Lot 145 : I Don’t Let My Dog Inside Anymore // Don’t Point. Don’t Whistle. Not At Night
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Welcome back, friend. We have something of an unusual acquisition this evening. Two items, entirely unrelated by all appearances. Though I've learned that when objects arrive together, It's generally worth considering why. Animals are remarkably observant creatures. Sometimes they seem to understand us better than we understand ourselves. Although one does occasionally wonder exactly how much they've learned. The first of our items tonight, a well-worn dog collar. Its former owner was apparently. A very clever boy. This account is entitled, I Don't Let My Dog Inside Anymore. Before we begin, I want to point out some of the customers whose names have been etched in brass on this beautiful plaque I had made above the front desk.
These are some of the members of the inner circle of the antiquarium. We go by the Obsidian Covenant. Recent initiates include Crow Just Jay. Novelty? Jess Davis. Antithesist And Nikki Chan two three four. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the Order. Go to the Obsidian Covenant dot com to receive the sacrament. Now. Where were we? Oh yes. Welcome. To the antiquarium of sinister happenings. And odd goings on.
I don't let my dog. Inside anymore. October seventh, twenty twenty four. two thirty PM Day one. I didn't think anything of it at first. It was late afternoon. Typically the quietest part of the day. Then I was standing at the kitchen sink filling a glass of water. I just let Winston out back.
What is the unusual acquisition introduced at the start of the episode?
Same routine, same dog. While the water ran. I glanced out the window. And saw he was standing. On the patio. Facing the yard. Perfectly still. Caught my attention was His mouth. It was open. Not panting. Slack. It looked Wrong. Disjointed. Like he was holding a toy I couldn't see. Or like his jaw hits simply. Unhinged. And he stepped forward on his hind legs. It wasn't a hop or a circus trick or that desperate balance dog is do when begging for food, no he You fucking walked. Slow. Balance. Casual. The weight distribution was terrifyingly human. He didn't bob or wobble, he just strode across the concrete like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it was easier that way. I froze. The water overflowing my glasses and running cold over my fingers.
My brain scrambled for logic. Muscle spasms, a seizure, ch a trick of the light, but this This felt. Private. Invasive. Like I had walked in on something I wasn't supposed to see. October eighth, twenty twenty four. 8.15 p.m. Day two. Nothing happened the next day. That almost made it worse. Winston acted. Totally normal. He ate his food and barked at the neighbors walking on the sidewalk. I was trying to watch TV when he trotted over and tried to lay his heavy head on my foot.
Uh
I kicked him.
Huh!
It wasn't a tap either. It was Just a scared reflex from adrenaline. I caught him right in the ribs. Winston yelped and skittered across the hardwood.
What's up?
Brandy dropped the laundry basket in the doorway. She stared at me. Eyes wide.
What the hell is wrong with you?
He looked at me, Randy. He was looking at me weird.
So you kick him.
She didn't speak to me for the rest of the night. If you didn't know what I saw. You'd think I was the monster.
October ninth, twenty twenty four. Eleven thirty PM Day three. I know how this sounds. But I needed to know. I went down the rabbit hole. I started with biology. Canine vestibulitis balance issues. Dog walking on hind legs seizure symptoms. But the videos didn't match. Those dogs look Sick. Winston? Winston looked.
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