Charlie and the Dogs

Charlie wasn’t someone I was supposed to know. I don’t think he was even supposed to talk to me directly. What he was supposed to do was make sure that I shot the dogs.

I had to do this once a month, but it was something I always had bad dreams about. The only trouble for me was the noise, really. I hated the crying, especially the last choking sound that came out, a whimpering howl of resignation. I didn’t know how to not feel evil when I heard that.

I think that’s why he talked to me, Charlie, because he felt bad. He could tell I was hesitant, that I was missing shots because my vision was blurred. Charlie tried to explain to me that the dogs weren’t so innocent. That they would eat the food the Army would bring for my family's rations, and that they would bite soldiers on patrol.

I asked him what the soldiers were patrolling for. Charlie looked at me incredulously.

"The dogs," he said.