The small scars are hardly worth your while.
There’s a new little tooth-carving in your arm that’s more than a scratch but less than a flesh wound. It’s aching and livid. An hour later, nothing impressive. It leaves behind a little adrenal jolt, at best. This one doesn’t even have a good story, beyond “Don’t sneak up on a sharp-toothed, fresh-from-the shelter little dog when he’s getting ready to eat.”
You really can’t get a good story out of a tiny-dog wound, can you? And it looks stupid. A waste of perfectly good unblemished flesh. Looking to steal a conversation? You’d get more glory with a birthmark. You’d draw more curious eyes with an inoculation scar.
“Hey everyone, so this time something .10 of my size sunk his teeth into me, oh man!”
Sal has impressive jaw strength and sharp teeth for a little animal. Before my friends adopted him, the shelter had stopped feeding him for a week, preparing to kill him. You can still feel his hipbones and spine right under his bristly coat. It’s infuriating, how the world crushes the little things by simply going about its business. They’re entitled to their defenses. We should almost be proud of our pets when they perforation-grip our limbs or swipe their claws at our fingers. It reminds us that we too are exposed, and we deserve it.