Daylight
I licked the blood from her face to clear up her features, an offering of respect. I was always respectful of her, always gentle, never bit her even when caught up in play. I loved her as well as any dog could've, up until the last moments of her life. I hid under the bed while the man came in and killed her. I hid under the bed because I was scared of the screaming and scared of being attacked. I was tested and found a coward.
I watched tendrils of blood creep from inside of her hair, searching the linoleum floor like skeletal fingers, grasping at empty space. It made me feel lonely, so I laid down next to her. I fell asleep with my head on her neck and awoke to a taught, bony pillow. I nuzzled her. She smelled dead.
I paced. I had to shit but the doors were locked. I was hungry but I couldn't just jump up on the counter and rip open all the boxes and bags of people food. I couldn't break all the rules just because she was dead and I was a bit uncomfortable. I had to stay good. I had to show her my utmost respect.
After an hour or so I was forced by nature to shit in the corner of the bathroom. I could hold back the flood no longer. There was humiliation at the stink of my own feces in the place I had come to know as home.
Embarrassed, I paced, nuzzling her from time to time. Stupid dog. Bad dog. She is a dead body now. Why nuzzle? She can't help you. A dull, throbbing depression settled in, as if I was less of a being without her. Eventually I decided that what I really needed was a nap, to rest my whirring brain. A nap on her bed. Where I wasn't allowed to sleep when she was alive.
No dreams during my sleep. I awoke because I had become hungry despite the stink of shit and death rapidly filling the house. Again I began to pace, circle, lay down. I tried to focus on something but my stomach. But I couldn't. It growled and growled and growled.
Eventually I'd have to jump up on the counter and try to paw open the cabinets. Use the crown of my head to spin the Lazy Susan. Find something to eat. Pretty soon I stopped thinking about it and hopped into action. Let me tell you, people food is divine.
They broke down the door around dawn the next day. I'd had to go to the bathroom a few times and they just stepped around it. They found her spoiling on the kitchen floor. They all spent way more time around her dead body than they spent around me, the one who was alive, the one that survived the attack. They kicked aside the wrappers of the food I heroically pulled from the cabinets to sustain myself. They seemed utterly unimpressed with my ability to survive, with my calm demeanor as they arrived on the scene.
They became obsessed with her, with her dead body, gently poking and prodding and laying blankets over her as if she could still shiver from the cold. They ignored me almost completely, but upon their entrance they left an open door with abundant daylight beyond. I walked out the door, the fresh air letting me know how putrid the stagnation had become in the house.
I waited in the sunlight of the front porch. I let out a weak bark, hoping to get some attention. No luck. I turned and made my way towards the sidewalk, then down the street, going slowly at first. At the corner, a sign informed me that animals must be leashed at all times. I strolled over to it. Raised my leg and extended my territory a bit.
Mike Mellish works as a custom builder in West Lafayette, Indiana. His latest work can be seen in 3 AM Magazine and ken*again.