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I Smoke Because Cops Kill Dogs

Why do I smoke?  I smoke because it helps me cope.  I smoke because cops kill dogs.   I smoke because I help the families of those dogs.  I smoke because I feel their grief and their rage.  I witness the horror and misery as they are often  handcuffed and beaten and forced to watch and listen as their dogs die shrieking in agony and thrashing around in a pool of blood. I watch as  neighbors and friends are prevented at gun point from helping the dog.  I watch as the families fall apart.  I watch them get divorces, I watch them turn to alcohol and drugs, I watch as they pull up stakes and move away from the horror that follows them.  I watch as they struggle to pay vet bills for the ones that do survive.

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I smoke because I feel their frustration and anger when nobody will help them.  I smoke because lawyers won’t take their cases; because city officials ignore them; because the cops are almost never held accountable.  I smoke because those we elected to speak for us refuse to help; because I feel the helplessness and despair of the victims.  I smoke because it helps me control my rage as I watch cops lie in the face of incontrovertible video proof; as I watch their supervisors support them in their lies.  I watch as they collapse in grief, cradling the body of their slaughtered pet.

I smoke because I feel their pain when  they have to watch their little girl’s leg get shattered by a bullet from a cop trying to shoot a dog; because they are struck in the head by an errant bullet and get permanent brain damage.  I smoke because I feel the pain of the man and child who watched their wife and mother die from being shot by a hysterical terrified cop trying to shoot their dog.

I watch.  I feel.  I grieve.  I rage.  I smoke.

 

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