They Called Him Bruiser 2
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Part 1 here.
For three days I keep it the same. Let Bruiser get comfortable with the ritual. Then I move to standing inside the pen for the treats.
Bruiser’s standing ready as I walk up, but when he sees me let myself in without stopping he kicks up a fuss. Not frightened, no sir; he comes stalking up to me, stretching his tether, to stare at my treats pocket.
“Hey, dumbass! You forgot something!”
I swallow a laugh. Don’t wanna spook him. Set the pail down, pull out a carrot, and everything goes as it should. ‘Cept he’s so close I barely have to throw the bites.
I was thinking about trying to offer him a scratch but the moment he’s had his carrot and apple he turns and walks back to the middle of the pen. Leaves the way open for me to drop off his salt and second carrot. So I do, and I go.
The next day he’s realised what I’m doing and doesn’t come up to me. Just trusts that I’ll throw him treats. Progress of a sort.
Takes two weeks of me skipping siestas before he’ll let me come close. But he decides that eating treats from my hand is a lot less work than snuffling through the dirt for them.
I’ve been coming by in the evenings too. Skipping the drink house is easier for me than skipping siestas. Saving pennies for carrots and hope.
At first Bruiser was excited to see me. That wore off soon as he realised I didn’t have more treats for him. I just sat on the fence and talked to him. Rambling. Not like he cares about the words. But he drank in the calm company quiet-like.
By now people have noticed what I’m doing. Sam gets it in his lug head that Bruiser’s ‘gone soft’ and tries to claim the four hundred.
He ends up in the hospital with a broken leg and a full shirt’s worth of stitches. Bruiser is so shook that he won’t let me in the pen for two days, and is jumpy for another handful.
Fuck you, Sam. You better learn that not all work can be stolen.
People start showing up to watch, which makes Bruiser skittish. ‘Specially how they keep shouting advice or lecturing me.
“Careful now, kid, careful!”
“Tryna win that devil’s heart? Jokes on you, he ain’t got one!”
“Woo! There he goes!”
I have to start switching my times around. Pain in the ass.
But then one night Bruiser lets me wrap padding around the worst rubby parts of his harness, and he barely grumbles when it stings. Knows I’m tryna help.
“Think I’ll bring a brush next time. You like being brushed? I’ll stay away from all the sore bits, a’course.”
Bruiser blinks at me. Friendly-like.
“Good talk. I’ll see you tomorrow.”