I don’t have Secrets to Hide.
I have stories too horrible to re-tell.
My “silence of the lambs” moment(s.) Warning !! This gets DARK.
Referring to the lamb part and Clarice’s desperation to save the lamb, and her personal horror at what it means to be a sheep rancher.
That part… not the rest of it.
I assumed it was a rite of passage, -As Part Of Family- but realized later it was only my brother and myself given the task. And he was not “helping” as often. My mother would not have pulled the genius of the family out of school. Whereas I was pulled out of school, or kept home for all kinds of animal missions.
My mother’s parents ran a puppy mill. (I would have been 6yrs -12yrs old.)
There are seasons for puppies as with other crops.
Once I was big enough, I had to help.
My “too soft” being corrected by being forced to restrain the pups during the cropping and docking. The snips and snails. Puppy dog tails wiggle once removed, like lizards do.
Puppy season for “purse dogs.”
On the grandparents property there were mobile home trailers, connected end to end, cooled down with industrial fans almost loud enough to cover the constant barking. One row of trailers for the bitches, one for the studs, with “dog runs” in between, for controlled genetic exchanges. Doggy Dates.
Otherwise, those pups are bastards (pointed stare/glare from mother’s mother) and MUTTS.
For pedigree, the bloodlines must be tracked. (My being a bastard was a known and consistently used punch(down) Punch-line, though I didn’t get it. Which parent cheated? No one would say. Probably a lie, my tox-sisters were cruel like that.
It’s been established by the Matriarch.
I am a mutt and a runt.
Snips: Particular “Purse dogs” such as cocker spaniels, terriers, and miniature pinchers, get cropped/docked.
[I looked it up recently and all kinds of specifics about veterinarian and surgical, >>>anesthesia!!
-> My mother’s mother had a metal table *as seen in old hospital tv shows* wiped down with rubbing alcohol that’s AS close to sterile or legal as she bothered to worry about.]
The helping was restraining the pups, then collecting the snips. I’d lose count of puppy tails.
Next part of puppy season helping:
The runts were taken to my mother’s father (-out in the back yard near the property line fence) to be put down. He’d have to hole ready, and dispatched the pups with the back of the shovel. I’d lose count of pups.
Big Clue if you’re taking notes: >Why I never told.<
I know exactly what would happen to me, if I ever talked about that man’s sexual abuse.
I was reminded = every runt.
My mother’s mother would gift my mother “out-of-season dogs” periodically. Pekingese male(stud) very territorial, then another male(neutered), and a female(brooded out), all before I entered school. The pack was very territorial. I could not get close to my mother. If I was “bothering” her she would sic them on me.
The hairless blue Chihuahua was precious, above and beyond the others. Mother made special vests for herself with pockets to carry the tiny dog.
She was sleeping on the couch (moved out of Dad’s room years before.) The puppy was asleep near the back of her knee. It jumped up and ran toward me as I was just passing to go to the restroom. The coffee table was against the couch to prevent the puppy from falling off the couch. Nothing to prevent the puppy from running off the table.
The retelling forever, of the horrible monster that tried to kill her dog. And don’t believe her (me (the child)) she’s a liar.
It’s been established by the Matriarch.
My father had to dig a hole and I had to take the pup out for him to put it down.
The hole wasn’t deep enough. “It’s gotta be at least half shovel deep, or the coyotes will dig it back up.” I advised having seen it so many times.
While digging a deeper hole, the puppy woke up.
It was just unconscious, with a minor concussion.
>> In the re-telling, and telling and telling (invented scenarios)(made up scenarios that strangely match or one up the story she just heard)(I recall a particularly gory scenario where the dog in her pocket didn’t make it, so into the story and attention it garnished.)
I don’t like purse dogs.
I’m very uncomfortable around them.
My mother used a kennel approach in the home without cage(instead of house-breaking.)
She would cover urine with newspapers and leave it to soak-up, “planning” to pick it up later. It was usually only one layer when I was a kid. Little clusters of yellowed paper and droppings throughout the house.
The last time I saw my mother I had to cross through an 8 inches deep newspaper pile, wall to wall of screened in entry porch of >>> “get to it later.”
( I forgot how bad.)
I was 3 months pregnant, (nauseated pukey part) On the Announce Pregnancy to the Families tour.
DARVO ofc. My mother= the “victim” of me, as always.
The problem is never her.
The problem is “She (me) thinks she’s better than us.” “It’s not THAT bad, she (me) is exaggerating! She (me) is a liar!!
[Comes to that a lot. Notice?]
It’s been established by the Matriarch.
Impacted >> It shouldn’t have… I >> O.C.D.<< Clean.
I maintained an exemplary inspection ready home for him.
“Showcase” home while living on base.
>>>> Anyways, meeting my family changed how he felt about me.
Thus how he treated me.
More so, after marriage. (locked in.) The easy button manipulation.
Exploit my shadow (fear of being like my mother.) Enforcing the O.C.D.’s. In the constant proving ground … to be “Good Enough” for the breadcrumbs. >>> Not like I could ever “go home” again.
(I forgot how bad.) >> The statement I made that launched my enforcer tox-sis’s campaign against my brother… which is a whole book in itself, and a story for later.
What stands out to me while writing this is the overlay of Dog Breeder vernacular around pedigree breeding. I’ve been trying to catch the unnecessary idioms (<< the word I was looking for the other day) “as they come” requiring clean up.
There is so much about this Matriarchy and Its “matriarchal lines” (and I mean that … in the acting and performing kind of way)
Matriarchal Lines >>> that deliberate use of words to twist reality and hide the in-human-e (inhumane) and calculated indifference INSIDE “Industry language.”
My mother seduced my father from a catholic marriage, knowing he wanted a big family.
After the first two births my mother decides she doesn’t want to be a “brood bitch.”
And apparently out of nowhere “He’s trying to force her to be a brood bitch.”
(SEE how it grows?)
That story ends with minor concussion too.
Mother with the +1 skillet and a surprise feat in improvised weapons.
Dad failed his dodge.
The pseudo-science/pseudo-intellectualism pretended
to distract
from the practice
of sadism on puppies and children.
(And over-worked fathers.)
Hidden in the illusion-ary cloak of “caring mother” or “victim of everything” depends on the audience.
Traveler Chimiru 
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