Going Home

Going Home

I never understood what I did wrong. My boy was a sweet boy, with big blue eyes and dimpled hands. They tasted sweet and traces of salt clung to his skin. I can still remember licking them the day they brought me home, and every day thereafter.

Things were wonderful. My new family gave me a soft, warm bed to lie on and lots of toys. The boy would spend hours trying to wrest ropes from my mouth, laughing as I growled. Sometimes, he’d launch a ball across the back yard, and it would sail clear up past the tops of the trees as I bounded after it. There were plenty of hugs, kisses, and belly scratches that completed my days. What more could a dog ask for?

It was heaven.

I’d wait for hours at the door, ears straining for the slightest sound, my entire body quivering with the anticipation of seeing my family once again. The mere slamming of a car door would often send my heart into overdrive, and my tail would drum a frantic beat against the floor. Not once did I use the bathroom on the floor, no matter how bad I had to go. That kind of behavior is for pups.

Now, I sit and quiver, too. But the reaction isn’t the same. I’m cold and alone. Frigid metal bars form my home now. They dig into the tender pads of my paws and press against my ribs. No matter what I do, I can’t get comfortable. Everywhere I look, there is heartache and misery. Fear and desolation shine back at me, reflected in the eyes of the other dogs. Some bark, some howl, but most lay broken with their heads down, haunted and consumed by their memories of the past.

Some bear white tags on their cages. Some boast yellow—and then there is red. These are the dogs that never return. Every day, a man comes in and leads them away. Pain rides the lines of his gaunt face, and he seldom looks any of us in the eye. Without a word, he clips a leash around their necks and leads them down a brightly lit corridor. I wonder if these are the dogs who’ve found a new home…perhaps that is the reason he is so sad to see them go. Maybe he misses us.

Laying my head on my paws, I stare at the empty pen across from me. Nero was adopted yesterday. He went home with a tall, blond man with an easy smile.

When I saw him, I couldn’t help but think of the man my boy had grown into.

Time has a way of changing everything. As the years passed, my boy played with me less and less. The man grew tired of me, and the woman regarded me as nothing more than another chore to be addressed. I tried to be good and stay out of their way. With a heavy heart, my eyes would track them as they moved through their lives, hoping for the smallest scrap of affection that never came. The day my boy moved away, things changed forever.

I thought we were going to see him the day the man loaded me into the car. I wagged my tail, panting as I pressed my nose to the window, watching the scenery whiz by. When we stopped, I got scared. Even from outside, I could hear the loud barks and mournful howls echoing from inside the high brick walls. I trembled, shaking from the inside out as the man dragged me from the car. Without a word, without a pat, he handed me over to a kind looking woman, whose eyes flooded with tears the moment he left. I can still remember her sad smile as she looked down at me and said, “I’m so sorry, old sport.”

The barking starts again, forcing me to lift my eyes. Across from me, Ellie presses close to the corner of her cage, her thin form all but invisible in the shadows. My tail thumps as the familiar man approaches with the leash in his hands. My heart pounds at the prospect of going for a walk, of feeling the sunshine again, or maybe even going home.

I stand as he unlocks my cage doing my very best to hold still and look proud. His brown eyes skim past mine. Without a word, he leads me from my cage. I pause for only a moment, looking back on at all of the acquaintances I’ve made. None of them look my way. Feeling sad, I glance one more time at my empty cage and the red tag dangling from the door.

We walk down the bright corridor. The man’s steps are brisk, and I trot happily beside him, careful not to tug at the leash and heel as I was taught so long ago.

The door swings open and I pause. It was not the outside, like I’d been hoping, but a cold, sterile room that reminds me of the vet’s. I glance around, hoping for any sign of my family, or the boy that I so love, but there is none.

A kind woman with a gentle face smiles at me, but her eyes water. The man lifts me onto an icy metal table and coaxes me to lie down. Tears stream down the woman’s face as she shaves a small patch on my leg, and for a moment, she strokes my head. My tongue darts out to stroke the inside of her wrist. I hate seeing people cry.

A sharp prick startles me, and for a second, I struggle. The woman quickly soothes me though.

“Shh. It’s okay, baby. You’re going home,” she murmurs.

My tail thumps weakly in time with my slowing heart. Drained, I close my eyes, pretending it’s my master’s touch as she pets my side. I hope I will see him soon. Home never sounded so good…

WC 995
Written for The Writer’s Cramp 5/17.