He looks like royalty; adorable, fluffy royalty. With bubbly cheeks and big dark eyes that protrude from his head like glass domes. His nose wiggles when he looks up at you, trying to smell for treat potential. His crooked underbite comes out in between every pant. He snores, loudly, in his little leather sofa bed, to remind you he's there. His entire existence is designed to bring you overwhelming pain.
If only it could stop.
If only I could take his collar and start to pull. Soft at first, pressing against his trachea like a massage, and then tighter and tighter, watching his struggle pronounce until the breathe escapes his toy lungs and his underbite presses into his hanging tongue - piercing through. And then... quiet. No more pain. No more Charlie.