Go out looking : storíes

Abstract

It's clear the dog is dying. The man lays her down in the spot on the porch that gets the last bit of sun. He crouches, and gives the old animal two quick pats. Then he stands, grabs his coat and keys, and walks out the door. His boots crunch down the drive. The truck growls. The boy's name is Sam. He is clutching a pencil tightly and his hand has become sweaty. He wipes it on the tablecloth and hops down off his chair. His mother's name is Rose. She has filled the sink with steaming water. When the noise of the truck has faded she turns off the tap and picks up a packet of Marlboro Lights sitting on the kitchen counter. Sam walks through the open doors onto the porch. His mother is standing on the lawn with her back to him. Her shoulders are hunched under a faded pink cardigan and a thin stream of smoke twists from her fingers. The breeze brings the smell of brittle grass and cow dung to the porch where Sam stands. He breathes in. Beside his left foot lies the dog's tail. It twitches slightly.