I used to grow bacon back in the old country. Me and my pa would spend hours tilling the fields of bacon, as far as the eye could see. It was the best time of my life, until one unfortunate day. I was 12, and my father was on the bacon tractor. It was almost harvest time. See, people don't realize you have to make sure its the crispiest before you send the bacon out. You can make crispy bacon soggy, not the other way 'round. But that's not the point of this story, to get into how to have the best bacon farm. I wish it was. But one day...
...see, we used to have scarebacon's on the lawn, made of beggin strips to keep that damn dog away...but we forgot to put it back up after the wind storm...even though I've been told it wasn't my fault, I still blame myself. I was the one who took it down, I should have been the one who put it back up. But I used to be scared of it, the way it would stare back on those cold nights when all you could hear was the bacon grow. But I learned there are far more real things to be frightened of.
My pa got off the tractor and told me to stay back. He saw some bacon had fallen, and he had suspected the worst. I was always eager to help him, but I had never heard him so stern. Watching him walk over to the bacon stalks, him getting on all fours, analyzing the footprints on the ground...I shouted back at him, saying it was probably some prank the kids at school were playing. But then... Tell me, have you ever seen your father ripped to shreds by the Beggin Strip dog? It was horrible...bacon there, bacon there...look at that bag, what's it say?!
That was the day I knew that I had to kill him. I had to kill that dog. It was the only way for me to exact my revenge.
I couldn't do it then. I had nothing to defend myself with. Couldn't even drive the tractor and run him over since he was on top of my father the whole time. I was forced to watch him tear each bacon strip away. So I had to wait. I went to school. Majored in advertising. Knew I needed to get on that account. So I waited. Watched and waited...but I was still scarred....the first time I was about to be intimate with a woman, she looked like a strip of bacon to me. I began screaming for hours on end. When I came to, she was gone...this happened with every relationship I had. How can you even have a one night stand with a hooker when you can't help but put a collar on her and demand she eat cat food instead?
I knew I had to kill that dog. So finally, I became an intern at the company that did the advertsing for Beggin Strips. I wanted to meet the dog right away, but apparently he can be a diva. He wouldn't just meet anyone. But they said I would see him at the set. So I went early, waiting for him to show up. Finally, the procession came. And there was the dog, all happy and running, his tongue slobbering. He went into his trailer, and the handlers left him alone so he could prepare. While they were at the donut table sipping their damned Dunkin Donuts coffee, I snuck in. The trailer was dark. The dog was just sitting there, ready for the makeup lady. But she wasn't going to apply any makeup on him. That was going to be the undertaaker.
I approached the dog. I snapped his neck. He went limp in my hands. But I realized that it was too easy. Something was wrong.
That was when he attacked. I had actually killed his stand in. The dog must have known I was coming, and let his double take the fall. I remember crashing through the window of his trailer, almost losing consciousness. His handlers gasped as the dog went for my throat.
I wasn't going to let him get me that easily. I had come prepared. I had the whistle around my neck, pulled it out and blew. The dog howled, giving me the opportunity to get him. I took out the knife. I didn't want to spill his blood, but there was no other choice.
The dog must have done this before, though. With his tail he knocked the knife out of my hand, and then he tackled me to the ground. His fangs were sharp, more than likely from the victims he had slayed since my father. To him, I was just another on the list. To me, it was a personal vendetta. His paws hit with fury. I tried to blow the whistle again, but he wouldn't let me. He struck me, and the breath fell out of me. I had never seen a dog move that fast. I now knew why my father hadn't stood a chance before.
I tried so hard, but I soon felt blood dripping down my face, knowing it wasn't his. I don't know what his handlers were doing, but they weren't going to stop him. I wouldn't be surprised if they had seen him murder so many others. All I could think about was what they would do to my corpse. Would they toss it in the river? Would they turn me into a Beggin Strip?
It was complete and total madness. I was able to strike back, hitting his muzzle. Each and every time, he howled. But it wasn't going to stop so easily. This fight...if I were to ignore all the pain, ignore the blood loss and numbness as he severed my nerves, it was going to go on for hours. I didn't know where to go next. I thought he was just a dog, but I was wrong. He was the devil himself.
I pushed him, trying to get him off, but he wouldn't budge. I tried to roll, but could only move a couple inches at a time. That was when I remembered the whistle, but I had to sacrifice something for it. So I shoved my arm into his mouth, and as I could feel him tearing into my flesh, each tendon snapping off, I grabbed the whistle once more and blew. I blew for my life. That was when he let go, and I was able to push him away, my one hand becoming dead in the process.
So I rolled over and grabbed the knife, my lungs aching. But I knew that if I were to stop, he would finish me off. This was my only chance. So I lunged over, ignoring the screaming my body was going through, looking past my blurred vision and slipped the knife right into his neck. I thought that was it, but his scream said otherwise. I was able to refill my lungs as he flailed about, and then I stabbed him again and again. Each time, I saw his eyes widen. I could see he knew who I was. His gurgles as he tried to bark...I was sure I could understand him. Saying how he shouldn't have taken pity on a young boy that night.
It took him 15 minutes to die.