A Boy and His Dog

Janet Troy leaned out the window over the kitchen sink in her one-story rancher style home to call to her son. The cool breeze soothed her face and the sun warmed her tan arms. She was glad that the heat wave that recently held Southern New Jersey in its unyielding grip was finally over. It was July 27, and the past three weeks had been absolute hell.

She was miserable and knew she had been pretty shitty to the kids lately, especially Stevie. Jeanine, at 5, was no cause for concern to her. She was a happy-go-lucky kid. Her eight-year-old son was a different story, however, and she found herself increasingly concerned with his level of detachment. At times, he seemed not to feel the slightest bit of emotion. On the other hand, his stoicism made him seem mature beyond his years, so much so that she felt comfortable letting him watch her daughter when she left the house for a little while. She saw him sitting in the yard. Mr. T was at his side.

"That poor dog's going to die soon," she thought. "I wonder if he'll even notice."

He certainly didn't now. He was entranced with the preying mantis sitting in his open palm, far too interested to hear the dog whimper as it attempted to lay down. The neurological disorder afflicting their six-year-old cocker spaniel broke Janet's heart, especially when she knew it did not do the same to her young son. Despite Mr. T's inability to move without a great degree of pain, he still followed Stevie around without fail just as he had since Michael bought him for their son when he was a little over two.

That was right before he left them for good. The man Janet had so happily married was a drunk and had a gambling problem. After six years, she had come to be glad that he was gone, but would never forgive the bastard for trying to replace a boy's father with a little orange dog.

Jeanine was, for all intents and purposes, a mistake. She loved her daughter deeply but felt nothing but anguish at the thought of her father. George Chapman was the principal of the school at which Janet taught eighth grade. He had taken advantage of her vulnerability after Michael left. She'd only been working at Kennedy Middle School a week before she made love to him, and she honestly didn't know he was married. At least he helped out with some of the expenses for raising her daughter. It still felt like an insult.

Janet was still a young and attractive woman, but she wasn't ready for another relationship. Silently she wondered if she ever would. She planned to stay in town for another year, by then she'd have enough to move to Florida, where the cost of raising her children would be more within her reach. She would be away from the specter of GeorgeÕs real family and wouldn't have to deal with the occasional looks and hushed whispers that still came from coworkers and neighbors. Jeanine could start first grade in a new school. Stevie would adapt. He had no friends now, so a move wouldn't make much difference.

"Stevie, could you come in here for a sec?"

"Stevie?"

She knew from experience that her son never realized his name was being called until the third time she said it. Like clockwork, on the third one he looked up, acknowledged her with a nod, lay the preying mantis down carefully, stood up and walked toward the house. Janet saw his foot accidentally hit the dog on the ass while it struggled to rise. She winced at the sound of its faint whimper then watched Mr. T purposefully follow her boy to the house.

Walking to the counter in her small kitchen, she began to rummage through her purse, mumbling, "Keys... wallet... checkbook. Check."

She grabbed the small shopping list from the table and shoved it in the pocket of her cut-off jeans. She slung the small leather bag over her shoulder, adjusted her blond ponytail and tugged at her bra through the faded peach blouse she was wearing, thinking only of the joy she would experience the moment she could come home, take it off, and lie down, alleviating the irritation that the fabric was causing to her nipples.

Stevie came in slowly, as usual. Much to Janet's relief, he remembered to hold the screen door open for Mr. T. So many times he would let it close slowly and continue in. Sometimes the dog made it in time, but the pain he must have experienced from quickening his pace was probably the same as when he would get caught in the closing door or smack his face against it. Janet always tried to be alert for these situations, because she hated the way the dog would whimper eerily until he was allowed to enter. God forbid if Stevie went out the front door after coming in from the back when he forgot the dog. He would pace the house for hours looking for him. Jeanine might run up and grab his tail, but for the most part she had outgrown that habit. Even so, Janet hated trying to pet him to settle him down. His breathing was erratic, raspy, and she would always seem to find a new lump on his withering body. Soon she was going to have to sit her children down to talk about putting him down. It was a copout, but sheÕd been avoiding it for so long because her kids had enough problems to deal with, what with not having a father around. Trying to explain death terrified her.

"What's up, Mommy?"

"I've got to run out to the grocery store for a little while, do you think you could watch your sister? She's supposed to be home from the mall with Charlene and her mother by now but I can't wait any longer if I'm going to get dinner ready for the two of you."

"Sure."

With that he turned, walked into the living room, turned on the television, and proceeded to play with the Sega system she bought him for his birthday back in March.

"You sure, hon? You didn't have any plans, did you?"

"No. I was going to walk down to the park, but it's okay," he replied, the video game hypnosis already creeping into his voice.

Janet grabbed the keys from her purse and said hesitantly, "Alright. I'll be back in a bit." As Stevie nodded approval, the door burst open and her daughter ran in.

"I'm home, Janet." Calling her by her first name was a recent habit for her daughter.

"I'm going to the store, honey, do you want to come?"

"Sure. Can I sit in the cart?"

"I guess. Stevie, you don't have to worry about your sister, she's coming with me. If you do go to the park, remember to lock up and be sure you're home by five."

Again he nodded in affirmation. Jeanine bolted back out the door and Janet noticed the dog walking back to Stevie from his water dish in the laundry room. Then she noticed Mr. T stumble briefly before catching his feet. Finally she noticed the fact that Stevie didn't seem to notice at all.

Fighting the lump building in her throat, she said good-bye to her son and as she walked out the door, she resolved to have the talk with her children tonight after dinner.

...........

Twenty minutes after his mother left, Stevie's game was over. The Eagles beat the Giants 43-17. Stevie converted on 4 onsides kicks and had Randall Cunningham rush for 278 yards in the victory. Smiling as he had when he discovered the preying mantis earlier that day, he leaned forward and turned off the game. Getting up, he grabbed the remote control and sat on the couch.

His clear blue eyes tried to avoid Mr. T, but they couldn't. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the dog followed him over and plopped down next to his feet. When he tried to lick the little toe of his right foot, Stevie cringed. Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, he slowly moved his foot out of the spaniel's reach and tuned in MTV.

He hated to watch the tube during the day, especially in the summer when he could be outside exploring. His tanned skin and sun-bleached hair were testament to the amount of time he spent outdoors. Stevie knew that his mother felt uncomfortable when she saw the dog. The only way to ensure that Mr. T would stay out was for him to stay out. The only reason he was on the couch was to avoid the dog any pain. He would sit for a while and let him rest.

As he flipped channels the fear started to build again. He liked to watch Jeanine whenever his mom offered the chore to him. It comforted him, and not just because he felt like a big boy. If his sister was with him while their mom was out, Stevie figured there was no possible way she would leave like daddy did. That was also the reason he tried to keep the dog away from her. He didn't want to give her another possible reason to run away. When she did leave him completely alone, the fear would build, and that fear was intensified the day he found brochures to Florida about a year earlier, right before Mr. T got sick.

Tears began to well in his eyes as he considered the prospect of being left alone. He had only fleeting memories of his father before he left, but few of them were pleasant. Even in his current state, Mr. T was more enjoyable company. From what he remembered his dad was always acting weird. Sometimes he would hit his mother. Stevie could never rid himself of the only crisp image of his father; he was big, with black hair. He smelled funny and was acting scary on the phone.

"Dammit, Vinnie, you know I'm good for the money... Now that's a fucking lie... Listen, you leave my kid and Janet out of... Yeah, I think I could scrape some up by this afternoon... Aw, c'mon, a fucking hour?... Fine! Fine!... I'll meet you there."

When his dad got off the phone, he ran to Stevie's room, smashed his piggy bank and ran out the door.

"Stop it." he said to himself. Mr. T's head lifted at the sound of his voice. "Mommy was only going for a little while. She brought Jeanine because they're coming back." Stevie decided to turn off the television and wait for his mother just to prove himself right.

About a half hour later he heard the car pull up. The weight dropped off him, just as it had all the times before when he got scared. It never stopped him from being terrified.

"Pull yourself together," he remembered hearing grandma saying that to his mom a couple times before. It always seemed to be the right thought when the burden lifted from him. He never wanted her to think that he was scared of her leaving. That might just turn out to be another reason for her to do it.

"Stevie, I'm home."

He got up just as his sister came hurtling around the corner to turn on Sesame Street. "Watch it, poopy face," she said as she dove onto the couch. Stevie blocked out the whimper that came from Mr. T when he got up to follow him.

"Is everything okay, hon? Did anyone call?" his mother asked as she came in with two bags of groceries in her arms.

"Yes, everything's fine, mommy, and nobody called. Can I go to the park now?"

"Sure, but watch the time. It's almost three thirty now. Dinner will be ready by six. And put some shoes on before you go out."

He saw his mother glance behind him at the dog. Too young to know the difference, he judged Janet's look of pity for one of disgust. Feeling the fear coming back, he dashed to the front door and grabbed the shoes he always left there so as not to waste the trip to his room, fearing the effects seeing Mr. T continue to walk through the house might have on her.

"Okay, bye."

As he walked out the door, he could feel his mother watching out the corner of her eye. Only when Mr. T was completely outside the door (which Stevie held for him this time) did he notice her relax. He looked up, smiled, and closed the door. The fear left when she smiled back, apparently relieved, so he started slowly for the park, hoping Mr. T could keep up at least moderately comfortably.

The duo walked left down the Troy's street, Beaumont Drive, turned left on Garden Grove, continued on for three blocks, crossed over to the right at the intersection of Garden Grove and Three Rings, and continued down until they crossed Park Lane at the entrance to the basketball courts. There were a number of pickup games going on, and Stevie would normally stand at the fence to watch them for a bit, but today he continued on purposefully, walking along the path that passed by the fountain, the baseball field, and leading to the creek.

The cool spray of water from the fountain felt exhilarating to him as he passed by, but he ignored the urge to take off his shoes and join the group of people wading in it and continued onwards.

Panic descended on him when he passed the fountain area and followed the path through a grove of trees. He suddenly smelled his father. Hearing a cough, he looked in the direction of an old man sitting on a park bench. He wore tattered clothing, had a long, straggled beard and a splotchy bald head tanned by the summer sun. In one hand he held a brown paper bag wrapped around a glass bottle, in the other a cane, which brought Stevie's attention to the fact that the old man had a plastic right leg.

"What the fuck're you looking at, you little shit?" the old man slurred violently. "Ain't you got nothing better to do?"

Stevie felt his heart begin to pound. Trying to maintain his composure, he looked straight ahead and picked up his pace, hoping that Mr. T would keep up.

The man continued yelling after him, "I don't need your pity, faggot boy. Go home and lick your whore mom's ass, why don't you? Give her your pity -- not me. I still got some years in my old ass, motherfucker. Better yet, why don't you pity that damn ugly dog following you? That thing deserves to fucking die."

Eventually, the crazy old manÕs voice lowered to an inaudible mumble, but it was a struggle for him to hold back the tears that threatened after the comment about his mother.

Once he passed through the grove, he could see the clearing that led to the creek. On his left was the baseball field. There was a Little League game going on. He recognized a couple of kids from school out there, people he used to be good friends with up until about a year ago.

Off to the right, in the big field, he could see a little boy, probably a little older than Jeanine, playing football with his dad. Watching them was a woman, about the age of Stevie's own mom, he guessed. She was holding a little baby in her arms and a beautiful German Shepherd was at her side. On a call from the little boy, the dog jumped up and started to run with the father and his son. They all went to where the woman was sitting. Stevie noticed her give the dog a kiss and rub its belly as it rolled over. The image of repugnance that he saw on his own mother's face when she looked at Mr. T came into his mind. A tear rolled down his cheek as he heard the whimper his own dog made as he tried to cross the railroad tie that Stevie had stepped over. He intended to head down to the woods along the creek at a point a little further up from where the clearing came across it at the bridge.

When he got to the edge of the woods, he leaned down to pick up Mr. T, knowing there was no way the poor thing could walk to the cove that Stevie had found at the beginning of summer. The shivering dog had welts all over its body, and a growing physical revulsion overcame the little boy.

About twenty feet in, he came to the spot where he was going to help his mother, where he was going to make sure she wouldn't want to leave him. The spot was a small pool of water that trickled down from the creek, no more than four feet across at its widest part, but it was deep. Stevie had plunged a long stick in there once, and judged it was about up to his chest. That would be more than enough.

He sat down on the edge after he put Mr. T down, then reached into his pocket for the length of clothesline he had placed in his back pocket earlier that morning. He got up and picked up a cinderblock he had found about thirty yards down from the spot a couple weeks before and had hidden behind a tree. It took nearly all his strength but he managed to bring it over next to Mr. T. He then picked up the dog again and, placing him on top of the block, began to wrap the rope around him and through the two large holes. He bit his lip hard to block out the sound of the dog's whimpering. Working furiously with the tears rolling down his face, he managed to tie the final knot.

"Goodbye, little buddy," his voice breaking violently. It was all he could think to say and the realization shamed him. He loved Mr. T. He had been his best friend for as long as he could remember, and he no words to eulogize him. Leaning down, he kissed his dog on the head, picked up the block, and threw it with all his might to the middle of the pool. Thankfully, Mr. T didn't utter the slightest noise after the kiss.

Once the bubbles stopped, Stevie wiped his face, turned, and started slowly off to dinner.

...........

"Okay, Mom... Yes, I'll bring the kids by this weekend... I'd rather you and Dad didn't... Why? Because you two are always pampering them... Yes, Stevie's fine... I'm sure he wouldn't mind going fishing with Dad... No, I don't know whether or not I'll bring the dog, but I don't think I'll have to worry about that... Nothing, nothing, Mom... Listen, I have to go, Jeanine just fell outside and it looks like she cut herself... Yes, Mom... Look, I've got to go, talk to you on Saturday, okay? Yes... Yes... Goodbye. Love you, too... I will"

Janet hung up the phone abruptly and got back to her spaghetti sauce. Jeanine didn't fall, Janet didn't even know for sure where she was, probably next door at Charlene's house. That had merely been an excuse to get off the phone with her mother, who was starting to nag her.

It was almost 5:30, and she had started to worry about Stevie. It was not at all like him to be this late.

Just then, he came in through the front door, heading straight for the bathroom.

Janet walked over to the door of the john and rapped softly, "Stevie, honey, are you okay?"

He opened the door, "Sure, Mom." She thought she could hear his voice about to crack and watched him walk to the living room. That's when she noticed.

"Stevie, where's Mr. T?"

Her son didn't answer.

"Stevie?"

He sat down on the couch, his small frame looking burdened.

"Stevie?"