Miserable Dead Damn Dog (662 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.76 on 20 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by QuinnTheEskimo (View user info) at 2009-05-28 17:37:45 EDT
It's Sunday morning and I have a dog to deliver. But first things first. I crack my knuckles as I yawn, my mouth so foul that I can smell it. I cough once, twice, and then I'm shedding clothes and stepping towards the bathroom.
I remember when I first met Yolanda, at a Halloween party two years ago. I was dressed as Abe Lincoln, and she was dressed in some sexy nurse get-up. Why is it that women feel compelled to be as slutty as possible whenever society gives them the least bit of leeway? Is it because loose women are so frowned on the rest of the time?
We struck up a conversation. I told her I liked her ears. She asked me if I was the human version of Mr. Peanut. I might have known then and there that things weren't going to go well, but I was blinded by fermented grapes and cleavage.
I step out of the shower, wrapping the towel around my waist and rolling the top a time or two to make sure it stays in place. I look at myself in the foggy mirror for a moment before I begin to brush my teeth. It's the same thing every day. Wake up. Shower. Brush my teeth. Shave. Get dressed. Usually I ride my bike to school after doing all that, but today, like I said, I have a dog to deliver.
Yolanda and me, we weren't serious at first. A little flirting here and there, an occasional phone call. I don't know why i didn't make my move sooner, if I had at least I wouldn't have this mess to take care of today. Yolanda made the first move, and invited herself over to my place for pizza and a movie. The sex was great. She was the more clingy of the two of us, and after about six months, she put a little pressure on me and persuaded me to let her move in.
The dog came less then a month afterward. A friend of Yolanda's was moving across the country and couldn't keep the beast. Sixteen years old, halitosis, half-blind, it was a yellow lab with one foot in the grave. Yolanda loved it. It crapped in my house. It peed in my shoes. It made my house reek of dying old dogs. Even my bed began to smell.
But you can pick up dog shit, and you can soak up pee. Yolanda bought me some kind of spray to cover up the animal smell in my place. I might have been able to tolerate him, except that the old dog hated me.
Hated me.
It took almost two months for the dog's back hair to stop bristling up whenever I was around. He growled when I entered the room, he would stare me down with his gray rotting eyes, licking his lips like he wanted to see what I tasted like. If he saw me fill his bowl he wouldn't eat, instead he would simply lay down next to his food and wait for Yolanda to empty the bowl back into the bag and refill it herself.
Yolanda and I began to fight about the dog. I wanted it gone, but Yolanda insisted that she had promised her friend she would take care of it. I said her friend was across the damn country, and wouldn't miss the dog any more dead than she was missing it alive. Yolanda called me a prick. I called her a dumb cunt. Yolanda slapped me. Then the dog bit me.
I didn't see it coming, the yelling between Yolanda and me had covered his low growl. He jump up at me from behind while I was still off balance from Yolanda's slap. Its ancient yellow teeth sank into the fleshy part of my calf, and I fell backwards on top of him. His left front leg snapped like a dry twig and he yelped in pain. Yolanda called me a monster, said I had done it on purpose.
I didn't speak to her for nearly a week after that. Finally she came back and apologized to me, the dog on a leash and wearing a cast. We stayed together for another three months and the dog gave up the ghost. Yolanda and I got into another fight then, she said that I had never loved the dog, that I was glad it was dead. She was right, but I cared enough about her to lie to her, and went and got the dog stuffed by a professional taxidermist.
I'm not sure if she liked the stuffed dog or not, but she accepted the gift, and it stayed in the living room until she decided to leave a little more than a year later. That brings us here, to today. It's Sunday and I have a dog to deliver. The dog is where it always sat, in the living room, between the pale couch and the wall, a docile look on his face like he had once been a friendly dog.
I pick up the dog around the middle, it is very light, his forelegs sticking in out in front of my chest and his back legs rubbing against the small of my back. His tail poked almost straight out behind him, like he was alert and aware instead of a miserable dead damn dog.
The walk to Yolanda's new place isn't a long one. She is living with her sister and when I arrive, her sister is looking out of the second story window at me.
"What are you doing here?" Yolanda's sister calls down. I don't know her name.
"Bringing Yolanda back her shitty dog." I answer, holding out the taxidermy Lab.
The front door opens and Yolanda comes out. "What are you doing here?" She asks and her tone is a match of her sister's.
'I'm bringing you back this shitty dog." I say. "I never even wanted him in the first place and you left him at my place. I don't need a bunch of crap sitting around reminding me of you, so here." I held out the dog to her.
"I don't want it."
"Don't want it?"
"No." She pulls half a cigarette from an ashtray near the mailbox and lights it, squinting her eyes against the smoke.
"Well, I wasted a trip here." I said, and threw the dead dog at her feet. The dog's front left leg snapped clean off on impact.
"You monster." Yolanda says dryly. Then she picks up the broken foreleg and chucks it at me as had as she can. "Get the fuck out of here."
I turn my back to avoid getting hit in the face with a dead dog's paw, then turn back her Yolanda. "Fuck you, cunt." I say lamely. I start to walk home. After a few steps, the dog paw shoots past my shoulder and into the sidewalk in front of me.
"You never liked the dog anyway." She calls.
"Never liked you too much either." I answer.
When I get home it's Sunday afternoon. I pull a wadded piece of paper from my pocket with a cheap Bic pen. On the paper there were only two words: Deliver Dog. I cross them out as I walk to the fridge for a beer. I open the beer and sit down to watch television, content in a way that only a man with nothing on his to-do list can be.
User Reviews
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-06-01 13:56:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2009-06-01 12:28:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by PlatinumScarecrow (user info) at 2009-05-31 14:15:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
AWESOME!
Submitted by eye_on_my_nonothing (user info) at 2009-05-30 17:51:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Wow, wonder if she ever let her friend know that her wretched dog crapped out? That was pretty cool that you put up w/ the dog, but taxidermy... really? I thought only hunters did that with their prize kills. Like a trophy. Creepy.
Submitted by BranDo (user info) at 2009-05-30 06:44:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Co Nomment
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2009-05-29 15:44:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ok, I've read it now.
Had to, just to give myself some closure.
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2009-05-29 15:41:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The first sentence conjured up a whole feast of imagination in my imagination.
I didn't read any further than that, because I'm having an internal debate as to whether this about:
a)playing midwife to a dying dog about to have a litter of pups
b)you mailing a dead dog to a friend as a prank
c)you delivering said dog from evil, by dressing him up with a mask of the late great Pope John Paul the whatever he was.
The fact that you made me think those thoughts in one sentence was worthy of a +2.
Submitted by HellRazer (user info) at 2009-05-29 14:36:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
yay!
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-05-29 09:15:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I finished reading the story, and I found it all very amusing and well-written. Good work.
You monster.
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-05-29 09:07:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Why is it that women feel compelled to be as slutty as possible whenever society gives them the least bit of leeway? Is it because loose women are so frowned on the rest of the time?
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Loose women aren't frowned upon, they're "frowned upon". People love sluts, are you kidding? Men wanna fuck 'em and women want to be wanted. It's a bogus fucking stigma, and that people don't see through that is just as bullshit as the stigma itself.
Submitted by FALLEN (user info) at 2009-05-29 08:38:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
dude how expensive was the dog to get taxied?
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-05-29 07:55:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'd love to have an empty to-do list someday, but a bi-polar wife and hellish job keep me from it.
Submitted by TechnoRatty (user info) at 2009-05-29 05:35:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
good stuff Sir
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2009-05-29 05:12:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by SOLO2 (user info) at 2009-05-29 00:26:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Front page STREAK!
Submitted by RoadSong (user info) at 2009-05-28 23:03:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
There once was a shell shocked vet from WW2 who had a stuffed Doberman. He kept it on a leash and dragged it along behind him. The stairs were the worst. Thump thump thumpthump. heh
~~~~~~~~~~
This is a great read.
Submitted by sir_cowman (user info) at 2009-05-28 22:33:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
fuck you ass holes that think everything i post on here is nonfiction
you are retarded faggots
all of you
faggots
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2009-05-28 21:07:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
You had her dog stuffed?
¿Qué el fucko?
Submitted by X54 (user info) at 2009-05-28 19:42:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm not sure which whipped you worse: the pussy or the dog.
Submitted by Falafel (user info) at 2009-05-28 18:40:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
<3