completely unprepared for what he found there in that hollow, marble-floored room. Not only did he learn that he was a terrible husband, uncaring and oft-times violent—which came as a complete shock—but that he was a mean and abusive father as well. And while he had known that those accusations were completely unfounded, the judge obviously hadn’t, ruling that he was to have no further contact with the child… yet still, he was going to have to part with the house, the cars, and more than half of his monthly income.
It had been the worst day of his life, bar none. He had left there in tears, shrugging off his lawyer’s attempt to comfort him, unable to even give his only daughter one last hug before she was whisked away in her new “daddy’s” Mercedes. He had paid religiously and timely for the next couple of years. No longer able to afford the style in which he was accustomed to living, he had moved into this tiny apartment, selling everything that had ever mattered to him to cover the first and last month’s rent.
He had been fired from the department store where he had spent the last eight years managing the electronics department after showing up one too many times hung over and looking as though he hadn’t slept, let alone showered. Of course, he hadn’t, as there was barely enough time in his life for anything other than the bar. It was there where he received at least the most remote resemblance of respect: the bartenders all knew him by name, he placed second two years running in the annual darts competition, and there were always ladies there willing to treat him like a king, if only for a night.
Tonight, however, he hadn’t been in the mood for anything other than a long-term relationship with his bed. A one on one, twelve hour affair that would hopefully leave him able to wake up functional enough to try to find a better job than he had held for the last two years. And besides, he was getting awfully tired of waiting tables, even if the management didn’t make him claim his tips.
Kissing his fingertips, he placed them on his daughter’s picture, a tear forming in the corner of his eye as he shrugged, his lips twisting over his teeth. Sniffing, he broke his stare from the picture, heading down the hallway to the whining dog, which was, more than likely, cringing beneath his bed.
Turning left into the darkened bedroom, he could smell it right away. Covering his mouth and nose, he flipped on the light switch, his eyes surveying the floor for the fresh, steaming pile of crap, that he knew had to be there somewhere. There were no brown piles on the tan carpet, so, fearing the worst, he raised his eyes from the floor level to that of the bed, immediately seeing the stack of logs atop the comforter.
“Chopper!” he shouted, watching the tip of the dog’s nose disappear behind the bedspread that draped nearly to the floor.
Grimacing, he skulked across the well-worn carpeting, throwing wide the bathroom door. Grabbing the roll of toilet paper off of the counter next to the toilet, he pulled off about three feet of the white paper, bundling it up in his hand. Stepping back into the bedroom, he paused at the foot of the bed, his face crumpling beneath his upturned nose.
He snared the pile in the tissue, the warmth creeping through even the second ply into his flesh. Groaning, he whirled and raced to the bathroom, throwing open the lid of the toilet and dropping the heavy mound into the water with a splash. Flushing the toilet twice for good measure, he stood in front of the sink, running the hot water so that it might get warm enough for his hands. Pumping the soap dispenser, he was able to procure nothing more than the crusted ball of dried soap that clung to the nozzle. Sighing, he rubbed it between his hands beneath the slowly warming water before drying his unsatisfactorily clean hands on his bath towel that hung over the shower rod. Turning, he took a deep breath and stumbled back into the bedroom.
“Chopper!” he called, falling to his hands and knees right at the base of the bed.
He could see the dark outline of the dog beneath the bed, huddled right in the center in hopes of being out of reach.
“Damn it! You come out here right now!”
But the dog only whimpered as he reached quickly beneath the drooping covers, grabbing the collar tightly with his right hand and yanking the squirming dog out from beneath the bed. The nails on all four of his feet dug into the carpet as he stiffened, his head flopping from one side to the other as he was dragged out into the light.
“You know better,” Jeremy said, lifting the black and rust patterned Rottweiler into the air by its collar, its flailing legs accomplishing nothing more than twisting its neck tighter in the collar.
Raising his left arm, he whacked the dog on the hind end repeatedly, his palm stinging from the blows. His teeth bared, he tossed the dog down on the bed, the Rott landing squarely on its back before flipping onto its feet and cringing at the top of his bed atop his pillow.
Shaking his head, Jeremy rifled his fingers through his dark hair, trying to calm himself.
“Sorry, boy,” he said, climbing onto the bed and crawling toward the pillows. Chopper flinched, but immediately melted as Jeremy began to scratch behind his ears, his slobbering tongue immediately reciprocating with a quick slop across the face.
Smiling, Jeremy rolled onto his back, bringing the dog onto his chest as the ferocious licking continued until he could no longer take it and had to roll the dog back over, rubbing his exposed belly.
His head had begun to throb, his drooping lids nearly lowered over his burning eyes, but he needed to make it up to Chopper. It wasn’t necessarily his fault that he had dumped in the apartment; after all, he had been home alone for close to fourteen hours. Jeremy knew that there was no way he could hold his bowels that long. Chopper had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, as it seemed he was more frequently, especially as of late. And the bottom line was that the last thing Jeremy wanted to become was abusive, as they had accused him of being in court on that one fateful day so many years ago now.
“You wanna go for a walk?” he slurred, smiling as he held the dog’s face cradled in his hands.
Chopper sprung to his feet, playfully bouncing on the bed from side to side, his saliva drenched tongue lolling from one side of his mouth to the other.
“You wanna go for a walk?”
The dog darted off the bed, sprinting toward the entryway, the carpeting grinding beneath his clawed feet as he tore across it. Chuckling, Jeremy rolled off of the bed and shuffled into the hallway to the sound of Chopper’s paws scraping on the front door. Rounding the corner into the family room, he turned back to the front door, opening the small closet and grabbing the leash that dangled from the inside of the knob. Latching it onto the bouncing dog’s collar, he opened the front door and held on for dear life. Chopper bolted out into the hall and toward the door to the stairwell, pausing only long enough for Jeremy to open it before bounding down the stairs as fast as his churning legs would take him. Struggling against the force of the strong dog’s will, he clung tightly to the railing, easing slowly down the steps so as not to be yanked headfirst into the air.
Staring back at him from where he sat at the door to the lobby, Chopper’s tongue dangled from between his canines as he panted, his eyes aglow with the anticipation of the night. Jeremy had barely turned the knob before Chopper threw his weight against it, leading them both through the lobby at a ferocious pace and to the front door where he just stared out into the swirling snow, the muscles in his shoulders and back tense with longing.
“All right, boy,” Jeremy said aloud, bracing himself for the freezing breeze that he knew would rip right through his clothing, nipping at his skin beneath.
Enjoying just one more moment of the blowing heat that poured from above, creeping down his back beneath his jacket, he opened the door. The dog tore out into the night. His shoulder lurched as the leash he had wrapped around his hand tensed, the Rottweiler pulling against him with everything that it had, wanting nothing more than to just cross the parking lot and make it to the line of shrubbery at the start of the green belt.
“Easy, boy,” Jeremy said, his head starting to spin slightly from the alcohol that coursed through his veins.
Pulling the leash in, he took up the slack until he reached the collar, unfastening the clip from the panting, slobbering dog’s neck. Chopper sprinted straight across the snow-covered parking lot, kicking up small clouds of the rapidly accumulating powder from behind his padded feet, heading toward the curb beneath the dim streetlight. Thousands of tiny flakes swirled in the small aura of light beneath the high lamp, the trees rustling heartily in the whistling wind.
Chopper bounded over the curb, stopping by the row of hedges in front of the tall pines. He sniffed at the bare branches buried beneath the heavy snow for only the briefest of moments before raising his leg and staining the snow yellow. Pinching it off, he sniffed along the ground for five feet before raising his leg once again. Repeating this pattern several times, he finally stopped, turning to stare at Jeremy, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open
