Strays

“Charlotte wasn’t a good dog for me,” she says.

That’s the name of her dog, Charlotte. This is the first I’ve heard it.

“She was good at first, but lately I noticed that her affection is waning. She just doesn’t love me like she used to. She walked around with her tail between her legs. She sulked. Resentment from a dog is a horrible thing.”

She crosses her legs and looks into the yard where Charlotte has worn a ring in the grass, walking around and around. “I want to go to the pound, but I don’t want to look for Charlotte. In fact, if we go there, and I happen to see her, I’m going to pretend not to know her. She doesn’t have tags, and it’s a no-kill shelter.   I want to get a new dog, something small and fluffy and cute that doesn’t run or bark or bite. I want to get a little dog that will sit right here on my lap all day long. I want to get myself a pretty little puppy that will love me forever.”