Good Boy

This story contains mild language and some scenes of violence.

Rusty had bitten just about everyone in our family. My grandad twice, my aunt at least five times, my uncle on his nose (he needed six stitches) and my sister on her mouth (five). And me, well I lost count around the age of fifteen. I often needed a hug but Rusty wasn’t much of a hugger.

I remember my brother calling me on the phone on a humid summer afternoon: “Yo, what’s up. What do you think about this dog I found?”

He sent me a picture. A sickly skinny, wild looking red heeler. He was missing most of his teeth on account of trying to escape his metal cage so many times and he had a long scar on his butt from something we weren’t sure of.

“He’s cute.”

“I agree, anyways I was just wondering, I saw an add that said he was on a farm and free, I think maybe if I can save up enough I’ll pick him up next semester.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, anyways I got to go. Talk to you later.”

About two hours later he showed up to the house with Rusty. My mother yelped when he cam wiggling in and jumped up on her. Jumped up on everyone. Then peed promptly on the carpet.

“Wayne!” She burst out with her familiar rage, “What is this dog doing here! It just peed on the carpet! Get him out!”

She wouldn’t even look at him, or me, while I was playing with him on the floor. He liked to barrel into people and look them directly in the eyes while wagging his tail like a whip.

“Wow he is stinky.” I said, wiping the greasy stench off my fingers.

“Mom, I got him to be my dog, I’m taking him with me to college, I just need him to stay here until I go back.”

My mom and I shared a look. He wasn’t going back to college anytime soon and everyone knew it except for him. Luckily, shewould let him off the hook for just about anything.

“Your responsibility. No pooping or peeing inside. I will not clean up after him. You walk him, you pay for him, you keep him away from me.”

“Fine mom, fine.” He said and she went back to her usually bitter self.

“What the fuck dude I thought you said next semester?”

“I know, I just had a feeling. And when I got to the farm they had like twenty dogs and this guy looked hungry.”

He wasn’t wrong. If you’ve never met a dumpster stray before they are a little different. His love of food exceeded even my briefest glimpse of love. Even of obsession. He lived with the food circling in his bulging black eyes. He stared into your soul. Every meal was his first ever. This dog attacked his bowl. And he was clever too, it wasn’t long before we learned that we had to childproof all the doors and make sure everything was far out of reach. And I mean far. You could walk into the kitchen and he would be standing on his nails, pulling bags of flour from the back cupboards on top of the counter that was ten times his height. He also loved seconds, meaning he loved his first meal so much he just had to get another bite when it came out the other end. If only I could tell you how many poop induced seizures I had seen from this dog. Collapsing on the floor with bloody diarrhea, foam flowing out of the sides of his mouth and his eyes turned nearly all the way back. The point is this dog exceeded logic.

“Wayne!” My mother yelled from the living room.

“What!?” He called out from our bedroom.

“Get in here now!”

He came trudging down our creaky old hall, putting extra weight on each step.

“What?”

“Look what you’re dog did on the carpet again.”

He looked down.

“Ugh, damnit Rusty!” He grabbed him by the collar and brought his face closer to the mess. “That’s a bad dog!” He howled. Rusty cowered, and his eyes went low. A look he had mastered along with begging.

Mom looked petrified as he dragged rusty to the back door and tossed him out in the yard.

“Don’t just leave him out there, he’s gonna eat something.”

“I’m taking care of it alright.” He yelled from the back door, Rusty barking to play probably.

She broke for the kitchen and opened the cabinet full of cleaning supplies. She grabbed vinegar, baking soda, soap, paper towels, sponges, a trash bag and a mask.

“Come help me with this.” She directed me.

As I watched her scrub the carpet, holding the bag open with my head contorted in the opposite direction, I began to see the stain’s inevitability.

“Mom this carpet is shot.”

“It’s not, it just needs to be cleaned.”

I scanned the room. We had a large window that brought loads of natural sunlight. We were lucky. Before my Dad left, this room had Laurel green walls and rustic cinnamon shelves. There was a comfy leather couch and a cheap coffee table to put your feet up on. Plants and art everywhere.

After he cheated she made a few changes. The walls were stripped and repainted, the shelves were thrown out and were replaced by mismatched materials of white and egg shell white. It looked like a modern dump.

But that dump she kept pristine. Vacuuming every day, dusting twice every day, ordering new off white pieces to throw in different corners, or black bins to shove old crap in the basement. Between that and her job, she rarely had a free moment. And the dog was starting to break through her walls.

I watched as the sweat started dripping on to the stain, she scrubbed vigorously with the sponge over the now tan bubbles and lemony shit smell that pervaded the room. I swear the carpet started to smoke under her vigorous wiping like she was trying to erase a crime.

“Mom, do you need help?”

She said nothing. I was sure she would pass out. I was sure she hadn’t eaten anything but a string cheese and a coffee today. I bent down to touch her shoulder.

“Mom?”

She fell backwards a little and hunched over.

“Wayne!” She yelled. Her face was drooping.

Just then a ring came at the doorbell.

“I’ll get it.” I said. She nodded her head while panting as I hopped over to the door.

Our door creaked open, “Hey there Carl.”

“Hi Mr.Burrleson.” This guy. Fake southern, always wearing a hat.

“Hey now I’m just wondering you see why you guys’ve got that dog out barkin’ in the back so much. He seems to me like he wants to be inside. Might even be a little underfed if it came to my opinion, do y’all folks need some help? I can show you the ropes, I’ve had many dogs myself and they can be a bit tricky.”

“Um yeah, um, I don’t know, let me get my mom okay wait here.”

I ran up our stairs and told her Mr.Burrleson was here to complain about Rusty.

“Well shit, I should get Wayne then.” She said while hoisting herself up.

“Wayne!” She yelled, still red in the face, brushing back her hair and giving a little shake before walking into the light of our doorway.

She tapped down the stairs like a ballerina. “Hello there Charles how are youuuu?” She said in a sweet southern twang. Wayne walked by in the background towards our room.

“Not too bad, cannot complain. I was just telling your boy here that I think maybe your dog is in need of some help.”

“Oh yes I understand. Thank you for coming honestly. You see its my son’s dog, he was a stray, never really had anything, so he’s just a bit wild. He’ll be leaving soon and out of your sight I guarantee.”

“Well alrighty then, I just think we should care for our animals. My friends and I down at the SPCA would be none too happy to hear about this.”

“Of course, I understand Charlie.” She began closing the door and then poked herself back out, “and hey I forgot to ask, how is Elisa. I heard the baby is just precious?”

I saw Mr.Burrleson blush from the top of the stairs.

“Oh yes, it’s true, it’s true, seven pounds four ounces.” He said with an uncontrollable smile. It is true, a precious little thing. Just like a dog can be when you treat them right.”

She giggled, “Oh It's true. I must bring by some of my cranberry pie later to celebrate, your family is lucky, most beautiful well behaved young boys I ever saw.”

Charlie laughed again and so did I. “Well you aren’t wrong there, I’d appreciate that, you’re always welcome. Fix your dog.” He said with a point. He naturally descended down the stairs, giving a cowboy's bow and a loving salute.

“Bye bye Charlie.”

He probably nodded again. She came back in and her face instantly dropped to disdain.

“Wayne!”

When I looked back to the carpet, Rusty was rolling around in the stain.

“Rusty gross! Move!” she said waving at him. His patchy pale underside and crusty black udders were showing.

“Mom you have to just like push him a little.” I said as I pushed him gently and he started play biting at my wrist. A waft of sour fur and soapy diarrhea wafted in front of me.

She immediately went back to scrubbing. Her hands were peeling from the bleach. Her pale skin was now rose. She stopped for a moment on all fours and without looking up at me said: “Go get your brother.”

Rusty and I walked down the hall and went into our room. I told Wayne that mom was freaking out because Mr. Burrleson complained about Rusty. He was on his phone and groaned.

“What the fuck does she want? He’s a fucking dog he does shit. I can’t be in front of him all day, what does she expect me to do? Fuck Mr. Burrleson.”

She expects you to take care of the dog you got.

“I don’t know man.”

He went back to his phone and leaned back in the bed.

“So … should I just say you’re coming?”

“Just tell her to chill the fuck out.”

I walked back out the living room, she was leaning against the couch. Her eyes were closed. To my surprise the carpet looked 99.9% good as new.

She was slightly out of breath, “is he coming?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded her head and continued breathing heavily on the floor. The sun shone against her face, bringing her dark brown freckles to the surface. It still smelled a little but it would fade soon.

I walked into the kitchen to find rusty chewing on the now gashed up ends of the wooden table. There was pee on the floor by the door. I sighed.

“Mom, come in here.”

I heard her struggle to stand up. Her face was a mix of pure shock and snarl. Her teeth were audibly grinding.

“Wayne! Get in here now!” She shrieked.

Rusty shot up and went closer to her. She wouldn’t look at him.

“Wayne now!”

I sat back in the chair. I heard stomps coming quickly.

“What?” He came in with his arms already raised.

“The table! I’m going to have to replace it and he peed again!” She said with real strain in her voice. Her hair dropped down as Rusty tried to jump on Wayne.

“Bad dog!” He shouted as he spanked him violently on his butt and he squealed. He chased him around the room, knocking over the chairs and shocking us all until he was forced into the corner and shit again on the floor out of fear.

He took him by the collar and Rusty bit him on the arm. “Fuck!” He slapped him across his snout and held him by the back of his neck hair. He threw him outside again and slammed the door, causing the whole kitchen to vibrate slightly. He came storming back in, stomping like a bouncer coming to kick you out. “Im taking him back to the farm!”

He kept stomping right on down the hallway to get his keys. “Fuck!” I heard echoing as a trail of small circles of blood followed him.

I remember a week or so later, my mom was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blue blanket, working on her computer. She had a habit of doing this until she fell asleep which caused my brother to get mad often because she would catch him coming back inside from smoking weed, walking through the kitchen. Now that he was gone, there was no-one to catch.

Rusty had the zoomies. He came sprinting in, moving ferociously around the round marble table, if he hit his head we would surely be knocked out.

“What in the world?” she said, laughing in disbelief as she lifted her feet onto the couch to protect them. Rusty darted under the blanket tent she made with her knees, popping in and out like a kid playing tag. Then, just as suddenly, he stopped. He scratched himself once, barked at her, and wagged his tail so hard his whole body wobbled.

For a second, she just stared at him. Then she laughed. We both laughed pretty hard.

The first time I ever saw her pet him was at Thanksgiving a few months later. We were all sitting in the kitchen after the dinner was over and the night was fizzling away. She was sitting alone across the room, hands in her face. She worked hard on Thanksgiving, but she rarely ate a bite. She described it and Christmas as the two most stressful days of the year.

Rusty waddled up to her randomly and sat, wagging his tail, waiting for food.

She lifted her head, and smiled softly. You could still see a slight stain on the carpet and the dim glow of the moonlight cast through the quickly chilling air.

She pet his head gently and whispered, “Good boy.”