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The dog that bit the shit out of me

It took time to get to where we were.

Molly, our 17 year old senior dog, was depressed. She laid in bed all day, she would wet in bed. She refused to eat and would bite us if we wanted to give her attention. Life was bad for Molly. The breaking point for Molly was one night I step in the kitchen where she stood with pee all around her. I bent over to tell her no with my finger pointing and shaking it at her muzzle.

Molly could take no more. Whatever reason it was, Molly saw that finger as an opportunity. She watched it like it was prime rib flapping before her chops. That was the moment in a instance that senior dog jumped up and latched on to my finger like a tick on fat warm skin. I yelp, “Help!” I wiggled. I shook my arm up and down and that dog went up and down with my finger holding on for dear life. “Fuck’n shit! Help me!” I cried. The first one down the stairs was my Spanish speaking mother-in-law in her see through pajamas without a bra.

“Javi! Fucking help me!” My mother-in-law stood there with her hands over her mouth. I was still standing in dog piss as my dog hung from my finger. My husband finally came running down stairs to see me crying. My face red. The dog and I both wet from the piss splashing every time I lowered my arm to shake her off.

Javi ran to Molly and picked up her body to where it was level with my finger and she released the grip she had. My finger was torn just a little. The problem was part of her tooth broke off into the skin.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“What the fuck did you do to that dog?”

“Molly? Now you care more about Molly than me?”

“You had to do something.”

“Yeah, I did. I told her no. She peed on the floor and I’m tired of it. I said bad dog and shook my finger at her.”

“Well, don’t. Let her do what she wants. She’s a dog. She’s old. Leave her alone.”

“No. I’m sick and tired of everyone in this house doing what they want. For once I want her to pee outside.”

The blood from my finger was all over my arm. Tears down my face. “You don’t give a shit about me. Look at this blood. There is something in my fucking finger and you’re yelling at me.”

To be continued……

The affair

“Danny…” The woman pauses to cry.

“Julie, what are you doing” You shouldn’t be calling me.”

“I needed to. I need to talk.”

“To me?”

“I trust you. I have no one else. There is only you.” She cries out loud. “Please, just listen to me. You’ve always been my best friend.”

“I know, but our friendship is secret and Keith is here. You know how he feels about you. It’s eight in morning.”

“Danny, put me on speaker phone. I don’t care if he can hear my problems. I just need your advice.”

“Go ahead,” Danny put the phone on speaker phone and places it on the kitchen counter.

“I caught him.”

“What? Nooo!”

“Danny, who’s that on speaker?”

“It’s Julie. She’s upset.”

“Go figure” Keith mumbles as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Jules, what happened? Are you sure he really did it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you walk in on him?”

“No, it was nothing like that. I came home last night and found another woman’s shirt in the guest room. It was blue, ripped and smothered in perfume. It was laying flat on the spare bed.”

“Have you asked the maid?”

“Danny, I’m poor. I don’t have a maid.”

“Sorry, I forgot. That shirt could belong to anyone. Just because you found a shirt does not mean he’s cheating on you. Could it be a friend’s?”

“No, the shirt was a short sleeve blue cotton shirt with poloyster side panels. It was worn. The tag was faded and the front was ripped. That shirt was too cheap for any of my friends to wear.”

“Did you confront him?”

“Yes, he was already sleeping in bed. He blew me off. Then this morning he turned it all around on me. He said I had to keep my mouth shut or I would just humiliate myself, again.”

“Again? What does he mean by that?”

“He was referring to my ex. The infamous male slut I was married to.”

“Oh my…”

Julie begins to cry again. “Danny, will someone ever want to be with just me?”
“Of course you will, but give him some time to tell you the truth. You guys have been together for six years now, and you’ve been through a lot. This will pass. Just don’t jump without knowing the truth.”

“What if I don’t want to know the truth? M ex left me feeling ashamed and like I was less of a woman. Then there was that boyfriend I had in college that couldn’t keep his pants on. I was the laughing stock of the campus. Then you left me.”

“Julie, I’m gay. I was always gay. I loved you. I still do, but you can never give me what Keith can.”
“I know. I love you and respect your choice with Keith. At least you were always honest with me. We were never exclusive. That’s why I’m calling your instead on anyone else. I can trust you.”

“Julie, you are loved. You might feel dark and unloved right now, but you are not alone. You will find that one that only needs your love. You might have already had, but until you give him a chance to explain you are not going to feel better. Don’t walk away from him based on a cheap blue shirt. Your relationship deserves more than being torn apart from a ripped shirt.”

“DPchallenge/ doompocalyptic-resolutions

Here’s the backstory for this week’s challenge: The tin-foil hat, Mayan apocalypse conspiracy people were wrong about the world ending in 2012. Hooray. Time for them to go back to watching grassy knoll footage in slow motion. BUT!

They were only half wrong. There’s a gigantic meteor hurtling toward earth at an alarming rate, and a 97.3% probability that we’re all going the way of the dodos and dinosaurs within three months. So, this year you aren’t going to make resolutions about losing a notch on your belt. You aren’t going to concern yourself about polishing off Remembrance of Things Past once and for all. You don’t even care a jot about emptying your email inbox. In three months, doompocalpyse is going to be upon us. So what are you going to do?

Fuck you 2012! Gone are the old days of weepie tears, fat thoughts, binge eating, self-destruction.  The world is ending in three months! I’m tired of being nice! I’m tired of being sorry for shit I didn’t even do. Quite honestly I don’t even like the puss-puss I’ve become, so watch out World, I have three months to live! My three months start now.

My new beginning starts now. I call my peep in NYC.

“Whaz up?”

“Ni-hao”

“Shirley!”

“Wey?”

“Shirley! It’s me Cheese!”

“Cheese…Why you talking funny?”

“You owe me bitch.”

“Wey?”

“Sorry. No, I’m not sorry. No more apologizes. It’s the new me.”

“No good.”

“Ok, you’re not a bitch. I need a ride.”

“You in China Town?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Ahh, you come visit and shopping? I find you good purse.”

“Shirley! The world is ending. That crap is crap! Let’s travel.”

“Wey?”

“Paris! Where else? My passport is no good. I need you to hook me up with one of those guys.”

“What guys?”

“You know the pimps that brought you over here from China. The ones you had to work off your freedom with hardcore sex.”

“Nooo, I virgin!”

“What about those stories you talked about hiding in small places in the dark cold and listening to people call your name. You said you almost wanted to cry in pain.”

“That was the story of me playing hide-n-seek as a child. I’m American. I’ve never been to China.”

“You can’t be an American. You’re not smart like all those other Asians in school and you talk funny.”

“So, you stupid and talk funny too.”

“You’re Chinese!”

“You’re a dumbass!”

“Ok fine. I’ll be a dumbass,  but can you help me?”

“Yes, stop watching CSI, 24 and all those television shows, oh and try getting off the caffeine. Are you still on your way to NYC?”

“Yep, the bus is still moving. I guess I’m screwed for the last 3 months of my life. I sold all my stuff.”

“No you didn’t. You too lazy.”

“Fine, you’re right. I was in a hurry to leave. Talking about it makes it sound kind of stupid. I just thought with the world falling apart I should run off and live my dream and travel around France.”

“You can stay with me in China Town. It might only be NYC, but I can show you China, Russia, Italy, Poland and the world for that matter without ever leaving the country.”

“Shirley, syeh-syeh.”

Canary

I apologize for my absence from the world of blogging. 

 Last Friday, my grandmother passed away. 

 I dedicate this short story to my grandmother.

There once was a little girl named Sara.  She lived in an apartment building in Manhattan overlooking Central Park.  Her mother was busy with social engagements while her father worked many hours as a pilot. During the war, Sara’s father flew commercial jets for the military transporting soldiers to the battlefield in the Middle East.

One day two pristine dressed military men arrived at the apartment.  Sara’s mother sat solemnly in the living room talking to the two men decorated with ribbons and medals pinned to their chest. Sara was curious, but she stayed in her room till the men left.

Over the course of the following week Sara attended her father’s funeral, assisted her mother with packing all their belongings and moved from New York City to a small cabin in the Rockie Mountains of Colorado.  The house had no internet, no cable or satellite television and no telephone except for her mother’s cell phone.  It was summer time so Sara spent most of her time coloring or playing with her dolls, but she missed her father, her friends and looking out her old bedroom window watching Central Park.  New York City glistened with lights, sidewalks were full of people and streets are adorned with rows of traffic.  Now, in the mountains Sara was feeling incredibly lonely without her father, the quietness of her mother and her new view from her cabin window.

One day from Sara’s window she watched humming birds dance around the flowers.  Attracted by the small birds Sara went outside to play near the rocks of the Colorado River.  She tossed rocks into the water, chased a frog and watched birds play.   As Sara was getting up to walk back home, something glistening in the grass caught her attention.  She walked over to the object.  It was a very small bird egg.  It was partially covered by broken pieces of what looked like a bird’s nest.  Sara looked around for a mother bird.  There was no sign.  It was getting late so Sara picked up the little bird egg and gently wrapped it in some leaves to carry it home.  She showed the small egg to her mother.  Together they  made a small home for the egg in an old shoe box.  They borrowed a heat lamp from the veterinarian to shine on the small abandoned egg.  Sara and her mother were  now busy taking care of the small egg. One day they noticed the egg beginning to hatch.  The next morning a baby bird was born.  Sara and her mother fed the bird with food drops from the local veterinarian.

Before long the small baby bird began to walk in the box.  Sara and her mother bought an antique bird-cage from the flea market to make as his new home.

“Momma, the bird’s feathers are turning yellow.”

“Let me see.  Hmmm, they do look rather yellow compared to the gray they used to be. I’m still not certain what kind of bird it is, but in time we will know.”

Over the following days the baby bird grew more and more yellow feathers.  “Momma, I think the bird is a Canary.”

“Sara, I don’t think Canaries are native to Colorado.”

“Can I name it?”

“Sure.”

“I’m wanna name it Lemon Drop.”

“That is a very odd name.”

“I know, but It’s yellow feathers remind me of daddy’s favorite candy, lemon drops. Will that make you sad?”

“No honey, I think Lemon Drop will be fine.”

Lemon Drop grew in to a strong beautiful Canary.  Through out the year, Lemon Drop sang songs,  talked, and perched on her Sara’s shoulders.  Lemon Drop brought joy back in to Sara and her mother’s life. The two of them were once again happy.

The following fall, Sara went to bed with the window open.  A rain storm with gusting winds blew into her room chilling Lemon Drop.  The next morning he had a cold. Lemon Drop sat at the bottom of his cage looking ill instead of singing, talking or perching. All day long he did not eat or drink. Sara and her mother took Lemon Drop to the veterinarian.  She prescribed him medicine drops.  The following days Sara and her mother gave the medicine to Lemon Drop, but his health was not improving.

“Momma, is Lemon Drop going to leave us like daddy did?”

“Sara, daddy did not leave us.  He passed away.”

“I don’t want Lemon Drop to pass away. I miss daddy.  I’m going to miss Lemon Drop.”

“Lemon Drop is not going to leave us.”

“Then where is he going?”

“Lemon Drop is going to shed his wings for larger wings. His new wings will be so grand he will fly above the clouds and among the stars and back down to us.”

“But, I won’t get to hear his song.”

“If you listen closely you will hear his song among the whistling winds.”

“But, I won’t get to feel the warmth of him perched on my shoulders and the tickles of his feathers on my neck.”

“If you go outside the rays of the sun is the warm touch of his love.”

“Momma, I’m going to miss Lemon Drop like I miss daddy.”

“Sara, Lemon Drop might be fine.  Give the medicine time to do its work.  Your daddy never left us.  Your daddy like Lemon Drop has grown wings to soar the sky and stars.  His love is in the warm touch of the sun’s rays.  Daddy’s voice is scrambled in the winds.  Daddy never left us, he ascended. He is above us.  Daddy is here and will always be here for you.  Let’s go to bed.  Tomorrow Lemon Drop may feel much better.”

The next morning, Sara woke up to find Lemon Drop perched on his swing singing.

The Bridge

Sally was busy working inside her small bustling grocery store when she noticed the young adult male sitting under the bridge. She continued working. Customers came inside mentioning the man outside.
“Do you think he’s homeless?”
“I’ve never seen him around here before.”
“This can’t be good for business.”

As the small group of women continued to chat Sally worked.
“Ah, oh my!”
“Look! He’s about to jump!”

Sally ran from around the counter and ran out the front door. More customers came up to the front window to watch the commotion.
“Should we help her?”
“Are you crazy? He could be a drug addict, thief or terrorist.”

“He’s not.  He’s a local.  He’s a loner. He goes to church every Sunday, he’s just poor.”

Sally ran up to the base of the bridge.  She didn’t want to scare the man.

“Can I help you?”

“Why?”

“Because I care, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m not. I’m going to die.”

“Please don’t”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I just do, I know you have had a rough life.”

“You didn’t want to help years ago when my mother was looking for a job.  You didn’t care a month ago when my brother was shot outside your store.” The man on the bridge was angry and crying. “You didn’t care when I was looking for a job.”

“I’m sorry. I want to help you.”

“You only want to help me because the people in the store are watching.  If I die you won’t care. If I live you are the hero. I lose in both situations.”

“Let me help you. You’re right. I’ve been greedy in the past. I should have given your mom a job. I should have unlocked the door the night your brother was chased by the gunned man.  Now, I can help you.”

“For years, day and night I have suffered.  You think by stopping me from jumping you are going to help me?”

“No, I can’t make you want to live.  I just want to offer you my hand.  In good faith, I promise to now be here for you.  Death will always be there for you.  For once in your life I would like to offer you hope. You can sleep in my guest quarters.  You can work for me.  I will not be able to give your family back but I can share mine.”

Sally walked up to the man. She put her arm around him. He was shaking and crying.  “Why did you wait so long to help me or my family?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I needed an audience to wake me from my vanity. I promise now I will always be here for you.”