight, every move it slit my throat. My name is Norman, and I haven’t forgotten that door slamming sound while I screamed without a sound coming out.

It was raining cold then nothing Just dust, hot bitumen and my dry tongue sticking to my teeth. I tried to follow the smell of those who raised me, but my legs were shaking too much. My stomach was biting me from hunger. My necklace had already cut its skin, and as I pulled to free myself, I felt something give way on my snout. After that, the blood dried into a white line that still burns when I close my eyes.

Cars were going by so fast Some were slowing down. No one was stopping. I ended up hiding under a van, convinced that the next hand would be even worse than the last. When someone finally crouched in front of me, I accidentally showed my teeth. Not out of anger. Out of a panic. I was a German Shepherd puppy, yes, but I was mostly a terrified baby who didn’t understand why he was dumped like that.

The wife didn’t try to catch me at once. She put a blanket on the floor, stepped back, and talked to me like I still mattered to someone. I stayed frozen for too long. Then the smell of food threw fear. I crawled up to her, belly on the ground, ready to flee at the slightest abrupt gesture. When she put her fingers behind my ears, I shook my whole body.

Today I’m sleeping on a couch, with a full pot and a soft light left on for me. I am told that I am saved Yet some nights, I suddenly wake up, heart raging, convinced to still hear this engine leaving without me. And for a second, before I felt the reassuring hand, I became that little puppy we had decided to forget.