Free Verse Episode 6: Fiction Volume

"Hello?"

I stared out the open door at the worn-out dog. Its ears flopped over like wet Kleenex; its paws, belly, and legs were coated with thin mud the color of tar. He (I always assume dogs are a "he", for some reason) looked up at me with such a mournful expression that I almost let him in.

Almost.

I hate dogs. I have a strict prejudice against dogs, and especially muddy dogs. They aren't like fish, or cats, or even mice, who can live their entire life without human contact. Dogs need you. And, frankly, I don't want to be needed. I'm hands-off. 

"Hello?" I said, as if the dog could understand. No collar. He must be a stray, or one of the wild dogs that roamed our town like disciplined ghosts.None I'd seen looked quite as sorry as this one, though.

I went to the kitchen in my bare feet, re-tied my robe over my jeans and tank, and opened a can of tuna. Placing the fish in a bowl, I set it in front of the dog and closed the screen door to watch. Sunlight glinted off his eyes for a split-second, and then he went for the food. He turned around, and suddenly I saw it.

The nerve. Who chains a dog and then abandons him? I could have seen the welts from the window.

"That's it,"I said, against every will I had in my body. I opened the door, and the muddy thing bounded in like the whole world had been handed to him in a bowl. Which I guess it might have been.
The last time a dog was in my house, I left.
Now, I can't leave. I have to stay.
I dragged the dog into the bathroom (I'd have to mop the floor), and within ten minutes, we were both covered in sudsy soap and smelled like lavender shampoo. "Sit," I said, and went to get the water bowl filled. It didn't; it followed me. I groaned and shouted, "SIT!"
He stopped mid-stride, one paw lifted off the floor. All his happiness drained away; he slunk back to the door and whined.
Great. 
Now he wanted out.
"Okay, look," I said. "When I tell you to do something, and you do it, we'll get along. Deal?"
He wagged his tail, recognizing the resignation in my voice.
The last time a dog looked at me happily, I didn't rub its head. I left the house in a fury that my car battery was dead, and left on my bike.
He never saw me again.
The dog jumped on my couch. He paced in a circle three times and then promptly fell asleep. I walked over, touched his velvety ears; he smelled like shampoo. A wet-dog- shampoo smell. The ache eased so much I hadn't realized it was there till that minute.
The last time I had a dog, it was black, and slept in my bed, and I didn't leave the house angry and only come back when I accidentally left the oven on and it blew up.
The last time I had a dog, it's name was Lucy.

I let the dog sleep.
This wouldn't be the last time I had a dog. 
It would be the last time I ignored a dog's muddy paws.












Title: The Last Dog
---KatG



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