Each Alone

I couldn't just leave Mary and Duke hanging.     




     Mary dragged herself toward the front door.  It had been an exhausting day, all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed.  She needed to rinse away the odor of barely concealed decay that permeated the funeral home.  Then she needed to be unconcious.

    She reached for the doorknob. Mary gazed at the door of the house where they'd spent so much time together.  On the other side of that door was loneliness.
 
    Then she saw the dog. Duke still stood watch at the front window, waiting.  He glanced at her momentarily, then looked around and beyond.  He was always John's dog, her only interaction with him had been keeping him off the furniture.

     Finally, closing her eyes, Mary opened the door and stepped into the empty house. Duke wagged his tail briefly, acknowledging her entrance, his eyes still focused outside. Mary sighed and shuffled toward the living room.

     She wavered a moment, lost in her own home. There was no routine for this new chapter of her life. She sat, back rigid, on the edge of the sofa, still clutching her purse. Her memories of John drifted on the tears puddling behind her lashes.

     Mary hadn't seen Duke come into the room. He whined softly as he sat in front of her.  She supposed he was hungry, or needed to go out.  She laid aside her purse and forced herself to her feet.

    In the kitchen she found Duke's dry water dish.  The sound of the water filling the bowl echoed in the dark kitchen. She set the dish in front of the dog, then returned to the edge of the sofa.  Without the purse, her hands clutched themselves.

    Duke stood in front of her again.  Mary drew a breath, she wasn't ready to deal with his needs.  She looked away, he leaned into her legs with sigh.  Her drawn breath released a flood of loss and frustration.  The tears broke through her exhaustion.

    She felt warmth against her shoulder, could smell a lingering hint of John's aftershave in the heavy fur.  Duke sat beside her on the forbidden sofa, his eyes focused on hers.  Mary wrapped her arms around the dog and cried her pain into his neck.  He sat quietly beside her until she could cry no more.

     Mary, too tired to move, fell asleep, curled into the corner of the sofa. Duke cast one final look at the front door, then drifted to sleep beside her.



I linked up with a Story Dam prompt: Write fiction or non-fiction, tell us what lies on the other side of the door.

Selfish Pain

This week we asked you to explore your worst memory.




He'd been through so much. Arthritis in his rear legs and hips. His front legs were beginning to show signs also. A neurological problem in his hips made his front legs have to do most of the support. 

He had an ongoing antibiotic resistant ear infection. The odor was awful, sickly sweet and rotten all at once. Ear washes and cocktails of meds. The infection would finally go away, only to return in another month. Along with the ear infection were fleshy growths that bled if he scratched too hard. 

He was fourteen, not young for a dog. Most of his teeth were gone. The problems in his hips meant his tail couldn't speak for him anymore. . The arthritis meds were supplemented with pain pills. He slept more and more. 

One day he refused to take the pills. No matter how we tried to give them. He wasn't tricked by food around them. We couldn't force his jaws open to push them down. As pained and frail as he'd become, his stubborn streak was still strong. 

For two night we were awakened by his barking. I'd go into the other room to see what was bothering him. He'd be gazing past me at something I couldn't see. 

The second night I sat up with him until morning. At 7:30am I made the call. Choking through tears I explained that it was time.  The receptionist at the vet's office was sympathetic, asked if I was sure. I was. The appointment was made. 

It was fast and painless. For him. I knew it was the right thing to do. Selfishness had kept him in pain too long. 
. 
I am a cat person.  But cats have their own agenda. They come and go as they please. 

Ari, my Shih Tzu was often underfoot.  Following me from room to room.  There is still, two years later an empty spot in my heart.  And an empty spot at my feet. 

                     * * * * * * *
It's been two years and i still miss him. We did adopt a troubled dog last year. I try not to compare. It's hard still. 
 

Salt Water Birthday

Water gives life. It also takes it away.

Write a short piece - fiction or non-fiction - inspired by one or both of these statements.



The boy walked through the double doors. Head down. Behind him came his grandfather. 

The old man spoke quietly with the officer behind the counter. After a moment, they were escorted to a small room. A table. Four chairs. Three men. One, authoritative, in blue shirt and black trousers  One barely old enough to be called a young man. The third, an old man, becoming older. 

After prompting by the officer, the boy began to tell his story. Tears coursing down his soft cheeks, bringing to life the betrayal.   

He told of the neighbors. How he took care of their yard work. How they always gave him a soda and snack. Asked him about school. His plans. His life. Paid him when he'd finished. Pat on the back. Until next week. 

How he'd jimmied the back door. Just like he'd been shown. Eased into the kitchen. Going through drawers. Looking for cash. 

Into dining room. The good silver in the china cabinet. He'd been told it was worth something.  

On the table, a gift wrapped package. The tag. 
"Happy Birthday Jeff!" 
They had bought him a present. For his birthday the next day. 

How the lights suddenly came on. The gasp of surprise. 
The gasp of pain as he ran by, pushing the old woman down.  The sound of something hard hitting something hard. 

The gasp of pain when she slapped his face. Called him names. Told him how worthless he was. Coming home empty handed. After all she'd taught him. All she'd done for him. How she'd wasted her life on him. How he'd ruined her birthday plans for him. 

The officer asked more questions. Kept his voice in check.  Kept his stomach in check. 
Then the boy is taken away. 

A few questions for the old man. 
How he'd walked into the room to see his daughter hit her son. 
How he'd heard the things she called the boy. 
How she'd forgotten her father had recently moved in with them. 
How he hoped his neighbor would be alright. 

The officer left the room. 
The old man sat still.  Tears coursing down his leathered cheeks, for the family he used to have.