Pete The Sneak

The magnificent socks, fully marinated in fresh, salty sweat from Mom’s afternoon pickle ball match in the Florida summer, prevented Pete from being able to fully close his muzzle. Still, he ran as fast as his short legs could carry him to the far corner of the yard where Mom wouldn’t see him digging a hole. Approaching the graveyard of socks he had previously exterminated, all nestled beneath the canopy of the elephant ear plants, he grinned with pride. Another heist executed flawlessly. Quickly, he inventoried his previous scores. Over twenty mounds stretched out before him, though he could only count as high as five. He hated to feel unintelligent. Still, he counted four sets of five mounds and that’s very advanced arithmetic for a dog, especially when compared to the other two bozos he lived with.

Thinking of the two clowns his mother referred to as his brother and sister he quickly looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t stand the fools. Always running into things and being absolute dopes.

A ray of light from above the canopy illuminated an empty stretch of ground, unmarred from previous acts of theft. Pete refocused on the task at hand, saving these precious stinky surprises for another day. Circling around the spot to ensure no one was watching, he lifted his paw, marking the center of the perfect spot with a precise X. Then, without dropping his prize, he began to dig.

In the many years of his life, he had never enjoyed digging. He didn’t mind being dirty, in fact he preferred it, all the better to mask his scent when sneaking up on a bird or cat. No, it was something else, how mundane it was digging for what seemed like hours. He also noticed Mommy was less inclined to invite him up into her bed once covered in dirt. As he dug, the rich scent of earth filled his nostrils. A fine layer of the rich soil worked its way into his wire hair and caught on his eyebrows.

Snapping his head up, Pete looked around. He thought he heard the sway of grass, almost as if a certain low-bodied and lower IQ-ed dog was rooting around nearby. Quickly, he dropped the sock into the hole, covering it twice as fast as he dug it, eyes scanning the area as he did. Just as he put the finishing touches on the fresh mound, Hope (more like Dope) pushed her round head through the leaves.

“Petey?” Hope called.

Oh brother, not this. He couldn’t let her intrude on his treasure trove so he rushed out of the leaves, running past her to jump and take a seat on one of the Adirondack chairs that surrounded the fire pit. I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear her. Tired from the exertion of the heist and avoiding Hope, he laid down, resting his head in his blackened paws. The dappled sunlight from the grapefruit tree felt warm but cool at the same time. He allowed his eyes to drift shut.

“Hiya, Pete!” Two fluffy paws attached to a shih tzu who more closely resembled one of those Ewoks in the movie Mommy loved to watch on the weekends, were now directly in his face. (Yes, as a highly intelligent dog, Pete often watched movies and TV with his Mommy.) He glared at his un-beloved sisters moon-like-face and chameleon-like-lazy eyes.

“Yes, Hope?” He bit out. “Can’t you see I’m napping?”

Hope snorted, dropping back on all fours. “I wanna play. Can’t we play? I can chase you! Or even better, you can chase meee!” Before she could finish her sentence, she jetted off.

Yeah, right behind you. Not. Pete rolled his eyes, laying his grey muzzle back on his paws. He allowed himself to settle, listening to the cardinals chirp happily and the breeze sway the tall palm trees that stretched higher than the roof. Don’t get him wrong, there was a time when he too wanted to play non-stop. He was never as annoying as Hope but he used to play fetch until Mommy’s arm grew tired. He used to chase and sometimes catch squirrels. This was a happy thought. Stupid squirrels. Now his legs ached each time he went up and down the stairs. He no longer jumped into Mom’s bed. He waited for her to help him up or just flopped onto his fluffy round bed, which he drug as close to Mommy’s night stand as he could.

No matter how old he got there was only one job for him. Loving and protecting his Mommy, and of course -occasional petty theft. What did he love about his Mommy? She was smart like him. Smart enough to know he was the most clever dog. She always gave him scraps. His favorite was the chicken fat she would carve off the raw meat, giving that prized fat- the best part of the meal by far, just to him. She also never got mad at him for stealing. Which was an excellent human trait. She loved calling him by his full name: Pete the Sneak. She even went so far as to have it engraved on his tag.

He knew Mommy loved him the most. He was her first dog. He was there when she brought home Oscar. Oscar “the cuddle bear”. What a dumb name.

Hope was back now and in tow, Oscar himself. Pete didn’t care that Oscar was taller than him. Height really doesn’t matter when you can jump higher than someone and pronounce words they don't understand. What bugged him about Oscar was… well… he wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was those smug brown eyes. Maybe it was how Mom would coo about how soft his curls were, “like a teddy bear.” Maybe it was that pristine white mustache he always wiggled around. Pete rolled his eyes again. What kind of a protector should feel like a teddy bear.

Oscar wiggled his white mustache, “Pete we want to go inside. Help us get Mommy to open the door.”

Pete stood up, circling so they could only see his butt instead of his face. Stupid wiggly mustache, he thought.

“Come onnnn Pete. It’s hooooot.” Hope whined.

He had to admit, he was getting hot and would like to curl up in his favorite spot, a dog bed Mom had placed deep in the back corner beneath the stairs. His lair.

He hopped off the chair, pushing past the two.

“You two can’t do a thing without me, can you?” He walked up to the door and sat. He barked once, twice. Then he gave a firm tug on the invisible leash that tied his soul to Mom's. He tossed a look of satisfaction over his shoulder as Mommy opened the screen door in mere seconds. Hope and Oscar squished him between their thick, fluffy bodies, charging past him.

“Come on, Pete.” Mommy invited him in with a loving smile. She hadn't invited Hope and Oscar in. She’s wonderful like that.

That evening Pete laid beneath Mom’s feet. She was watching that silly show where a man gives a rose to ladies going crazy. It was Pete’s least favorite show, complete mind dribble. He liked the one where all the humans were stuck on an island and had to outwit, outlast, outplay. He could win that one. Especially if Hope and Oscar were his competition. He also liked the one in the castle, where a traitor could win money just for tricking everyone around them.

He cut his eyes over to Hope who was laying upside down, completely shameless with her belly to the world on the couch with Daddy. Pete also didn’t really like Daddy. For a year Mommy would scold him “be nice, Pete.” She would say deeply disturbing things, “Do you love your new Daddy?” No. I just love you. The “Daddy” man was also very dumb. He often said “isn’t Hope the best dog?” Or "Isn't Oscar the best guard dog?" Truly disturbing. When he got home from work, he would ring the doorbell, sending Hope and Oscar into a fit. “INTRUDER!” Oscar would yell. “INTRUDER!” Jumping on top of Hope who simultaneously would be yelling in her annoying pitchy voice. “Who dere? Who dere!?” Pete never so much as budged from his favorite spot, his throne atop the couch cushions. He’d just roll his eyes.

Mommy reached down now, rubbing his ears. Mmmm. He loved when she did this. He was just getting comfortable when it began. The strange metallic taste filled his mouth. Oh no, not again. He tried to get up and run away to hide but he only made it two steps when the room began to tilt and the heavy fog came. When the fog comes, his legs freeze and lock up. Tremors rock his body and no matter how smart he is, his brain doesn’t let him gain control of his body. He is stuck, and as much as he hates to admit it, he is scared.

The terrifying darkness covers him, he hears his Mom coming closer but can’t make out what she is saying. He feels her warm arms as she picks him up, wrapping her strong arms around his shaking body. He can’t decipher what she is saying but her calm steady voice cuts through the static in his brain and body. She whispers his name over and over. “Petey. Oh sweet Pete. Its okay baby. Its okay.”

As quickly as the fog set, it lifts. Though, despite the fog lifting, his joints ache far worse now. He blinks once, twice, realizing Mom has carried him to his favorite blanket.

Turning his head up to her, he tentatively licks her hand as he sees her wipe at her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. He can feel her grief rolling off her in waves. Dad came over, and their voices melded together drifting gently, whispered like a lullaby over his head.

“Its been so long since the last…”

“I know but this one was worse.” Mom’s voice catches, “I thought we were going to lose him this time.”

Daddy sat down, joining them on Pete's blankie. I don't remember inviting him to sit there, I'll have to get his scent off later. Pete mused.

Pete was a smart dog. Smart animal really. Most animals didn’t understand death. He had seen it. First, when the Daddy man’s Mom lived with them. He watched as her light slowly dimmed out. First she would leave to go to the human vet. Then human vets would come to her. She moved from a bedroom upstairs to a bed with wheels in the living room. Mommy and Daddy kept smiling and laughing, but they weren't fooling Pete. It was scarier than the horror movies they liked to watch together. At least the movies didn't lie. They acted one way, but their true feelings were so suffocatingly strong they left a physical trail. A lingering mist in every single room that reeked of grief.

Then her beloved dog, Killer, the only dog Pete had ever liked besides himself, died too. Oscar and Hope were there but were oblivious. It took them weeks to realize the two were gone. Hope almost immediately started calling Pete’s Mommy, her Mommy. The audacity.

“That’s MY Mommy.” Pete would growl at her. She was so dense, his growling was ignored.

“Yay! We both love Mommy. That makes you my brudder!”

Pete shook his head from the awful memory. Yes, he knew death and what he knew about death is it was coming. His muzzle was mostly grey. His legs and back and hips ached all the time. He slept more often than he was awake.

He leaned his heavy, tired head onto Mommy’s lap. He knew that as his body grew weaker and the “seizure medicine” she forced him to take stopped working, his life was gently fading away. Mommy leaned over, kissing his head. Tears falling.

“Ew, Pete!” She sniffled “You stink!”

He turned his head up at her, sneezing and letting his tongue roll out of his snoot in a laugh. He loved her so much, it made his heart ache worse than his body ever did. He felt the invisible leash that ran from her heart to his tug. Stronger than ever, he thought. He was smart, so he had deduced that as the life faded out from his living body, the tether of love than ran between them would remain strong forever.