Dark Waters
I was shocked, but not surprised, when I read the headline and saw the clip of the familiar faces, stricken with unidentifiable emotion for the camera. 4-year-old boy mauled to death by family Pit Bulls. What did surprise me was the fact that the dogs were what got him and not one of the fucked up adults he was born into the care of.
I’d witnessed their dysfunction, blatant abuse and disregard for several hours – as for one beautiful afternoon, we shared the same beach.
It started with the twin Pit predators – whenever someone walked too close to the truck they were chained to. They waited quietly as the unsuspecting victims approached and once they crossed the barrier, visible only to the dogs, they lunged – the chains rattling as they unfurled along the sand then clanging loudly once they were pulled taught and the hundred-plus-pound pits reared on their hind legs – balancing against the chains that were fastened to their spiked collars. Their incessant barks and snarls, glistening canines, eyes black with rage, and the owners laughing their asses off as the people screamed and took off running for their lives – it was positively sickening.
Then there was the child – his piercing screams causing the gulls to flee the scene and everyone within earshot to stop whatever they were doing and turn to search out the child in peril – only to find his greasy, fat father dragging him up the beach and stopping several times to beat his ass – declaring for the world to hear that he’s just done with the little fucker!
He was tossed on the sand like a wet beach towel where he continued to kick and scream. The mother finally rolled to one side and hoisted herself to her knees and struggled to stand. She took several agonizing steps toward the child – pale dimpled, rippling flab wiggling as she went, until she reached him, bent down, grabbed him by one arm and jerked him off the ground then dragged him toward the truck, his little toes skimming the sand, leaving a trail – the pits yapping and lunging as if he was a tasty morsel they were being tempted with.
I thought about getting their license number and making the call, but I didn’t, because quite frankly the child protective services in Florida is riddled with abusive predators just waiting to get their hands on some poor mistreated, messed-up child – so it’s hard to tell which fate was worse. So, I tried to push it from my mind, as I turned on my ipod, put on some soothing music, rolled over and basked in the warmth of the sun.
I didn’t stay tuned to listen to the details of the case, but chances are the child was dead long before the mauling began – as most times the dogs strike at the throat, killing their victims fairly quickly, sometimes instantaneously. One can only hope.
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