I do not know my parents. I doubt that they even remember me. I do not think that my parents knew each other for very long. My birth was just a tragic beginning of a tormented life, conceived by strangers. I know that my father was not around for my birth, and my mother did not stick around for very long after. I guess I cannot really blame my mother, she just "could not take care of me. As a youngster, I seemed to just "fall through the cracks" of the system. I wandered around aimlessly looking for food and shelter anywhere I could find it. Every once in a while a kind person would try to help me out, but it was always temporary sympathy, and then they would be on their way, leaving me just alone as ever.

As fate would have it, I wound up pregnant. It was a hard pregnancy. I never seemed to get enough to eat, and having no permanent home, I was always exposed to the weather. I actually slept outside throughout my entire pregnancy.

No medical care was available to me, my first pregnancy produced two beautiful babies, but like my own mother, I could not care for them. I do not know what eventually became of my babies. As a matter of fact, I have given birth on three separate occasions and I do not know where any of my babies are now. Shortly after my third pregnancy, my health was suffering badly. I did not know how to get medical attention and nobody offered to help me. I was very malnourished and extremely weak.

One particularly bad day, I was stumbling around the streets, very tired, very hungry, and very weak. I guess I just was not paying attention, but I stepped out into the street. An oncoming car tried to stop but it was too late. I was knocked down and I felt a terrible pain in my leg. I was sure it was broken. The car kept going and once again I was in terrible trouble. I knew I had to get out of the street, so I dragged myself to the curb. Once again, I needed medical treatment, but it seemed that once again, not one person was willing to help me.

Time marched on and I continued to struggle along. I was hanging out on the streets one night and I was picked up by a man. He seemed nice enough at first, he took me home with him, offered me food and shelter so I decided to hang around for awhile. I am not really sure what I did wrong, but after awhile he said he was tired of me and could not afford to have me around and that I would have to go.

We got into his car, drove out to an old deserted road and he put me out. He just left me there. I was alone again.

After several long days, I found my way to the nearest city. I thought surely I would find somebody to help me out of this "hell on earth" that I found myself living in. Eventually, the police, who had seen me hanging out on the streets for several days picked me up and took me to this horrible prison where I now find myself. I have been here about a week and nobody has told me what wrong I have committed. I sleep, eat, and relieve myself in my little cell. The smell is horrible and it is so very noisy here. All the other prisoners cry and call out endlessly. It seems that I am being punished for simply being born. How can this happen in such a "civilized" world? So, now that you have read my story, what do you think? Do you think that I must be violent, that maybe I am a bank robber, or drug dealer, or maybe even a murderer? Whatever you think, do not feel sorry for me.. Maybe I will find the peace in death that I have never found in life. By the way, I am not a bank robber, drug dealer, or murderer.

I am not even human...

I am a dog.