Walking, Running, Staying

Bad People, Good People, Sick Dogs

Photo by Bryan Dickerson on Unsplash

Warning:Domestic Violence and Sexual Content

Stench rose like it had helium and death in it.

Cassia stepped back and buried her face in her armpit, and odd place to go to avoid pungent smells, but this was bad.

Zeeber stared up at her, alert to her discomfort.

The golden retriever mix left a runny pile on the edge of the softball diamond, right next to the holes where the Indian kids stuck their cricket stumps.

Cassia pictured the kitchen garbage. A carryout container with some Alfredo residue maybe?

Whatever it was, Zeeber looked sad, and for a dog, even embarrassed.

Cassia rubbed Zeeber’s back and reached for the dog waste gloves in her back pocket.

This one was gonna be a challenge.

***

The noise was daily now, not constant, but daily, Nik Wislough making an angry, low hum.

He had stopped discussing the news with BiBi, which was fine with her. The hum bordered on a growl, reminded her of Alto, her little lap mutt who growled at the mailman with a single tooth showing.

Alto’s ashes were in the front closet.

Or did Nik move them to the garage?

She would have to find them. They were coming with her.

Nik would make pronouncements at dinner, mostly that the world was gonna end in war or famine.

BiBi sometimes listened to the news just to hear what might trigger the apocalyptic comments.

Nik shot pool on Tuesdays and BiBi had promised herself she was going to leave while he was there.

She first made that promise to herself two years ago.

The steroids she was on made her plump. She hated how she looked. So every time she was ready to leave Nik, when she looked in the mirror, she wondered if the steroids made her crazy too.