Random piece of writing No. 2

Random Piece of Writing from a year ago. 

Hot breath still tingles against the back of my neck. Huff, the whine, the snap of dogs teeth. Dogs teeth meant to hunt. Hot breath meant to gather my being in its nose.

                I don't hate the dog. No sir.

                I hate that long bitter chain making the poor dog listen to the bitter man at the end. The animal vanishes in his grasp. The human vanishes. I stop being me. I am his. His thing. His No one.