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Against Guillermo Vargas
When I was small, say four or five years of age, we had a dog. He was a beautiful young Labrador, and my sister named him Pepsi. My father would not allow us to walk him or play with him, and insisted that Pepsi spent the entire day in our shed, until he returned from work and would take him out in the fields.
Even in winter, Pepsi would spend his days alone in the shed, whimpering and whining to be let out. My father kept a lock on the door. I would sit by the shed door whispering to Pepsi, and hear his breath through the broken slats.
Occasionally, Pepsi would be allowed into the the house. We would be delighted, and there were many cuddles and hugs for him from us children; but he was not house trained. Any small "accidents" would be met with my father beating Pepsi and rubbing his nose in whatever he left on the carpet. I would go to my room and cry, wishing that I could help.
Over the months Pepsi became withdrawn, and would snap at visitors and occasionally us children. He began to lose weight and we became very worried for him. My father refused to get him seen by the vet; insisting that he knew what was best for the dog. We persuaded him to allow Pepsi into the house when it was wet or cold. The beatings and cruelty continued, until one day when Pepsi took his chance and fled.
I spent the next few weeks with my brothers and sisters searching the fields and woods. He was gone, and did not return, no matter how much I called for him.
I've never forgotten Pepsi, and I never forgave my father his cruelty.
Now I have Joe; my beautiful, distinctly nutty, and special friend. He came from Battersea Dogs Home after being left out on the street when he was just a puppy. He's eight now, and is very loved by all of us.
So - click on the image at the top of this post, and sign the petition please.
Comments (3)
Yes; my father was not untypical of most country men of that time. Home was Wiltshire, and he was brought up on a farm. I try to convince myself he knew no better.
I support this petition, which is not an urban myth. Funny, our dog is called Pepsi. I hope yours was perhaps taken in by someone and lived the life of Riley. The farm dogs of my youth were always treated this way.
I was told this was not what it seemed. I trust you more than them. I'll sign the petition. This is the society that digs up Padre Pio for public consumption. Strange.