For The Longest Time

Flea Bag

   The Stilts was always crawling with dogs. But when people could barley feed themselves, they couldn't keep a mangy mutt around to eat all their food. The only people that did have dogs were hunters and the occasional farmer (but even then, we didn't have many farmers in The Stilts.)

   Every now and then you would see a dog who had run away, or a mutt that must have been born on the streets. And then those dogs would breed even more.

   When we were older, Mare and I didn't like the dogs. They weren't necessarily bad, but they were always there when you turned your head, and they were always getting into garbage.

   But when we were younger, she always longed for a dog. Someone to follow her into the woods, someone to sleep with in the cold winter nights, and a friend that would always be there. But she never got to keep a dog.

   But she did try.

   Mare and I had gotten out of school early, because of First Friday, and we were walking out of the stadium after the show.

   We walked through town, trying to get our hands on anything we could before we had to go home. And then we stumbled upon a mutt on a street corner.

   He was brown and shaggy, and looked like he hadn't eaten in awhile.

Mare looked at me, eyes wide, then brought her attention back to the dog. We both walked over, and it greeted us kindly, wagging his tail and liking our hands.

   "Let's take him home," Mare said.
 
    "What? Why. We wouldn't even be able to feed him, and he's a dirty mutt. He's better on the streets than in your hands."

   She stuck her young out at me and gave me a viscous glare. Then walked over to the dog and started taking to it.

   "Hey pretty boy. Do you want to go home with me? I can give you water and food and you can sleep with me every night. What's that? You do?"

  She then turned to me and informed "He would like to stay with me."

   I usually wasn't the voice of reason, but this didn't seem look like a good idea. He was dirty and had bugs in his fur. And even if he looked well behaved, I can still imagine him trashing Mare's house. I didn't hate dogs, but I know what they can do when they get antsy or see a rabbit.

   I looked at Mare skeptically, but she just ignored me and got the dog to follow her down the street, leaving me behind.

   "Come on Mare! Your mom would kill us if we brought a dog into the house!" I called to her, trying to catch up. "She would never stand for it, and your dad would not be happy."

   She didn't listen, but she did eventually turn around to me and say "Fine Kilorn, then you can name the damn thing if you're so worried about it."

   "It's just a damn flea bag, it doesn't need a name!" I argued.

   "Fine, Flea Bag it is," she said mater-o-factly.

   I still wasn't happy, but I still followed Mare all the way to her house.

   When we got there Mare started to look a little nervous, but I could tell she was trying to hide it. She kept looking up at her porch, and then she looked over to her fathers wheelchair lift (that he never used.)

   If she thought that dog was going to go up in that thing, she must be stupid. Yeah, it could hold it, but not if it didn't stay still.

   I looked at her flustered face then started to snicker. That just made her mad rather than nervous, and she hit me on the shoulder.

   "Well if you can't get him up there I guess he can't really go home with you." I said with a smirk on my face.

   "Oh shut up Warren, how do you think we could get him up there."

   "I don't know nor care."

   "Whatever," she said, and took the dog by its neck and lead it to the lift.

   "Be carful," I said.

   She didn't even listen to what I said, and got on the lift with the dog, and they made their way up. I just watched.

   I debated on going up too, to see Mrs. Barrow's face when she saw the thing, but that would make it look like I did it too, so I just sat in the shade and waited for all hell to brake loose. I should at least hear something in the next twenty minutes.

*************************************
   Welp, that only took fourteen minutes.

   I heard the barks, then the running, then Mare, then the glass fall to the floor, then Mrs. Barrow's screams.

   "MARE MOLLY BARROW! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!" She shrieked.

   I didn't hear what Mare replied with, (her voice was barley above a whisper when she was embarrassed or sad,) but I could bet even the neighbors could hear Mrs. Barrow reply with "Get out and don't come back till dinner. AND LEAVE THAT DOG OUTSIDE OR BETTER YET, BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM!"

  A minute later I saw a sad Mare and an even sadder Flea Bag coming down the lift, and walk right past me.

   I jogged up to them and looked at Mare. And even with her sad face I could help but say "I told you so."

   The fire in her eyes lit before you could even say 'dead meat'.

  She turned to face me, tackled me to the ground and beat me silly. I didn't fight back though. I just tried to get her off me. I knew she didn't want to hurt me, too much, but she definitely needed to get some anger out.

   "I swear to god Warren, if those words ever leave your mouth again I'm going to tie you up and send you out to sea to live with the fishes!"

   Mare doesn't like to be wrong.