Food For Turtles

“I don’t hold any of this against you, I just don’t understand why you asked me do it in the first place…”

Troy was seven years old, and he loved puppies; always had. He just didn’t like the way they sounded when he beat their heads against a tree. The way they’d wiggle around in his hand, searching for a tit to nuzzle. No sooner did they get comfortable, they’d yelp out in agony, their skulls cracking against the bark, sending a mixture of brain matter and eyeballs splattering across the ground. Gently plucking them out of the old shoe box, he’d hold each one of them with a firm yet graceful grip. The type that might make any other animal feel safe and secure. Then after bludgeoning them to death, he’d discard the remains out into the pond, watching as their lifeless bodies floated just atop the water.

“It’s for the best,” his father said, bringing over another shoe box. “How many more you got there?”

“Two more,” Troy mumbled, using his shirt to wipe the blood and piss off his hand.

“Well, here’s some more for ya. Should be the last of ‘em. Now if I can just keep the neighbor’s dog out of the kennel for a while.”

Peeking inside, Troy noticed it was filled with another batch of pups; most of them still covered in afterbirth. Looking back up, he saw blood trickling down the side of his dad’s arm.

“Oh, don’t mind that, son,” he thoughtlessly reassured. “It’s nothin’ serious.”

“What happened?” Troy hesitantly asked.

“Ahh, Daisy wasn’t all too happy when I went to take her litter away from her.”

Bashing another helpless puppy against the tree, Troy grimaced when the head popped open like a miniature firecracker; guts exploding out its anus.

“Maybe it’s not right to take them away from her,” he said, flinging the carcass into the pond. “Maybe, we should just let her have ‘em. They’re her babies, after all.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me son, what’re we gonna do with ‘em? Hmm? They ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of damn mutts! Ain’t nobody gonna wanna buy ‘em. And then guess what? We’re gonna be stuck taking care of ‘em. You wanna do that? Huh? You wanna raise a bunch of puppies all by yourself? Didn’t think so.”

Dropping his head, young Troy looked down at the last puppy squirming around inside the first shoe box.

“Someone might want them,” he murmured.

“Really? Who? Tell me one person you know who wants a little mutt puppy. Hmm? One person. I’m listening.”

Troy didn’t say anything. Not because he didn’t know anyone who might want a free puppy, but because he knew that no matter what he said, his father wouldn’t believe him.

“Yeah… That’s what I thought,” his dad scoffed. “Now, just finish these here off and be done with it.”

Taking a deep breath, Troy reached down and grabbed the last pup. Holding it in his hands, he found himself softly caressing it behind the ears.

“Can’t we just take the rest of them to the shelter or something? Aunt Chloe said they got all kinds of animals out there. That’s where she got her cat from. Maybe… Maybe they can take ‘em in and we don’t have to–”

“Boy! Since when did you get such soft skin?! ‘Sides, the shelter ain’t gonna take ‘em no ways. They only take in strays. They won’t take nothin’ that’s already got an owner.”

“Well, then aren’t we supposed to take care of them?”

“Have you not been listenin’ to a word I said, son?! We ain’t able to take care of no more dogs! We can barely take care of Grace and Daisy. And before you even ask, ‘No!’ We ain’t gonna go get ‘em fixed neither.”

“But, why not?”

“Because it ain’t right, that’s why. God made ‘em perfect, just like He did you and me, and everyone else. It ain’t right to go messin’ with their bodies like that against their will. It’s a sin.”

Whether he liked it or not, Troy found himself slowly nodding along. After all, it was just a few weeks ago when Preacher Gordon gave a sermon about how God didn’t like it when people changed their bodies. How little boys were only supposed to be little boys and little girls were only supposed to be little girls. And although he never said anything about dogs in particular, it only made sense that God wanted the same for them too. Though, how getting a pair of old bitches fixed had anything to do with that sermon was really anyone’s guess.

Holding the last pup in his hands, Troy mumbled something under his breath.

“What’s that?” his father asked.

“I said… will you help me get rid of them? I – I don’t wanna do it by myself.”

All at once, Troy’s dad went shaky.

“Ahh… I wouldn’t mind helpin’ ya, son. Really, I wouldn’t. But I gotta get up to the house and help your momma start in on supper. Plus, my shoulder’s been actin’ up again, and you know how bad it hurts me when it gets to feelin’ this way.”

“Can you at least stay down here with me then? Just stay with me till I’m done?”

“Son, didn’t you hear what I just said? I gotta get up to the house and help momma get supper started!”

Turning away, Troy refused to let his father see the tears building in his eyes.

“…Yes, sir…”

Hobbling over, his dad patted him on the back.

“I know ya wanna help, son. And I know you feel bad for the puppies. But sometimes there just ain’t nothin’ you can do. Sometimes the best thing to do is just… just… Well, sometimes ya just gotta do stuff you don’t wanna do. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Troy lied.

“Alright. Well, finish everything here and then come inside and get cleaned up. We’re having breakfast for dinner tonight. Your favorite.”

Forcing a smile, Troy quietly watched as his dad walked back up the hill, leaving him all alone to clean up someone else’s mess. Looking back down, he noticed that the puppy he was holding somehow managed to fall asleep in his hands, blissfully unaware of the horrors it was about to endure. Meanwhile, out in the pond, a pair of turtles were busy fighting over one of the carcasses, tearing it apart limb from limb before finally dragging it down into the murky depths below.

“Sometimes you just gotta do what you don’t wanna do,” Troy repeated under his breath. “What a crock of shit…”