http://guptacarlsonshortstories.blogspot.com/2013/05/a-really-good-life-and-one-awful-day.html

I’ve heard what you’ve been saying when you think I’m not listening. ‘What are we going to do about Puddles?’ By the way, did I ever thank you for giving me that name? ‘Puddles.’ So I left a few on the floor in my puppyhood. For that I should go by ‘Puddles’ for the rest of my life? Sheesh!

Okay, okay, I’ve gotten off track here. Meanwhile back at the ranch where Granny’s–well, you know what Granny’s doing. Anyway, I’ve heard what you said. That Puddles isn’t a puppy anymore, and that you heard on PBS that ‘affection-deficient’ dogs display aggressive tendencies that include chewing things that they know they shouldn’t have their mouths around, and that you’ve been doing everything you could to show me–Puddles, right. I still can’t get over that–that you love me.

But despite that I’m still trashing your stuff, right? The Florsheim shoes, the Gucci bag, that Coach purse. Ruined, right? And we’re talking three, maybe four figures here. I can tell that before too long you’re going to tune out Melissa Block and get corporal on me. I can see it, we dogs pick up on that real quick. What’s it going to be, a rolled-up newspaper? the back of your hand? Hey, take your best shot. I’m built for it.

But before you get physical, I want you to mull just what ‘It wasn’t me’ really means. Because, hey, here I am, Puddles, standing over–What was this doll’s name? Muffin or something, right?–and I’m telling you, it really wasn’t me. I’m not the perp here. No pun intended, but you two are barking up the wrong tree.

It was Rags. ‘Rags,’ there’s another name for you. What is it about you two and these names? Anyhoo, I’ve been covering for Rags, for what, about the past year and a half? Sure, yeah, I mauled your stuff when I was a pup, but I grew out of it, we all do. Rags. You remember Rags, don’t you? He’s the dog you’ve kept down in the rec room ever since you got me. Yep, good old, faithful Rags. He’s going on fourteen now, flatulent, shedding all the time, thinking he’s no good to nobody. Yep, that’s good old Rags.

You see, what they said on ‘All Things Considered’ is spot on. Poor old Rags, shunted off to the side, has been mangling your stash. I don’t think he means to. Hell, I don’t even think he’s conscious of what he’s doing. That makes the situation all the sadder, you know? What, you think he might have been trying to frame me? Man, that just goes to show how far off you are. Hell, if Rags really had it in for me, he’d just pop me. I probably would, if things were switched around.

Not old Rags, though. No, sir. Dog wouldn’t hurt a fly. You know what brought on Muffin here losing her ear? Rags and me, we heard what you said last night. That thing about ‘maybe it’s time we talked to the vet about putting Rags down.’ That’s how it works with you humans, right? Dog gets old, starts to fart up the place, that’s it, right? End of the line.

Anyway, when Rags heard that, he shuffled down the stairs. I wanted to say something to him, but I couldn’t find the words. This morning, I found Muffin on Rags’s blanket. Ear was off, I guess Rags ate it. Anyway, long story short, I brought Muffin up, dropped her on the rug and waited to shine my ‘It wasn’t me!’ look on you.

That’s about it. Maybe by ‘fessing up I’ve dug Rags’s grave. Sure hope not, though. But you know, before you call the vet, I hope you’ll think about something. It wasn’t me that trashed your things. And, you know, it wasn’t Rags, either. Not really, anyway. Well, then, who was it? Huh? That’s what I want you to think about. Okay, I’m done here. You want something I’ll be down in the rec room. With Rags.

Cathy

Cathy