There Was A Farmer Who Had A Dog

I never made a wrong choice— at least, I never thought my choice was bad, sitting in that splintered old chair hours before. The mutt was digging holes in my field, and taking the crops up with it. The thing was a waste of space. It sat in my house, ate my food, and ruined my crops. At times, it even took money out of my own pocket to care for it. It was a waste of space that appeared one day, and my naïve son kept it alive.

An irritating and loud slam of a door hitting the wall rang all through the house. My son, John Ross, stood in the frame, his face screwed and wet.

"You killed him. You killed him!" He yelled.

I groaned and put a hand to my forehead. His mother must have told him.

"You knew I loved him! You never even had to take care of him. I did all the work! I fed him, walked him, and he slept outside. I loved him! How could you shoot him? You–"

"Now you stop right there, mister," I growled. "I do all the work in this house. I ain't gonna have no dog diggin' up my crops. That dog was nothin' but a waste of time and energy."

"No he wasn't! He was my best friend. He wasn't yours to take!" John Ross cried.

"Listen here, young man. You don't come with your juvenile complaints, and you don't disrespect me like this. He was an intrusion– you don't know nothin'."

"I do know!" He continued. "You're the one who's stupid–"

"That's enough!" I barked and slammed my fist on the workbench. I felt my rage boil. That boy don't know what's good for him, nor that I give him food and a roof over his head. At that time, my wife, Mary Katherine, appeared behind the boy. Her face was nearly the same as John Ross'. I narrowed my eyes and ordered her, "bring the fool to his room."

At this point, my son's face was hot red from crying hysterically. His mother held him back, whispering pleas and dragging him out of my workshop. From outside I could hear him screaming.

"You shot him, and you didn't even know his name!"

He's the most disobedient and ungrateful son I could ever have.

~*~

"Would you like seconds, Roy?"

I grunted in my seat. My plate was cleaned off. It wasn't the most delicious thing I had ever had, but it wasn't the worst. The only way I'd taste it again is if I was forced to vomit.

"No, I'm fine," I told my wife. I stood up from the empty table and left Mary Katherine with the dishes. Slowly, I climbed the stairs and walked towards my bedroom. I passed John Ross' room on the way, and couldn't help but glance at the door. The boy hadn't been out to eat supper yet— probably cried himself to sleep. That, or was messing around with whatever scrap of metal he found.

I huffed to myself, "I'd go deaf if it means I don't have to listen to that boy scream at me."

After I showered and was ready for bed, I sat down on my side of the mattress. The springs screeched from under me while I laid down and made myself comfortable. Pretty soon, I drifted into sleep.

Not an hour later, I was awoken by a roaring noise. At first, I thought I was snoring, but I realized I wasn't; neither was my wife, who was laying undisturbed beside me. After a few moments of listening, I figured out exactly what it was. It was the growling of an animal in the distance, maybe a wolf. The low rumble was followed by loud barking, and this pattern continued through the night. I tossed and turned and smashed my pillow over my ears, but I couldn't block the bloody sound out.