The man placed the bowl of food in the middle of the yard.
Benny stood a few steps away, his eyes locked on the bowl. He had not eaten all day. His stomach ached with hunger, his legs trembled, and saliva dripped onto the concrete.
“Stay!”
The man shouted.
Benny quickly sat down. He tried to be good. He tried to wait. He looked up at his owner as if asking when he was finally allowed to eat.
But the smell of food was too close.
The hunger had hurt him for too long.
When the man turned around to grab the wooden stick near the door, Benny thought it was the signal. He lowered his head and began eating quickly, swallowing each bite as if the bowl might be taken away at any second.
Suddenly, a furious voice exploded behind him.
“Who told you to eat?”
Benny froze.
The food in his mouth had not even gone down before the stick came crashing onto his back. The blow made him cry out in pain, and his small body collapsed beside the bowl.
Food scattered across the yard.
Benny backed away in panic, rice still stuck around his mouth, his eyes wide with fear. He did not understand. He was only hungry. He only thought he had been allowed to eat. He did not know that because he had not waited for the exact command, his only meal of the day would turn into a beating.
The man stepped closer, raising the stick again.
Benny did not dare to run.
He did not dare to keep eating.
He only dropped flat against the concrete, covering his head with his front paws, his whole body shaking violently while the spilled bowl of food lay right in front of him.
For Benny, the most painful thing was not only the blow.
It was that from that moment on, even a bowl of food became something to fear.
