Under An Apple Tree

I take another sip of coffee as I watch the dog move from the neighbors backyard into my own. It digs under the fence no matter how many times I fill the hole. To my neighbor the German Shepard is known as “Victory”. Well today is my victory.

My kitchen window provides the perfect view and I smile as the big brown beast sniffs through my rose garden and moves toward the slab of beef I left near the birdbath. The slab is lumpy and off-colored. I left it to rot and then stuffed it with whatever medications I had in my cabinet. The dog is too stupid to smell it and it eats the slab hungrily. I smile as the dog destroys my garden, tips the bath and takes a big shit right in my yard. All for the last time.

The next day I watch the funeral from the kitchen window. My neighbors and their children all dressed in black and buried the dog under the apple tree in their backyard. A lovely ceremony. I actually laughed as they dumped the first shovelful of dirt into the grave.

Later that day I tended to my rose garden, refilled the birdbath. I could have sworn I heard panting from my neighbors yard though. Did they get another dog so soon? Well if they did, I still have a full medicine cabinet. Come to my garden, you furry fuck. I dare you.

That night though I can't sleep because something isn't right. I can hear things in my backyard. When I get up the birdbath is tipped and my rose garden is torn up. I actually shout. I curse. Those fucking neighbors and their fucking dogs. I consider burning their house. Maybe tomorrow.

I turn around and it's standing there in doorway of my kitchen. This new dog is black and huge. To wreck my garden is one thing, to get in my house is another. I grab a knife from the block. I'm going to enjoy getting rid of this one. I go to the fridge and get a strip of bacon.

“Here doggy, doggy.” I smile and offer him the strip. I keep the knife hidden behind my back. “Come here.”

The dog inches closer to me. The fur is strange. It's almost as though the dog is made of smoke and it leaves burn marks in the shape of paw-prints where it steps. Only now do I realize my mistake and my frown disappears as the dog bears its teeth, like jagged shards of obsidian. I drop the knife and make a run for it but I don't make it out of the kitchen.

I am told that no one came to my funeral. No one dressed in black. I was buried in a simple grave very far from any apple trees.