A hand with gnawed nails opened the door to the veterinary clinic. The hand's owner walked to the front of the waiting room, which held a lone woman and her calico cat, and approached the front desk.
"I'm here to pick up Fidgets", said the nail-biting man.
"Sign in, I'll bring him to the front.", said the receptionist, who was a bulldog in woman's clothing.
He scribbled in a sort of shorthand even thought the clipboard said print, "Larry Wallace". After taking his seat he began thumbing through a Cosmopolitan.
200 Ways to Please Your Man.
Celebrity Weight Loss Secrets.
What's the Buzz on the Runway?
"They're always so far off", he mumbled at the first.
"Mr. uh... Willis?", said the receptionist trying to read his writing.
"Yeah, right here", he said, walking to the front again.
"It says print. Here's your dog", she scowled.
He paid the woman and took Fidgets by the reins. Fidgets was an English mastiff, not entirely purebred, but a monster. If you didn't grip the leash tight he'd run off and eat someone's livestock. Then Larry'd have to explain to Yvonne why their dog got shot again.
He killed a dachsund last week and the owner hit him with a bat. Poor Fidgets had to have stitches and wore a big white cone around his neck to keep him from messing with his busted nose. He was already batting at the cone.
Larry had to let Fidgets ride in the front seat of his car, since there was nowhere else for him to go. It was Yvonne's fucking dog anyway.
Sometimes, dating someone with a pet is like dating someone with a kid, only you don't think about it that way until you're saddled with them.
He got home and got Fidgets out of the little Pontiac before he had a chance to shit all over the place or something. Larry brought the dog inside, practically having to drag him. Yvonne came right to the door as he walked into the house.
"Oh, look at you!", she knelt to have a close gander at the stitches on the dog's nose and to scratch around his neck, "Larry. Why did you let him go in the first place? Look what happened to him" Yvonne sounded mad.
"I told you, honey. He jerked his way out of my grasp" Larry said, his hands open as if to say 'What do you want from me?'.
Yvonne had been giving Larry the cold shoulder all afternoon. They ate in silence. Larry was tempted to go out for Chinese. After some T.V., during which he figured three words were spoken as she stroked Fidget's head, Yvonne told him to take the dog for a walk to take his night-time dump.
"Sure, honey", Larry said, and gripped the leash with vigor.
"And don't let him loose", she stressed.
"No prob."
Larry walked out into the dark suburban night with the leash in hand and Fidgets dragging him along. The dog led him a good ways, and Larry decided to dig his heels in.
"Not so fast, asshole", he whispered, "You really piss me off".
The dog glanced at him, looking bored.
Larry squatted and took the big cone off of the dog's head.
"I think you're pining for the fields. Wanna go free, big guy?", he asked, his hand becoming looser on the leash.
The dog started scratching at the stitches. Larry dropped the leash at his feet and watched the dog jump up and run, just like he had hoped. Maybe it'd eat some farmer's goat or something and end up shot. Larry laughed heartily.
Yvonne could take her big fucking animal problems elsewhere. And if she didn't leave him, at least he wouldn't have to deal with Fidgets anymore. If he had any luck at all. |
Submission Name: Fidgets
