He's snuggled next to me, alert little eyes closed as he sleeps. I'm dozing off myself, slowly drifting away, when I feel him begin to move. I sleepily open my eyes and watch.
His delicate paws begin to twitch slightly, as if he's chasing or perhaps running away from something. He whines occasionally, sharp, shivering little sounds that could barely be called a squeak but are whines nonetheless.
He came from a shelter. When I adopted him, they told me that he used to live in a home where abuse hadn't exactly been scarce. I wonder how anyone could harm such a harmless little thing as my puppy, but then, I wonder how people can do many horrible things, and that doesn't make them happen any less frequently.
He continues to whine. I place my hand gently on his velvety forehead, talking to him in a gentle voice. The whines subside, slowly but steadily, until they disappear, and at last he's still.
Perhaps he was having a nightmare. I'm not even sure that puppies have those, but, contemplating what he's been through, it wouldn't be entirely unrealistic. If he did have nightmares, what would they be like?
Maybe he would imagine a house filled with anger and turmoil where he was forced to stay, held in a constant state of unsureness as to whether he would make it through the day without suffering beneath a cruel hand. Or maybe he would imagine the cold concrete walls and chain-linked fences of the shelter where he'd spent a few miserable days and nights, listening to the lonely howling of the other poor unlucky creatures whose fate was uncertain. And at the core of it all, he would remember how many of his unfortunate friends were led into the room at the end of the hallway and never came out again.
Sighing, I cuddle against him and close my eyes. His nightmare is over. He has a new life now, and he'll never have to walk to the room at the end of the hallway.
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