Uncle Milo

The silly, little puppy romped in the clover patch. I let those nine harmless words escape my mouth, and sated my next-door neighbor’s demands for an explanation as to the reason her prized patch was in such disarray. But, I knew better.

         You see, Uncle Milo showed up unexpectedly last night. Things got ugly, and I had to wrestle him to the ground on my next-door neighbor’s front lawn when he tried to run away with my wife’s purse. During the skirmish, we ended up in what just so happened to be the section of my next-door neighbor’s front lawn that featured her beloved clover patch. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

         Uncle Milo was the family pariah mainly due to his raging alcoholism. His wife of forty years left him six months ago because she could no longer handle the stress. Uncle Milo hadn’t always been an alcoholic, mind you. Up until five years ago, Milo Bradford was a moderately successful investment banker, and he and Aunt Mila—yes, they were “Milo and Mila”—lived in the city, and enjoyed an enviable lifestyle. When Uncle Milo was ceremoniously canned (it was in the news!) while the investigation of the embezzlement was underway, that was the turning point.

         The shame became too much for Aunt Mila, I’m afraid, especially while Uncle Milo was in jail—he received a five-year sentence but was out in two on account of “good behavior.” But, it was all about the whiskey once Uncle Milo was out, and, personally, I was surprised Aunt Mila stood by him for as long as she did. She finally filed for divorce a year ago but Uncle Milo remained steadfast, citing their wedding vows to my poor aunt, emphasizing the part that spoke of being together “through thick and thin, rich or poor.” In the end, the lawyers won.

         My father reluctantly took his younger brother in after the divorce. (Aunt Mila had summarily kicked him out when she got the house from the divorce.) Uncle Milo was, up until last night, living in the guest house by the pool at my father’s place. I could only imagine if my father would have arrived at the same arrangement had he still been married to my mother. She certainly would not have agreed to it. Lucy, however, my step-mother, had always had a soft spot for Uncle Milo. But, as most cases involving alcoholics, life with Uncle Milo ultimately proved disastrous for my father and Lucy, and my father evicted him last night. This brings us back to the events that led to the destruction of my next-door neighbor’s clover patch.

         My wife and I lived within five miles of my parents’ home. Being an only child likely held some subconscious desires that influenced my decision to purchase property within a stone’s throw of the familiar. Thankfully, my wife had always loved the neighborhood so it was, by all accounts, a slam dunk. That was, until last night, when Uncle Milo was easily able to walk from my father’s place to mine after being kicked out of the guest house. I’m not sure if he was already wasted prior to leaving my father’s place, but he reeked of whiskey when he practically burst into mine after I had regrettably let him in. I, too, had had a soft spot for the old bugger—he was my father’s only sibling, and was very present in my life while I was growing up. In spite of my wife’s protests, I couldn’t simply shut him out.

         But, the brief reunion wasn’t pleasant. He was demanding that I lend him money, which I, of course, refused. I had offered to put him up for the night to sober up, and told him that we would discuss possibilities in the morning, but he became violent, and pushed me to the wall. My wife, who had been watching the exchange from the top of the stairs, screamed at my uncle and threatened to call the police. Uncle Milo yelled a few choice words at her, which, naturally, angered me, and I lunged at him to try to push him out the front doors. That was when he saw my wife’s purse on the credenza in the foyer. He grabbed it and ran out the door, and I chased him. Due to his condition, he wasn’t moving too quickly so I tackled him in front of my neighbor’s lawn. We wrestled for a few minutes until I was able to pin him down, across the small expanse of my next-door neighbor’s cherished clover patch. The cops arrived shortly after and hauled my poor uncle away.

         “Well, make sure he doesn’t do it again,” my neighbor said in a huff, then disappeared behind her house’s front door.

         I went back inside and found my wife waiting for me in the foyer. “How’d it go?” she asked.

         “Fine,” I said. “All things considered. But, there’s one problem.”

         “What?” my wife asked, concerned.

         “We have to buy a dog.”

839 WORDS

Written for Writers Cramp Contest
Prompt: Start your story with "The silly, little puppy romped in the clover patch."