A Good Boy

A Good Boy

The doorbell rang and Dan lumbered towards the door. His bark turned into a wheeze after only three yelps. He lowered his head and struggled to suck in air. I looked at his frame, it was thicker than it was last May. His jowls hung and his chest swelled with each struggling breath. Not normal for seven-year-old Malinois.

I started to stand up but sat back down. The door was unlocked and Lydie came every Tuesday afternoon to clean.

“Bonjour Mr. Maurel,” her voice sang from the front door. It slammed shut. Dan dragged himself back to his mattress on the floor and with one last effort flopped onto it.

“Did you bring me anything?” I asked when she entered the room. She glanced at my unmade bed before pulling out a chair and joining me at the table.

“You know, Jean Charles, I shouldn’t bring you these.” She furrowed her brow but pulled out two packs of Gitanes Brunes from a bag. They smiled at me from the table like toxic friends.

Lydie pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of her handbag and asked, “Where should I start today?”

I already had a cigarette in my fingers. Smoke swirled from my nose. Dan wheezed on the floor.

“You could clean up this table for starters.” The empty sardine can from last night filled the room with a pungent smell mixed with the smoke. I pushed aside the envelope from the bank and the flyer for garden tools. They brushed against the half empty bottle of Jim Beam and my cup of coffee. Garden tools, no need for those anymore.

Dan must have read my thoughts because he pushed himself up and headed to the terrace. His chain clanked on the floor – the aching sound of a slave, of a prisoner, of a mortal decree. His movements were slow as he reached the end of his tether. Poor thing can’t run anymore – not that I could take him either.

I dragged on my cigarette, the nicotine made me feel lighter.

“Bored Lydie, I have nothing to do but stare at this television set.”

Lydie followed my gaze towards the large screen I had fastened to the wall. It flickered with images of life outside. It took up the whole room. I had to ask my daughter to put up curtains to cut the glare from the sun. Too bad in a way, it block my view of the ski slopes.

I glanced at Dan; he was hunkered like he was trying to shit. It’s good that my apartment is on the ground floor. Dan barked feebly at a passerby - a vestige of his previous ferocious warning. I closed my eyes and remembered the puppy I picked him up from the shelter. His fur was rich chocolate. He jumped at my legs like he wanted to kick-start them into movement. His sinewy muscles and ribs protruded from his coat. Energy burst from him as he bounded across the fields. He nearly killed me with the long walks I took him on. I shook my head – shaking away the memory. My heart tightened like the smoke curls that squeezed my lungs.

Dan’s bark subsided into a whimper, then a wheezing fit. He slumbered back into the room with his chain clanking behind. I felt his warm head on my knee. Good boy Dan, you’re a good boy.

We both watched as Lydie pulled the sheets up over my bed. A chill crawled down my spine when she drew them over the top of the pillows. She pushed the tubes of the oxygen bottle aside to tuck the lump of a pillow tightly in. Dan’s breathing rasped beside me.

“I’m done for today,” Lydie smiled at me and pulled her jacket over her shoulders. My eyes scanned the room. The table was tidy. The trash had been discarded. The bottle was capped. The coffee cup had disappeared, and the saucer of cigarette butts was emptied. The last box of toxic friends looked up at me, invitingly. Dan exhaled, painfully.

Lydie bent down to caress Dan. He opened one eye and showed his teeth in a feeble smile. His large canines were yellow.

“Thanks, Lydie. See you next week.” I sat back in my chair. Lydie could let herself out.

“Au revoir Mr. Maurel,” she said, but her eyes were on Dan. I saw a tear trickle down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

When the door slammed shut, Dan flinched – but did not raise his head.

I had forgotten to ask Lydie to shut the door to the terrace and pull the blinds. Crap…I can do it.

My chest screamed as I hoisted myself out of the chair. A gush of cool breeze embraced my cheeks as if to remind me of something now obscured. I shut the door on it. The crisp air was barricaded behind the glass and curtains.

My chair beckoned me. I collapsed into its arms and struggled to catch my breath. My head pounded. I sat silently, recuperating – waiting for the blows to subside.

I massaged the pain out of my temples then reached down to remove Dan’s chain. A noise escaped him, like a surrendering sigh. My fingers grazed his back and rubbed him between the eyes. You’re a good boy.

Stars danced before my eyes, and I sat back in my chair to let the blood drain out of my head. Absently, I opened the pack of cigarettes. The television flashed images of politics. My toxic friend seared my lip when I inhaled.

Dan’s limp body was at the foot of my bed. It looked ghostly resting on its mattress. I stared at it. My eyes blurred. Dan’s image blended into that of the tight sheet pulled across my pillow. I felt a choke in my throat, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Dan wheezed softly in his sleep.

This is all my fault, I thought as I tapped my cigarette in the saucer already full of ashes.