Ughh,

I was 8, my German Shepard, Zorro, jumped in the pig pen. He never hurt them, just nuzzled with them. We used to let him do it all the time.

One time, Dad was out there. Pig cans are thick heavy wooden things. Zorro never had a chance. Dad chased him around, repeatedly pounding his back with the cane, over and over my dog yelped in pain, couldn't think quickly enough to jump out and get away. Seems like it went on forever. Dad chased him like he wanted to kill him. He almost did.

I only wished it was me in his place. I thought if I died, everyone else would be OK..........I was only 8.

Zorro never walked the same again. When we moved from that house, my father told me to lay down and bowl of food..........and we left. I never saw my beloved friend again. I hate Dad for this mostly. Do anything to me, I can take it...........do it to my dog........I'll kill you next time.

I've always had dreams of shootng him with a shotgun. I just thought this was normal.

I feel sadness.........that's close to something, right?