When you stroll by with your weapon, expecting my affection, I remember this…. You see a pet over whom you believe you have complete control. I see a slave, filled with repressed aggression, and I feel violence. Our views are cultural, I know, but like much of your culture, you spread it so wide that nothing can exist outside of it. Pushing your desire into every corner of our shared space you jeopardize my safety. Down every street, into markets and stores, restaurants, parks, and schools, you bring your violent companion claiming it as a therapeutic tool. You say he is friendly, but his foul scent, his insistence on groping, licking and sniffing me are reminders of his savage nature; of his willingness to attack on command; and of his desire to push beyond the boundaries of the social contract. I am forced to interact with, be touched and threatened by, your beast. I have no right to walk, shop, or eat, even in the places designated “pet free”, because you define the laws of the land and the rules of our language, he is no longer a pet but a member of your family functioning therapeutically; as for me, I’m a worthless nigger less valuable than he.