The Dog

In the dark, I watch. I know it's that damn dog! I had to clean the window in the basement again. It seems to be constantly covered over
with dirt. That flea bag probably kicks it up in front of the window after eating my tulips and taking a dump in my flower bed.
Of course, Nancy is going to do nothing. I wanted to shoot it, but the wife says "No, that's not nice!"
It's only because she doesn't care about the lawn like I do. We've been married for over forty years, and she has never cared about the lawn like I have. I guess I'll figure it out myself. One of these days, I'm going to have to get a light down here.
I went to the store yesterday. I don't want something that people will know it was me. I have to constantly yell at that foul creature to get the hell out of my yard. Still, Nancy does nothing, and I know she watches from her kitchen window while that mutt goes out to do it's business.
"Earl? Come get your dinner ! I'm not going to keep it warm for you all night!"
I go upstairs and sit at the table, imagining the aromatic browned roast is actually that little brown crap machine next door. As I carve slices off, I imagine I can actually hear it whinning, begging for mercy when it was slid into the oven.
After dinner, I go back down to the basement. I know there is a way to take care of this problem, I just need to think. I could just wait until dark and set out a dish of antifreeze and hamburger meat. The vomitting alone would kill it. Except, with my luck, the rotten mongrel would toss it's insides all over my lawn. I would be cleaning intestines and green hamburg out of my flowers for weeks to come! I will probably pick it up when no one is around and drop it on a back road somewhere. There is fun in watching it suffer, I can readily admit. I have been missing things lately though. I feel as if I am splitting into two different minds. Things have been missing from my box.
Nancy says someone shaved the mutt's behind the other day and now there is nasty brown hair all over my basement floor. I wish I remembered doing it, I imagine it was exciting to watch the animal squirm. I need to get this dog problem taken care of soon, I fear it will push me over the edge if I don't. My wife says people have seen me at places I know I would never go to willingly. There is something going on in my mind and I know it is the dog's fault. Five years of watching it traispe happily through my yard, stopping to do whatever it is that those mongrels do, no one caring, all of them laughing--telling me I'm paranoid and I worry too much, it has finally done me in.
I woke up this morning to the sound of Nancy shrieking next door. My wife ran out the door in her dressing gown, eager to be of help to a friend in need. Such a concerned woman, my wife.
It appears the dog had an accident in the night. From what I could make out from the hysterical women, it goes like this: Nancy awoke this morning to a horrible smell and stickiness on the sheets beside her. She opened her eyes to see what it was and found the head of her precious poochie. There were splashes of blood all over her bedroom walls but nowhere else. They think the head may have been thrown in through the window. I want to say how difficult it was to throw that far and high...instead i say nothing except to offer my flower bed as the final resting spot. Maybe the dog could be useful yet.

copyright2000 Cynthia Lyons