You left us way too soon, you son of a bitch

It rains here every afternoon. Noontime, it’s hot. Feels like the whole world is in an oven, and we are bread and the bread is going to be all crust, no soft bits, because it’s too hot. There was a dead dog on the side of the street near our house. It was all bloated and it would have been comical if it weren’t so disgusting and sad. The body was on its side and all four legs of the poor canine were spread out, looked like a tipped-over figurine of a cow. Under the suffocating heat, that body must really be rank and rotting and just filled with juices and worms and maggots right now. In other words, it’s really hot.

Anyway, our dog died, one of our dogs, we have two dogs, he died two weeks ago. We only have fifty percent of two dogs now. I have been wanting to write some eulogy or something for our dead dog. He was a good dog, one of the best we ever had I think. He had a great personality, very friendly and he went into all sorts of shenanigans and adventures. He would all of a sudden just start running from point A to point B for no real reason. I would then goad him, encourage the little bastard to do it faster and faster, which he would do. Like he understands or something. Run, run, run, faster, I would yell, And he would run his little legs and lungs out of energy and breath. When he’s done with all the running, he would bound upon my person and put his front paws on my lap. I would ask him what it is he wants, and he would bark back, and I would not understand because he is not talking or anything, just barking, so I would ask again. And he would bark again, the conversation is convoluted, it is going nowhere, so in the end I would just give him something to eat.

Fighter, for it was his name, loved to eat. He ate bread, rice, fried fish, fried chicken, pork, anything really, He loved to sleep. He would sleep on his side, or on his back with his legs all curled. He sleeps in places where foot traffic in the house is high though and this has led to several incidents where he gets accidentally kicked and he would yelp and fight and he would recognize you and be all friendly again. You would not want to get on his bad side, but luckily that aspect of his doggie personality seldom manifests itself. Fighter is friendly to other dogs not just towards humans. He likes sniffing the butts of other dogs, bigger dogs than he, for Fighter was a small doggie. He was well-muscled though, and he had a dignified working-class air about him. He works for his living. He is a guard dog.

At night, he would mostly lie down on the steps of the porch or veranda. If he hears anything weird, he would investigate and start barking. Usually this happens at the early hours of the morning, say one or two, when it’s really dark and cold outside. I would be jolted back into consciousness and curse the heavens and earth and hell, for this hellish noisy creature that has disrupted me from my slumber. But the barking subsides, I fall back to non-consciousness, and during the morning, I would open the door and there he would be all happy and tail a-wagging and he would bound upon my person, stand up, place his paws on my lap and start talking to me about all the things that happened last night.


About kara

I just like to read. Used to work in a library. My interests are horror and the gothic imagination, absurd and dark humor, urban legends, and other related unwholesome topics. I write short fiction sometimes. Older stuff:
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