Mr. Ball absent-mindedly traced his fingers over the steering wheel of his dull-red mini van. He was having some problem's with his marriage. His wife, he'd started to notice, was very... controlling. So many of his life decisions were made by her, "for the family", "for their love", or "for his safety". But they really weren't, they were for her.
Mr. Ball never wanted to quit the marines, he loved the rush of the battlefield, the thrill of the fight, and the fear coursing through his veins. It was dangerous, sure, but it was what he loved. His wife did not agree. They never saw eachother, the kids missed him, and she couldn't handle life as a single mom. In reality, she adored being a single mom, the kids were easy to care for, and neighbors brought over casserole on more than one occasion. It wasn't a bad life to live, but she still missed having around her husband, so she took control and brought him back.
And Mr. Ball was running out of patience for his overbearing wife. He loved his kids, but not much else. So, Mr. Ball, with his math teacher life, quickly found that he was becoming depressed.
And now he found himself sitting in the parking lot of Petland, hoping to fill the hole in his heart with a furry friend. With a sigh, he slid out of the car and walked up to the doors. A pang of guilt struck him as he looked at the faded '$100 off all puppies!' sign. He knew it was wrong to shop at Petland, but he knew he could afford this, so, begrudgingly, he stepped inside.
"Can I help you, sir?" Came the drawling voice of the lanky teenage boy from behind the front desk.
"Uh, yeah. It's uh.... my, uh, son wants a puppy for his, uh, birthday."
"What kind of puppy?"
"Oh, I don't know... something kid friendly, something interesting, something to keep us busy, you know?"
"Oooh, ok, I gotchu fam."
Mr. Ball had no idea what that meant, but smiled and nodded at the boy in hopes that it gave the illusion that he was young and hip. The boy sauntered towards where the dogs were kept, and Mr. Ball stood confused, wondering whether or not he was supposed to follow. He soon lost track of where the boy was and decided it best to stay put.
A few minutes later, the boy returned to see Mr. Ball sitting in the swivel chair, gently swaying back and forth, his eyes out of focus. Weird dude.
"Uh, sir? I think this is the dog you're looking for."
"Huh?"
"The dog."
"Oh. What kind of dog is it?" asked Mr. Ball, suspiciously eyeing the mass of grey floof in the boys arms.
"Mutt. I think he's some kind of husky mix, by the looks of him."
"Then how do you know if he's family friendly?"
"Bro, are you stereotyping dogs by breed? Bro that's so racist."
Mr. Ball stared blankly at the boy, turning bright red as he realized that he was right. That was a bit racist. So much for "don't judge a book by it's cover".
"...alright, how much?"
And they quickly got lost in numbers. Food bowls, water bowls, kennels, toys, beds, puppy pads, collars, leashes, treats, anything that a dog might need, Mr. Ball bought. Mostly out of spite, since he and his wife share bank accounts.
After much negotiating, Mr. Ball paid for everything and took a moment to actually look at his new dog.
"So what's his name?" He asked.
The boy looked up, glee spreading across his face. This old guy thought they came with names!
"Oh, this here is Sneeb."
"S-Sneeb?"
"Yep, Sneeb."
"What a... cute name. Very fitting."
"Isn't it?"
"Absolutely."
"Glad you think so, let me get you some official documents, and then you and Sneeb can go on home! You can go put your stuff in the car if you want, Sneeb and I will go print out the adoption forms."
"Sure. Thanks." And Mr. Ball was on his way.
