Bulldawg Poetry

by various RFH writers


This is a Puppy Mill
by Madeline

You open the barn door, letting in a blast of sunlight.
It hurts my eyes and I whimper.
We all start barking, pleading for attention.
You check the babies first, to make sure that they are all still breathing.
Then you walk along the cages, dropping in pieces of table scraps.
We are furious animals, tearing at pieces of food, sometimes getting each other.
The smell is rotten, our coats are ruined,
Many of us don’t have any fur at all
We scratch and we itch,
We whine and we cry
And still we get no relief.

This is a puppy mill.

I hear the click of the food being thrown in the metal dish,
I waddle over to it.
The others have, and left nothing for me.
I slurp a bit of murky green water, a
I try to find a clean spot to lay my matted head;
but there is no such place.

This is a Puppy Mill.

My babies have been gone for a week now,
I don’t know where they went.
I never know.
I am grabbed with greasy hands,
Roughly placed into another pen
I am scared.

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