not a dog person


my neighbors asked me to watch their dog while they were in myrtle beach for a week. i could just stay at their place, help myself to anything in the fridge, and they’d pay me 150 bucks when they got back. pretty sweet deal, right? i was like yes, please! i imagined throwing parties at their place, hot chicks coming over to see the dog but instead falling madly in love with me, eating pizza every night, etc. what i didn’t imagine was that i’d lose the dog. like, immediately.

it was the first fucking day. i came downstairs from the bathroom and she was just gone. had i left the door open? did she make a tunnel from the kitchen to the backyard? i searched everywhere: under furniture, in the trash can, in the washer and dryer, i even looked down the toilet. could i have flushed her accidentally? (she was just a king charles spaniel.)

after finding not a goddamn thing, i took to the streets. “here, queenie! here, little queenie!” after wandering around for what felt like two hours, i saw it. a little mass of mangled animal in the middle of the road. roadkill. i felt sick to my stomach. i walked over to take a closer look. it was roughly the right color, i guess, though it was tough to tell with all the blood and guts. the question then became: did i leave it there or did i scrape it up and bring it back? after much deliberating and delaying — i really didn’t want to touch a disgusting dead dog — i decided i ought to do the right thing and take it so queenie could receive a proper burial. i found a piece of cardboard in a nearby trashcan to use as a scraping tool. as i started to do the grisly act, though — and honestly, the dead animal was a lot mushier than i expected, the cardboard was going into it more than under it — guess who i heard barking behind me. queenie. the fucker was alive. i realized that, like an idiot, i had left the door open when i went to search for her. i dropped the piece of cardboard, took queenie home, and did not let her out of my sight again for the rest of the week.

next time, i think i’ll tell my neighbors queenie’s better off at the pound.

 

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