03/12/2025
First chapter of “Appalachian Runaway: A Dog’s Tale for Grown-Ups”
Introduction
My name is Blackeye. I am a proud female dog, or as most people call me, a bitch.
Before I relate my story to you humans and other dogs who by now have picked up the habit of reading from the two-legged creatures called humans, let me tell you that I have also picked up a few human habits. I’ve contracted with the author of this book to let you know how much I’ve been through in my short life after I ran away from a family who adopted me against my wishes.
So let me tell you my story with no regrets. Yes, I’m unlike most dogs who have stayed with their owners. That wasn’t for me. I needed my own life. I was determined to not be owned by anyone. Here is my story.
Chapter 1
I was born in a barn, one among six in the litter. My mother never had a real home. My daddy dog skipped the county and left her to deal with her pregnancy by herself. I’m glad she found a barn in which to birth us because it protected us from other hungry creatures out there who were searching for a meal in the middle of January, 2024.
The lone female of the litter. I don’t think my mother believed I really belonged with my brothers. They were all pitch black. I was and still am white with this funny little black spot around my right eye. No trouble picking me out in a crowd, that’s for sure.
I don’t remember much of my early days. But whenever I get into a barn and smell the manure, baled hay and straw, I get this warm feeling that I’ve been there before. I can almost taste the warm milk that I suckled from my mother as she gathered us around her engorged t**s. Being the smallest of the litter, I vaguely remember always being squeezed away from one ni**le and having to root around for another because my brothers were bigger and tougher than me. No big deal. I thrived during this short period of my life, and by the time we were discovered by the first human I ever saw, I was up to about the average individual weight of my brothers.
Not sure what that human thought of us when we were found. I am sure that my life changed immensely beginning on that February morning when I heard a yell like a screech owl.
“Harry, com’eer!”
Nobody came. So she yelled again. And again. Finally, I heard the squeaky door open and close, footsteps thump on the barn floor, spreading around fine dust from the hay and straw and the little pellets of mouse and pigeon p**p. A gravelly voice started with a gurgle in the human’s throat, “What you want, woman? Whatchu doin’ out here anyways? Shouldn’t you be up in the house cookin’ up some biscuits and gravy ‘stead of rummaging around out here in this ol’ barn?”
“Just had a hankerin’ to come out here and see if any of our hens had decided to lay since we’s not gettin’ much eggs come lately.”
“Well, find any?” the old human asked. “You know hens don’t lay much in win’er.”
“Nope, but come over here closer, and see what I done found ‘tween these bales. I see some money comin’ our way in a few weeks.”
“The old man drew closer and peered down at us pups. “Well, I’ll be. Cute little fellers, ain’t theys?”
The old woman grabbed me by my loose skin and looked at my butt. “Aw, a female! Think we can get much for her and the others?”
The old man nodded and slapped the old woman’s behind. “Leave ‘em alone, Glory. Their eyes ain’t even quite open yet. Need some fillin’ out a bit. For now, git back in the house and make some vittles. The little mama here will take care of the younguns.”
Next couple suns and moons passed by too soon. The old woman came back regularly and examined each of us, our butts, our paws. She opened our mouths and put her dirty finger down our throats. She lifted us up and dropped us to see if we would land on all fours like cats. I didn’t like this human. What right did she have to be in charge of our butts, mouths, our paws or tiny eyes?
You may say, “Well, that was just an uneducated woman who had no gentleness or respect for other species.”
Maybe back then I would have given you the benefit of the doubt since humans seem to be so smart. But today, I say that she was maybe much kinder than other human species I’ve seen in my many years of running away from you people.
