Brutus on New Year’s Eve
It was that time of the year again. The New Year’s Eve has always reminded the Brutus of the horrible experiences he went through in the military. It took all of his self-control to remain stable and composed throughout the night. But this year was still different, this year, his PTSD was considerably more severe. Outbursts of panic accompanied by feelings of fear and helplessness were haunting the dog-veteran, ever since the rockets started bursting in the clouds.
He tried to hide from the horrible noise of war. He tried to supress it and to ignore what has been getting more apparent with each passing moment - he could not bear it anymore.
As he walked down the stairs leading into the basement, the only room in the house that could somewhat muffle the horrible noise coming from the outside, he noticed in horror that there was another dog in there with him. This dog, or rather a bitch, as he quickly noticed, was standing in front of the washing machine, waggling her tail as if she was in her own home.
Perplexed, Brutus made a couple of steps forward, hiding behind a carton box next to stairs. What was she doing here? How did she get here? Most importantly, who was she? Thoughts were running through his head faster than water on Niagara Falls. But just as you cannot focus on a simple drop of water in a waterfall, Brutus could not get a grip on his thoughts. They were throwing him deeper and deeper into paranoia and despair, until they made him to snap.
The bitch in front of him was no longer a curiosity in his home. She was now an enemy. A spy sent to murder him and abduct Pixie, no less. Rage started to accumulate in him. With his heart pumping with a cadence of a machine gun and with white teeth bared, the former soldier leapt forward to catch the unaware prey.
Before the tiny bitch managed to even let out a surprised howl, the great German shepherd pinned her to the ground with all his mass. She did not stand the slightest chance to escape. Brutus could see her attempts to speak, but all he could hear instead of English was a seemingly distant hoarse voice, which called for the death of his country.
Enraged even more by her posturing, Brutus pushed his hips forth with a bestial force, slamming his now-erect member onto the bitches contracted pucker. She yelped in fear and horror, once again trying to wriggle free, once again to no avail.
No one can say with certainty how much worse would have the events of that night unveiled, if it wasn’t for the owner, who decided to check on the strange noises coming from the basement. What can, however, be said with certainty, is that Brutus spent the next New Year’s Eve under lockdown and as far away from Pixie as possible. Nobody wanted the events of that night to happen ever again.