trevor barke. ten. fin
Sept 21, 2021 12:34:59 GMT -5
Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Sept 21, 2021 12:34:59 GMT -5
trevor barke
eighteen
eighteen
Sammie is the love of my life.
Next to the dogs, of course.
But I love Sammie. I love the way she makes sure every single dog - from the biggest St Bernard to the smallest Pug - gets a bowl of food. Her golden hair that glistens in the sunlight and the red-and-black checkered flannels. The way that she smells. I love her caring nature and how she immediately runs to the aide of anything that breathes, like small children who fear the bigger dogs. How she walks them through this fear, showing that no matter their size, they're a friend. I could go endlessly about the things about her that make her so astronomically beautiful to me, but I shouldn't bother. Because she doesn't love me. She says that I'm like a brother to her after working together so long.
Boo-hoo, am I right?
What a joke.
I tell Johnathan that he shouldn't let me go on those spurs of Samsessions. I need to get over her - if I was going to be just a coworker, just a brother, I can't waste my time talking about her. And I'm trying. But god, look at her- right, right. Not supposed to be talking about her. Sorry. Sammie and I work at a dog shelter together. We started at around the same age, thirteen or so. I originally volunteered because mom was tired of me being in the house so often."You need to get out more!""You need to start working out!"
And her favorite,
"You're about as damn white as the Peacekeeper uniforms!" She did not like the peacekeeper uniforms, she thought the white was misleading. White was the color of heaven, the color of safety and praise and all sorts of good things. Everyone likes the white swan. The peacekeepers and the terror they put into the citizens of Panem are no swan. They're no saviors. She thinks they'd fit better in black, or red. Something the devil would support. Personally, I think they'd look even better if they just weren't carrying guns, but maybe that's just me. And the dogs. I hear low growls whenever I'm walking a few of them and a peacekeeper walks by. He would wield his gun at the growls, causing them to stop and me to usher them along. I didn't feel that bad. What do I owe him? Certainly not my life. I've never been in a situation where I'd call for them over than an angry rottweiler.
Anyway, I started working at this dog shelter. Roughly 30-40 pups and dogs stuffed in there and they were looking for more help to take care of them. I applied because I wasn't looking to clean up cow poop or toss hay. Sammie also applied to the shelter - she was trying to find a way to get some extra cash. Her sister was kicked out of the house after a teenage pregnancy and she's trying to help support her new niece. I felt a bit guilty for not having an actual reason to be working, but hey, I could just say I wanted to provide the pups with a friendly buddy! What dog doesn't want a furry pal? Besides the one chihuahua that liked to bite your fingers. That little bitch can choke.
Anyway, we started there together. We've spent a lot of time together because of it. I grew to love her quirks and the things that she cares most about. I would check in on her niece, five years old now, who occasionally comes in to help with minor things. It's really sweet - watching Sammie take the young girl to the older, calmer dogs to pet and give love to. I appreciate it, and I'm sure the old things appreciate it too. They've only got so much life left to live. The love and giggles and high pitches squeals of a young girl can only make it that much better. Minus the stepping on their tail, but they understand.
I've got a preference for the older dogs. They're much calmer, but also much more sad. You can see it in their eyes. How they have to spend the later years of their life stuck within the cold stone walls of the shelter. I feel bad for them. If I could, I'd take this old border collie home. The only reason I can't is because mom's got a slight allergy to dogs. I didn't inherit it luckily, but it means I've got to bring a second set of clothes to change into and wash off well or the dog hairs will send her into a sneezing frenzy.
The older dog, the collie. We call her Honey. She's a sweet thing. Eight years old, the most beautiful of the dogs there. But you can tell she's tired. Tired of the cold floor and the constant barking. I see her come alive when Sammie's niece (Julia) comes to give her pets. She gets excited, she gets happy to see a small girl so intrigued in her. She feels a purpose again. It makes me wonder what her life was like before she came here. What her owners were like. Sometimes I wonder if there's a little girl that the old girl misses and Julia reminds her of them.
The guy I mentioned earlier, Johnathan. He's my brother. I'm older than him but he seems to have much more luck than me when it comes to relationships. Not that I mind - the dogs keep me happy enough that I don't need a girlfriend. Or a wife. Or a boyfriend. Not that I've ever considered having a boyfriend, but hey, I don't know that many people that are into men. I can't say I've considered it. Either way, he's a cool guy. I'm close enough to him but we're not a two-peas-in-a-pod situation. We'll tell each other secrets and talk about real shit, but we don't go out of our way. He took the boot strappin' hay tossing route. Which is cool and all, but I think I made the right choice with the dogs. I don't know. I just know Sammie is making it a whole lot harder. I might start taking on night shifts. Maybe that'll help.
