George Martin, a banker, was sitting in his living room in a well-to-do suburb of Boston reading a local story in the newspaper headlined "Barking Dog Saves Family of Five." But this is not the the story of George Martin. Or of banks. Nor is it the story of a dog who saved five lives.
However, this is indeed, a story of a dog.
A brown dog.
A brown dog with rather large brown eyes.
Who did not live in Boston.
The brown dog was sitting on the floor, facing the front door. He was staring straight ahead. He had been sitting there for over an hour. The brown dog was just waiting.
And thinking, too, for brown dog really wanted to smell something new. And the newest thing the brown dog knew of was the fat, gray cat that had been living in his house for close to a month now. But the fat, gray cat hated the brown dog. Or so the fat, gray cat let on. She would arch her blobbed back, her hair straight as arrows; thick as a well-kept lawn. She would open her mouth and her sharp teeth would spit. Every time the brown dog came near her. Which was not too often, but the fat, gray cat had to sometimes use the washroom. A lady can only hold herself for so long.
The fat, gray cat would also see the brown dog every night. When she walked by him on her way to eat her supper. While the brown dog was slept.
The brown dog never ate the cat's food.
So, the big, fat gray cat would also see the brown dog every night, when she would curl up next to him for a after-dinner snooze.
However, it was not nighttime now. And cats are fickle creatures, besides.
It was just after eleven in the morning, so the big, fat gray cat was hiding. Behind the bed, where the brown dog could barely fit his nose under, in the first bedroom down the hallway.
The brown dog was bored, this being his fifth hour of being alone.
Every window in his house were covered with dark hangings. Half an inch of light glimmered from the front door windows; spilling a fat beam of star dust across the floor; beautiful and blocking the ugly.
The brown dog felt hidden in the cool dampness of the city and he could hear the loud cars and the many voices; so grainy and muted in his ears, he wondered if the sound came from his head.
The brown dog had barely seen anyone in days.
He wished he could smell some grass. He had not smelt grass in a very long time. He liked to pee on it best.
The brown dog was tired of smelling his house and even the cat could not have brightened his spirits, anyhow. He hunkered himself down onto the floor and placed his face into his paws. Then the brown dog whined and rolled, so the inch of light, coming from the door, could cover him. He found he liked it best when it covered his ears. The warmth made him dozy, and he thought to take a nap.
It was the very best thing he could do here.
And then it was around one in the afternoon, when the keys jangled into the lock and the brown dog perked his ear, opened both his eyes.
To the thick brown door swinging open and a burst of light, so white, so bright. It blinded the brown dog and he could not see. He scrambled to his feet anyway and slipped on the floor. The brown dog fell, flat to his belly and was scrambling up for the second time, when he began to see shadow.
But the brown dog already knew it was Mom and Dad and he knew that he knew the smell of the other person with them. Someone who had not been over in awhile. And then the brown dog saw all three of them, as the big brown door was closing, and it was the woman with the crazy hair with Mom and Dad. This made the brown dog excited. He lost his footing, as he rushed towards her, trying to run and trying to jump all at once.
He fell. Three times. There was something almost new to smell in his house!
"Sit," yelled Dad.
"Sit," yelled Mom.
Okay, but I want to jump, thought the brown dog. And run.
"Sit," yelled Dad.
"SIT or I will not PET you," said the woman with the crazy hair.
And then she said it again.
And again.
And again.
And so the brown dog sat.
"GOOD BOY to SIT, now I will PET you," said the woman with the crazy hair.
And she did.
In fact, Good Boy remembered he really liked the woman with the crazy hair because she would always pet him.
Good Boy followed the three people a moment later, into the sitting room, with the green couches and the small television. Everyone lit a cigarette and that is when Good Boy noticed Mom.
She looked skinnier and grayer. She did not talk, curled into a tight ball, cramped into the arm of the couch.
Nobody talked.
Good Boy walked over to Mom to get her attention, sniffed at her leg, nudged her hand with his nose, but Dad pointed his finger and yelled, “Go!”
Then lady with the crazy hair snapped her fingers.
She said, “Come here, Good Boy.”
However, this is indeed, a story of a dog.
A brown dog.
A brown dog with rather large brown eyes.
Who did not live in Boston.
The brown dog was sitting on the floor, facing the front door. He was staring straight ahead. He had been sitting there for over an hour. The brown dog was just waiting.
And thinking, too, for brown dog really wanted to smell something new. And the newest thing the brown dog knew of was the fat, gray cat that had been living in his house for close to a month now. But the fat, gray cat hated the brown dog. Or so the fat, gray cat let on. She would arch her blobbed back, her hair straight as arrows; thick as a well-kept lawn. She would open her mouth and her sharp teeth would spit. Every time the brown dog came near her. Which was not too often, but the fat, gray cat had to sometimes use the washroom. A lady can only hold herself for so long.
The fat, gray cat would also see the brown dog every night. When she walked by him on her way to eat her supper. While the brown dog was slept.
The brown dog never ate the cat's food.
So, the big, fat gray cat would also see the brown dog every night, when she would curl up next to him for a after-dinner snooze.
However, it was not nighttime now. And cats are fickle creatures, besides.
It was just after eleven in the morning, so the big, fat gray cat was hiding. Behind the bed, where the brown dog could barely fit his nose under, in the first bedroom down the hallway.
The brown dog was bored, this being his fifth hour of being alone.
Every window in his house were covered with dark hangings. Half an inch of light glimmered from the front door windows; spilling a fat beam of star dust across the floor; beautiful and blocking the ugly.
The brown dog felt hidden in the cool dampness of the city and he could hear the loud cars and the many voices; so grainy and muted in his ears, he wondered if the sound came from his head.
The brown dog had barely seen anyone in days.
He wished he could smell some grass. He had not smelt grass in a very long time. He liked to pee on it best.
The brown dog was tired of smelling his house and even the cat could not have brightened his spirits, anyhow. He hunkered himself down onto the floor and placed his face into his paws. Then the brown dog whined and rolled, so the inch of light, coming from the door, could cover him. He found he liked it best when it covered his ears. The warmth made him dozy, and he thought to take a nap.
It was the very best thing he could do here.
And then it was around one in the afternoon, when the keys jangled into the lock and the brown dog perked his ear, opened both his eyes.
To the thick brown door swinging open and a burst of light, so white, so bright. It blinded the brown dog and he could not see. He scrambled to his feet anyway and slipped on the floor. The brown dog fell, flat to his belly and was scrambling up for the second time, when he began to see shadow.
But the brown dog already knew it was Mom and Dad and he knew that he knew the smell of the other person with them. Someone who had not been over in awhile. And then the brown dog saw all three of them, as the big brown door was closing, and it was the woman with the crazy hair with Mom and Dad. This made the brown dog excited. He lost his footing, as he rushed towards her, trying to run and trying to jump all at once.
He fell. Three times. There was something almost new to smell in his house!
"Sit," yelled Dad.
"Sit," yelled Mom.
Okay, but I want to jump, thought the brown dog. And run.
"Sit," yelled Dad.
"SIT or I will not PET you," said the woman with the crazy hair.
And then she said it again.
And again.
And again.
And so the brown dog sat.
"GOOD BOY to SIT, now I will PET you," said the woman with the crazy hair.
And she did.
In fact, Good Boy remembered he really liked the woman with the crazy hair because she would always pet him.
Good Boy followed the three people a moment later, into the sitting room, with the green couches and the small television. Everyone lit a cigarette and that is when Good Boy noticed Mom.
She looked skinnier and grayer. She did not talk, curled into a tight ball, cramped into the arm of the couch.
Nobody talked.
Good Boy walked over to Mom to get her attention, sniffed at her leg, nudged her hand with his nose, but Dad pointed his finger and yelled, “Go!”
Then lady with the crazy hair snapped her fingers.
She said, “Come here, Good Boy.”
Comments
second - awesome writing! love the imagery.
Thank you.
Q
I like the name change too
-CB