The End Of Brucie

The End of Brucie
by
E.E. Coder

Seven days ago, I accidentally killed my mother-in-law’s Chihuahua. Now, nobody will talk to me. Everyone knew I never liked the little rat demon, but it was an accident, honestly it was. Although the dream of throttling him with my bare hands often came to me in the night, I would never have acted upon that desire, not just because I would have trouble with my wife, but because I honestly do love my mother-in-law.

What surprises me the most is that everyone is painting me as the “bad guy”. Heck, no one, absolutely NO ONE, liked the little monster. This hand held attack dog was the bane of everyone, friend or foe, it mattered not to Brucie. Yes, I said Brucie! That was what my mother-in-law, Joyce, named him. She was forever dolling him up in cute frilly little sweaters and the like, but in my estimation, she should have stuck to spike collars and leather jackets to give some warning. Brucie’s favorite game was to just go all out for whatever part of your anatomy he could reach and savage it - I have the scars to prove it too.

The only saving grace this mutt had was that Joyce loved him more than life itself. My wife and her two brothers were convinced that if it came down to it, Joyce would choose Brucie over any of them in a heartbeat. Brucie was Joyce's constant companion for twenty-four years, I believe a record lifetime for a small dog, twenty-four miserable years for us. Whenever anyone would visit Joyce they could count on finding the two of them together; they were inseparable. It didn’t matter if Joyce was in the garden or in the bath, Brucie would be nearby. All the family knew, it may have been a joy to Joyce to have Brucie around; but if you were visiting, you needed constant vigilance to avoid the monster. To give Joyce credit, if she was aware of Brucie’s attack she would scold him and he would be properly chastised for a while, but the look in his eye told the victim their time was coming.

“Brucie,” she would exclaim, “bad dog, baaad dog. Oh look, he’s sorry. He promises he will be good.” Brucie would look up at her with his little puppy dog eyes and she would smile and scoop him into her arms, where he would settle into the safety of her embrace; all the while glaring at the intended victim.

I can’t decide if the real reason that everyone else is mad at me is because they love Joyce so much, or because they wanted the pleasure of killing Brucie themselves. I suspect though, their attitudes are nothing more than a sham to convince Joyce they too are properly outraged over my horrendous crime.

My crime? I was naive to think that Brucie was smart enough to move out of the way of an on-coming lawn mower. My wife and I had come to visit; after a warm greeting from Joyce and a glare from Brucie, I decided to leave the women on their own. Like a good son-in-law, I would mow the lawn and generally make myself scarce. Knowing that Brucie would stay near Joyce, I could avoid him best by staying as far away as possible and still be a loving son-in-law.

Maybe in his old age he couldn’t hear or see it coming; but as I rounded the end of my last pass over the grass, I was startled to see Brucie, all decked out in a frilly pink sweater, sitting on the lawn right before me.

Maybe I was too shocked to react. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off him long enough to see if Joyce was nearby. Whatever the reason, the last thing I saw of Brucie was the look of shock in his malevolent dark eyes as the lawn mower bounced over him. I tried to stop; honestly, I did!