Cw: gun violence, urination mentioned, panick, dehumanisation, pet type captivity, hunting, death, blood
He flinches hard as the trigger is pulled, the sound of the gun making his ears ring and his entire body shake. Somehow, he manages to pull himself together against the strength of his fear, and stay put.
He manages to control his bladder too, and he is so thankful, because a dog that is scared of guns cannot be a hound. If Stupid isn’t a hunting dog, then he is useless, and Sean has no use for useless things. He has made Stupid learn that lesson very well.
With the second shot, the prey falls down, and he runs, on all fours, towards the falling prey. He hops on top of it, keeping it down, no matter how much he hates this.
He used to cry, he doesn’t anymore. But he still can’t face it, the blood mixing in mud and grass, eyes that slowly dry out, the light disappearing as if the soul has been vanquished. Eyes he hunts at day and that haunt him at night.
Sean’s steps are much more steady, boots slamming through the wet dirt, shotgun lazily in hand as he blows away some smoke from his cigar.
He stop besides Stupid, caressing his hair with a sweetness that makes him drunk, helping dissolve the lump on his throat and on his chest.
“Good doggie” he smiles, touching the pray with the sole of his boot, smearing around some more blood.
He can’t find any words to thank him, so he barks and whines, like a dog should, and he believes that was a good choice, because he decides to put the cigar down on the floor, and not on Stupid skin.
“help me carry it, will yah?” Sean smiles, and Stupid tries to control his whimpering fear and just be good. Maybe if he does, he might get dinner today, and Sean seems in such a good mood!
No matter the blood, the dirty trail they leave on the ground, clumsily carrying the dead weight, the tears all falling down his cheeks, he must be a good dog.
