This is my effort in response to Thain in Vain’s Week 18 prompt: “Weird things remind me of her. Cabbage, for instance.”
I look down, letting out a sob as the reality of the situation finally sets in. She’s gone. My beautiful girl is gone.
Her bowl and bed, once so full, now both lay empty in the darkened corner of my kitchen. God, I miss her. I miss the fur she constantly shed and the muddy paw prints she’d track through on my just-cleaned laminate flooring.
I loved everything about her, even the less than pleasant things. Weird things remind me of her. Cabbage, for instance. She was a faithful friend and a loyal companion but, oh my word, her flatulence could knock a herd of rhino out at twenty paces.
Perhaps it was a problem of my own making; maybe feeding her my leftover dinner wasn’t the best thing for her. I quickly learned that curry and chilli were both a no-no – her flatulence on those evenings was enough to remind me of that.
Even when I fed her regular dog food she would always park her considerable rear end by my feet at the sofa, stretching out with legs akimbo. I would think her cute when she lay on her back, tongue lolling to one side of her mouth as she snored softly. Even the little twitches of her face and paws would make me smile, lulling me into a false sense of security.
It sometimes took an hour, and other times only minutes for her to fall asleep, her muscles relaxing as she drifted off into doggie dreamland. The relaxation of her muscles would cause one in particular to slacken – and with devastating effect.
At first I would tell myself that I’d imagined it. Wrinkling my nose as I straightened the newspaper on my lap. Then the subtle and unconscious twitching of my own nose would begin, my olfactory senses picking up on a malodorous and malignant presence in the air. Peering down, I would find her blissfully unaware that her bowels had produced a noxious gas of epic proportions.
Perhaps dogs couldn’t smell in their sleep, but I certainly could. It would be then that I would debate whether nudging her forcefully with my foot to move her stinking ass was being cruel or not. But her flatulence was a torture all of its own – why should I suffer alone in silence?
At times I grew to resent her and her ingrained canine habits, but I’d take all of that back just to see her one last time. I miss the way she barked when my car pulled up in the drive, the way she’d jump up at me and lick my face, the way she’d slobber her drool over me every time I sneezed.
I miss her and all her little doggie devilishness – but her stinking, farting ass?
Nope, never gonna miss that!