rita guinta

  • rita guinta
    Published about a month ago
    Upstairs Dog

    Upstairs Dog

    Amid the clamor of New York City, in a silent, dark and dank basement, a baby canine’s chest barely lifted as she struggled to breathe. She was wasted, withered, with crusty skin sagging over her protruding ribs. Clumps of black fur created a pattern of splotches over her emaciated body. And heavy, metal brackets were duct taped to her left front leg. She couldn’t stand. She couldn’t move. Stuck on her flank on the cold cement floor as cucarachas crawled in and out of her wounds, nibbling on her flesh. And fleas and infections ravaged what was left of her.