The Death of my Corgi: Unveiling a Marriage's True Colors

When my corgi was bitten to death, Jerold was playing piano with his idealized love, Eva Taylor, in our study.

It was the only thing left to me by my uncle, who had succumbed to depression and taken his own life. I watched helplessly as it was viciously attacked by the golden retriever belonging to Eva, dying on the spot.

Jerold, however, comforted the startled idealized love and sneered coldly, "It's a dog-eat-dog world. It doesn't matter if it's dead. Just buy another one."

Later, in an attempt to win me back, he personally skinned that golden retriever.

1

As I stepped out of the elevator on the sixth floor, I could faintly hear whimpering from inside the apartment. It was the sound of my corgi, Daisy.

My heart was in my throat, a sense of dread washing over me.

I quickened my pace and frantically punched in the door code.

The moment the door opened, I was met with the sight of a golden retriever, twice the size of my corgi, viciously biting Daisy.

The chain of the iron cage was broken, dog food scattered everywhere, and Daisy's tail was still inside the cage while her neck was pinned down on the floor outside.

I had no time to process what was happening or why there was another dog in our home.

In a panic, I grabbed a broom from the entryway and struck the golden retriever hard.

It reacted as if provoked, barking furiously at me. I reached out, trying to rescue Daisy from its loosened grip.

But in the next moment, the golden retriever's sharp teeth clamped down on Daisy's neck again, and I heard a heart-wrenching yelp.

It felt like a needle stabbing my heart. My hands trembled so much that I could barely hold the broom, yet I continued to hit the retriever, hoping it would turn its attention to me and spare Daisy.

But the golden retriever seemed bloodthirsty, refusing to let go.

I screamed Jerold's name in despair, but there was no response, only the faint sound of piano music from the room.

I didn't know how long the standoff had lasted, but I watched as Daisy's painful whimpers grew weaker and then stopped altogether.

It was only at that moment that the golden retriever released it and rushed towards the door of the room, barking non-stop.

My hands and legs went weak, and I collapsed to the floor, cradling Daisy's lifeless body.

Tears streamed down my face, soaked into its soft fur, and mingled with blood.

"Daisy, I bought you new treats you haven't tried yet. Please, open your eyes and look at me."

The little dog my uncle entrusted to me died right before my eyes.

Daisy had been my uncle's last source of comfort during his depression, his most important companion.

On the day he passed away, having taken many sleeping pills, Daisy had been frantic, jumping and spinning in circles.

When I arrived, all I saw were pills scattered everywhere.

Daisy sat quietly beside my uncle, its head drooping. In that moment, she seemed to become emaciated, perhaps sensing that her constant companion, the one who cleaned up after her day and night, was gone, leaving no familiar scent behind.

I picked up my uncle's will, which contained only a few simple lines, "Take care of yourself and Daisy. Daisy is too greedy. Don't spoil it too much. Let it keep you company in my place."

2

I didn't know if it was my hysterical sobbing or the golden retriever's barking that finally drew Jerold out of the room.

He looked at me in shock, then noticed Daisy in my arms and spoke slowly, "Weren't you on a business trip? What happened to Daisy?"

"She's dead! Dead!" I screamed, my voice raw.

A flicker of disbelief and sorrow crossed his eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

"Jane, my friend happened to be on a business trip too, so he asked me to look after his dog. I really didn't expect this to happen."

Jerold's excuse was flimsy. He was a veterinarian. How could he not know the consequences of leaving two unfamiliar dogs together?

I let out a bitter laugh, tears blurring my vision.

Gently, I laid Daisy down and calmly walked to the kitchen.

I grabbed a kitchen knife from the wall and headed straight for the golden retriever at the room's entrance.

Jerold rushed over, grabbing my hand that held the knife from behind.

"Jane, calm down. Daisy is already gone. Doing this won't bring her back."

"I want revenge for Daisy. Give Daisy back to me."

I fought with a desperate strength, breaking free from his grip and swinging the knife at the retriever, but each attempt missed.

Exhausted, I was once again restrained by Jerold.

Suddenly, a woman emerged from the room, shielding the golden retriever behind her.

"Why did you come out?" Jerold hadn't expected her to be so blatant, and his excuse about the guest dog fell apart.

"Jerold, why should my dog be bullied like this? It's lost a patch of fur." She said tearfully, crouching down to pet the golden retriever's head, comforting it.

I laughed through my tears. My Daisy had lost its life, yet her golden retriever only suffered a minor injury and was now the one being pitied.

Jerold immediately released me and crouched beside her, petting the retriever.

"It's nothing serious. You should go back."

The woman was Jerold's idealized love, Eva Taylor. I never imagined he would brazenly bring her into our home, inviting disaster and causing Daisy's death.

For his idealized love, he no longer cared for the pet we had raised together for five years.

"Jerold, aren't you going to give me a reasonable explanation and resolution?"

I glared at him, suppressing the urge to lash out at them.

Eva, looking frightened and delicate, hid behind Jerold, who turned to her, gently patting her head and soothing her.

He laughed derisively, his words piercing my heart like needles, "I already said I didn't expect this to happen. What more do you want? Daisy's death pains me too, but you have to understand-only the strong survive. Daisy couldn't fight back, so it died. I'll just buy you another one."

I couldn't believe Jerold could be so heartless and indifferent just to protect Eva. Only the strong survive-what a convenient excuse.

So it was because of being weak that Daisy deserved to die, rather than because of the golden retriever that wielded violence against it.

I let out a bitter laugh, feeling eight years of affection turn to ashes in an instant.

My hands trembled as I hurled a kitchen knife in their direction, landing it on the floor nearby. Eva jumped onto Jerold in fright.

"Jane, have you had enough? All this over a dog? Do you really want someone to die before you're satisfied?"

Jerold's voice was full of impatience and blame, as if I were the one being unreasonable and aggressive.

"Jerold, let's get a divorce."

My voice was hoarse, devoid of any emotion. All I wanted was to take Daisy and leave these disgusting people behind.

I dragged my heavy steps, turned around, and walked to Daisy's side, cradling it in my arms. It lay there quietly, just as it always did, but it would never nuzzle my neck again. Tears streamed down my face.

Daisy, I was sorry.

That night, I took it to my uncle's old house. There might be the place it wanted to go to most.

3

I washed away the bloodstains from Daisy, and she looked as if she were merely asleep, as obedient as ever.

I carried her to the bench in the small courtyard, her favorite spot.

When my uncle was still around, she would nestle beside his little bench all day, gazing lovingly at him.

When I was seven, my mother left me to follow a stranger.

I was nearly sent to an orphanage, but my uncle insisted on keeping me.

From then on, he took my mother's place, caring for me even more than she ever did.

The local kids would taunt me, calling me a bastard without parents, throwing stones at me.

My uncle would clench his fists and shout back, "Jane has an uncle who cares for her like a father. What are you jealous of?"

He even confronted their parents, urging them to teach their children not to envy others.

My uncle was quick to speak but even quicker to act.

He gave me the best of everything-new toys, pretty dresses, delicious snacks.

Once Daisy was gone, my uncle felt even further away.

I buried Daisy in the courtyard soil, where my uncle used to wander around. I thought she would like it there.

Daisy, if I had left Jerold sooner, would you still be by my side?

4

I stayed at my uncle's little house for three days without returning.

Jerold called three times, once each day, perhaps feigning concern to soothe his own guilt.

I went back to the new house I shared with Jerold to pack a few clothes and an album.

It was filled with photos of my uncle, Daisy, and me.

A tear fell onto my uncle's smiling face.

It was a picture I took of him and Daisy. He never liked being photographed, claiming the camera never captured his handsomeness.

Daisy lay in his arms, grinning widely, drool almost dripping onto his hand.

In the photo, my uncle's smile was so bright, so handsome, fatherly and handsome.

I wiped away the tear with my sleeve, bitterness spreading through me.

Uncle, I didn't take good care of Daisy. Will you blame me when you know she has passed away?

As I flipped through the album, a pile of photos fell to the floor-pictures of Jerold and me.

Looking at his handsome, sunny smile felt like a sharp knife stabbing my heart.

I met Jerold at a pet hospital when Daisy, not even a year old, suddenly fell seriously ill. I was anxious and helpless, afraid she wouldn't make it, worried my uncle would be heartbroken, and that his health would worsen.

Jerold's professional skills saved her, and he reassured me that everything would be fine.

I was truly grateful to him. He gave Daisy three more years with my uncle.

But now, Jerold also played a part in her death.

How ironic that the man who once helped save Daisy now coldly dismissed her as nothing more than a dog, easily replaced.

After my uncle passed, Jerold and I cared for Daisy together for five years. Those years of companionship were reduced to nothing more than "nothing more than a dog".

I didn't know if it was people who changed easily or if I had never truly seen him for who he was.

After Eva returned, Jerold seemed to have changed. He no longer revolved around me and grew increasingly indifferent to Daisy. He often forgot to feed her and complained about the expensive dog food I bought, saying any food would do.

I should have noticed his change sooner, but I was too afraid to admit it. If I had left him earlier and taken Daisy with me, she might still be alive.

I took all the photos of Jerold and me, cut them up with scissors, and threw them in the trash.

As I opened the door, Jerold stood there, meeting my eyes with a rare hint of guilt.

"Jane, where are you going? I've been looking for you, but you ignored me."

I felt surprisingly calm, my voice hoarse as I spoke, "Sign the divorce papers on the table."

"Jane, do you really want to divorce me?"