Short Story - The New Pet
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The New Pet
It was a sad, sad day when Brooke came home from work and found her roommate, Belle, sobbing on the couch, a pile of wadded up Kleenex decorating the coffee table in disgustingness. Belle’s dog was nowhere to be seen.
Naturally, Brooke inquired as to what happened, dropping her purse and work papers on the kitchen table before sliding in next to her friend, regarding her with an expression that could only be described as complete and utter worry.
Tearfully, Belle explained. That morning, Daisy, her Cocker Spaniel, hadn’t wanted to get up. A trip to the emergency vet had shown that the dog had pancreatic cancer, and the kindest thing had been to put her down.
What followed were the saddest weeks in both of their lives. Belle had always been the kind of person who loved animals more than people, and losing her first and so far only pet had been a blow that sent her spiraling into a depression she had only just gotten out of after a rough senior year in college. The fact that Daisy had been the perfect dog for her; quiet, sweet, and always wanting attention, did nothing to help. Nor did the fact that her mother had hated dogs, meaning her first opportunity to get one had been when she’d moved into an apartment of her own.
They discussed the possibility of getting another dog, because, as Brooke had oh-so-accurately put it, “You’re the kind of person who will either go out and get another one right away, or never get another dog again.” Belle, however, wasn’t yet ready for another pet, and Brooke understood that. She did her best to be by her friend’s side, but work and other commitments did limit her ability to help, something she was ashamed of. But as the months went by and Belle didn’t seem to get any better, Brooke started urging her to visit shelters.
“I don’t have time,” Belle would say. Or, “It won’t be Daisy!”
Brooke even went so far as to mention the possibility of grief counseling, which Belle had vehemently refused. But Brooke was near the end of her rope, for watching a loved one suffer, especially when there isn’t anything that can be done about it, hurts more than anything.
So Brooke decided to take matters into her own hands.
One morning, Brooke came back into their shared apartment, sneaking in and purposefully avoiding the spot on the wooden floor she knew squeaked in order to get inside unnoticed. It appeared Belle hadn’t yet come home from work, which was just perfect. She took the box into her room, slid a small treat inside which was lapped up by a warm tongue, and lay on her bed to get back to the book she just couldn’t put down.
Unsure how much time had passed, her heart jumped in nervousness and joy as she heard a key turn in the lock and the door open.
“I’m home,” Belle said, sounding perfectly normal. It was only late at night when she would cry, sometimes desperately desiring Brooke’s sympathy and other times craving the solitude of her room.
“Welcome back,” Brooke said, emerging from her room to see Belle putting away the leftovers of the lunch she’d evidently had with co-workers.
Unable to wait a moment longer to break the news, Brooke said, “I have something for you.”
Something in her roommate’s tone got Belle’s attention right away. “What did you do?” she said in the playfully exasperated tone she frequently used to address Brooke’s crazy antics.
Brooke slid back into her room and came out carrying a box with holes punched in the sides. “Here.”
Suspicious, Belle took the package and gave her roommate an incredulous look at the same time. Brooke was not the type of person to go around buying animals for other people without their consent. Nonetheless, she got her fingers under the cardboard and opened the box.
Inside was a small dragon with blue-violet scales.
Belle gasped in shock and joy. “Oh my gosh, he’s perfect.”
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