Every so often, abused dogs invade your television screen soundtracked by Sarah McLachlan’s ubiquitous “In the Arms of an Angel.” Their distressed eyes and the visual abuse at the hands of their previous owners plead you for money. These are their stories.
Buddy, Labrador Retriever, age 2 years
I know my owner has a temper, but he said he’s going to change this time. And despite the fact that my eyes no longer work because of him/his wrench, I can already see tremendous improvements. Plus, it’s really not what you think, guys. Okay, yes, he’s an unemployed redneck. Yes, he owns a pickup truck. And yes, he can no longer say “never have I ever fucked my sister.” But whoever is without sin, cast the first stone, beer can, or automotive tool…just not in my direction. My welts are just starting to heal.
Sherri, Golden Retriever, age 4 years
Do you understand the extent of hospital costs? Do you know hard it is for a three-legged dog to get access to health insurance on the individual marketplaces with a pre-existing condition now that TrumpCare is taking effect? Seriously. Go to the GoFundMe page and pay for my recent inpatient visit, fuckers.
Bieber, Pug, age 9 months
My abuse began the moment my owners named me Bieber. I never stood a chance.
Rodger, German Shepherd, age 1.5 years
It all comes back in flashes. The crow bar, the empty Percocet bottles, the sound of Days of Our Lives in the background. It was a Tuesday when it began. The neighbors say he never got over Vietnam. Well neither did I. There are some things that simply violate the Geneva convention. I’m German. I should know.
Mary-Elaine, Poodle, age 2 years
Do you know how much worse it is here than my original home? My owners would grovel at my feet to scrounge up my feces when I crapped in public. Now, I’ll be in the middle of a conversation with Bieber and he starts shitting right on my leg like nothing’s happening. Fuckin’ savages in this place. I haven’t had a facial, massage, or white wine spritzer since I started my time in this joint. This is truly the worst commune I’ve ever inhabited. There isn’t even any kale.
Bonnie, Beagle, age 6 months
Please donate so I can take a fully-funded vacation away from these bitches. Seriously, if Rodger wakes me up one more time with his Vietnam-vet style PTSD flashback nightmares, he’s gonna be begging to go back to that sociopath.
Rocco, Wheaton Terrier, age 10 months
Okay, so what’s my motivation again? Am I playing it like, “Oh, I’m abused but I soldier on through my life,” and be all coy about it? Or do I just get right in there with the raw emotions and unbearable inner turmoil? Basically I’m trying to figure out if I open with the death squeals or if I build to them… Ya know, I could have thought about these choices before if I’d been given the script in advance. I think I’m going to complain to the producers. It’s really getting out of hand. Did you see the craft services today? And I heard Bonnie isn’t even equity… I know, right?
Shaju, Shih Tzu, age 1 year
I cry because I’m bored at this point. All these dogs do is moan and talk about their near death experiences. It’s like living in an assisted living facility. When, not if, I commit suicide for the sheer entertainment value, it will be incredibly artsy. I’ve already hired Annie Leibowitz for my Rolling Stone cover. It’s gonna be super dramatic and draw attention to a cause I’m in no way affiliated with. Current thinking is that I’ll write “Free Tibet” in blood on my own body. Still in talks with Annie about the optics.
Frida, Siberian Husky, age 3 years
Ya know, we had a cat in here, but the cycle of violence, man. That shit’s real. It was like Lord of the Flies and let’s just say the cat didn’t have the conch shell.
Bethany, Rottweiler, age 5 years
I feel like we’re not getting through to them, guys. Maybe we should tell them all that we’ve taken Kim Kardashian hostage and will finish what those French robbers started if they don’t give us the money. Like let’s take a page out of the terrorist book. Seems to be working for the Middle East and North Korea. Or at least we could offer to follow them on Insta. This whole “give us money please we’re abused” is so 2003.
Stacie, Bulldog, age 3 years
Someone turn off that fuckin’ song. Seriously take me now, angels.