Apparently, Dale would always sneak him out of the crate whenever I wasn't home. On the day Liam was bitten, he was in the living room, wanting to draw at the table. He pulled up a chair to sit down, unaware that there was a sleeping dog underneath it. The dog was startled and immediately lunged at him, biting his calf.
In the surveillance video, it bared its teeth, asserting itself as if it were the master of the house. My son was crying and sitting on the ground and my heart was shattered. If I had been firm about giving it away from the beginning, this wouldn't have happened. But now I can't dwell on blaming myself. Before my son passed away, I still wished to keep him, feeling remorse about kicking him, but now, I just want to skin it alive.
And those scoundrels, I vowed they would pay for their deeds. After the water had boiled for the fifth or sixth time, the door finally creaked open. Dale came back with the accursed dog in tow.
Dale walked in, put the dog in the room and left in a hurry. He didn't even take off his shoes. It was Sunday and Dale would be working tomorrow. He wouldn't want to spend his last day off at home and I suspected he would go play chess. Before leaving, he told me to get Rex some food.
“Don't worry, I'll feed him,” I assured, just before I heard the door slammed shut. It was time for me to get started. The damn dog seemed a bit uneasy since its return. It sniffed the air, looking defensive, as if warning me to stay away.
Knowing he had rabies, I put on my gloves before going inside. When I came out of my room, he was standing on the couch, peeing. The pee ran down into the cracks of the couch, imparting a pungent, foul odor. Trying to stay calm, I put his favorite canned food in the corner. It seemed like he knew there was medicine in his food because after sniffing it, he turned and trotted off. My patience ran out and I rushed over to grab him. He was sensitive and very agile. He turned his head so quickly to bite at my wrist. Reacting instinctively, I dodged to the side.