A wad of blankets in the corner, between the dumpster and the wall. And, on top of it, the mangieist puppy I have absolutely ever seen in my life.
"Aw, buddy." I pull my fists away and crouch down. Luckily, the space between the brown brick wall and the dumpster is larger enough for me to walk through. I lower my hand, knuckles out, for the puppy to sniff.
The small dog smells my fingers. For a moment, I squint my eyes and look slightly over my left shoulder, scared of the small possibility that it might still be feral and attack me. Then, a rough, spongy thing scrapes the tip of my finger. Slowly, I turn my head back, looking down at the dirty, small puppy wrapped in the dusty blankets. It licks me again and looks up at me, and I notice that one of its eyes is blue, the other a golden-brown, and, around the eye, a brown spot of fur contrasts against the rest of its dirty white fur. I reach forward to pet it, slowly at first. But then it nudges its head against my hand, and I kneel on both knees in front of the pup, scratching behind its ear.
"Hi, bud." My fingers hit a hard spot around its neck, and I realize that there's a collar still on the dog.
Who the hell abandons a dog–but... who the hell abandons a dog and leaves the collar on?
I shift the collar, looking for tags, and, after a second, find the only one. My fingers flitter over the red, bone shaped metal tag, flipping it over.
No name. No address or phone number. Just verification that, no, the dog is not feral and, indeed, has gotten its rabies shots.
Well, at least they got the dog its shots before leaving to die.
I sigh, rubbing the pups head. Its tail subtly moves, and I still my hand. The tail stops, and, when I look down at the pup, its eyes meet mine, expectant. I move my hand again, scratching behind its ears. The tail moves again, more obvious this time, and I laugh a little bit.
I stand up and dust my hands off. Immediately, the dog stands, taking a moment to shake before looking back up at me. I turn around, looking over my shoulder. Then, I step forward. For a moment, the dog just stands still, tongue out, and tilts its head. Then, it looks up at me and, almost on cue, takes a step forward, out of the wad of blankets. I take a few more steps forward. After a moment, it follows, trotting a bit. Chuckling a bit, I begin to walk all the way back to the van, not bothering to look behind me as the jingling sound of a dog tag follows from behind.
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Between Then & Now || Currently Editing for Wattys 2022
ChickLitOla Murphy is tired of shitty men in her life-and she's tired of being hung up on shitty men. After her dog dies, her apartment floods, and she discovers that her boyfriend is cheating on her with her best friend, Ola finds herself stuck at her cous...
