Sue’s photo and Lorraine’s story inspired this flash fiction for the #writephoto prompt
Just a hole in the ground. Out of sight, out of mind. They dump us in it when we no more use, or sick or we puppies with the wrong sire. They tie a stone to a back leg, just in case, and they drop us in. Years and years the huntsmen do it, dumping, killing slowly, easier than a bullet in the head. We saw that with the big animals, the hoof and antler animals too big for us to catch and kill. Quick. Sometimes. The life fades quick, like the night falling. Not when they drop us in the hole. Not quick, they want. Long and painful. They laugh. We hear. And we are angry.
The hole is long and narrow, windy narrow like the long windy cold animals in the grass. It comes out in the light way way far away under a hill. Other dogs help chew the rope, and then stone we have no longer. We run. We run together because the men don’t want us. It broke our hearts. No hearts we now. Only anger. We hear them with their dogs, chasing the small fast animals with the frightened hearts. We hear them, and when they come too close, their dogs run, far far away. Dogs know. Men know nothing, come crashing, looking. We wait, we wait and when close, we leap. We hear the cry the fear when they fall. We bite the fingers that scrabble at the edge. No more laughing.
Huntsmen fall down hole sometimes here, and they have no stone on their legs. But dogs make sure they don’t find the long long way out.