110. 7/28/25 (kennel)

Sometimes I wish I was more of a violent dog. I wish I could growl, and bite, and bark, and it would be taken seriously. But I’ve found all I can do is stare with blank eyes. I lock myself in a cage, tossing the key out of reach. And you think it’s for my protection, trying to save myself from hurt. But it’s not for me. The bars are widely spaced and the words still get in, spears still shoved through those gaps. It’s to keep myself contained, controlled, removing my option to lash out. I fear the consequences of my freedom, knowing that any show of aggression, will result in my euthanization.