Mr Stuber's Dog

Obviously Kim Ferris did not mean to run over Sunny, the yappy Pomeranian owned by the Stubers who lived in elderly silence three doors from her parent’s house at the end of the cul-de-sac.  But nor did she think it was any great loss. The dog had run out between two parked cars and straight under her passenger front tyre. By the time Kim slammed on the brakes the dog was positioned to be not only ran over by the wheel, but also to have it’s insides forcibly rearranged by being pinned for a few metres between the skidding tyre and the road.

When Kim got out of her car, leaving it idling in the middle of the road, the dog was dead in the gutter. It had some how got that far before realising that its back legs were no longer working and it should just stop and lie down.

With matching expressions of shock Mrs Vandenberghe and her eldest daughter stood on the footpath. They had been shopping and were grabbing some bags from their car when the accident occurred. Tamsyn, the daughter, had rushed to the dog.  

But now, her face white, Tamsyn was having second thoughts and retreated back to her mother. Her mother Janet, a tall skinny woman of neighbourly intentions but nosey outcomes hung back, the shopping bags forgotten at the end of her long arms. Tamsyn, built much more like her solid father, was shorter and far curvier. Kim was secretly in love or to be honest, lust with Tamsyn since she was thirteen, but ever the realist of her family, Kim didn’t for a minute think that her feelings would ever be returned. It struck her now that running over, actually rearranging a dog’s insides, in front of Tamsyn was not going to help.

The afternoon light was fading quickly as Kim walked over to the gutter and looked down at the blood flecked muzzle, abraded rib hair and staring eyes of the Pomeranian. She felt sorry for Mr Stuber; he seemed to enjoy the dog’s noisy presence.  All the families at this end of the street knew that Mrs Stuber was dying with cancer. Not that the Stubers had ever said so, that information had been dispensed by Janet Vandenberghe.

Kim looked up at the Vandenberghe mother and daughter and said,

“Shit, Shit, Shit.”

Tears pricked her eyes and Kim suddenly felt a little faint. Maybe she swayed a little for suddenly Janet Vandenberghe paced over, wrapped her arms around Kim and gave her a hug.

“Its alright Kim, not your fault. Nobody could have stopped in time. Only last week I almost ran over it myself,” she said while patting Kim’s back in time with every third syllable.

Kim looked over Janet’s shoulder at Tamsyn. She looked as surprised as Kim felt.

It was then that Mr Stuber made his appearance. In his late 70s, short and once built like a wrestler, he had been a powerful man but the news of his wife’s sickness had halved him. He was dressed in baggy shorts pulled ridiculously high and a faded pink Ralph Lauren polo that predated the turn of the century. He was mumbling to himself and was pale faced. He looked like a man who had just discovered that life could always get worse.  Kim gently shook Janet off and walked towards him where he stood before the broken dog.

“Mr Stuber,” she began, “ I’m so sorry. I didn’t have time to swerve, he just ran out and I…”

Kim didn’t finish. After all what was she going to say? He just ran out and I ran him the fuck over.

Mr Stuber offered her his stricken face. Reaching forward he patted Kim on her shoulder. His hand felt heavy and for a moment Kim almost thought he would hug her as well.

“Talk about a neighbourly street, “ she thought and almost laughed out loud.

“It’s ok dear, I know it’s not your fault. I saw it happen. Only last week I almost ran over him myself,” Mr Stuber said loudly as if to proclaim to the street and it’s inhabitants his understanding and forgiveness.

He bent down and Kim noticed a bath towel in his hands. Mr Stuber picked up Sunny who was so light that even dead, he seemed to leap off the ground into the old man’s hands. Mr Stuber wrapped the small bundle up in the faded cotton towel and without another word walked back across the road and into his yard, up the stairs and into his house. Looking up, Kim saw Mrs Stuber in the doorway, her stooped outline backlit by a dim glow. She gave no sign of their presence, merely stepping aside to let her husband and his dead dog inside and then closing the door.

Kim stood for a moment in the twilight and suddenly felt the effort of the day’s work upon her. She turned to say goodbye to the Vandenberghes, but they were already moving away to their own house.

So Kim walked back to her car and drove it in to the garage and parked it beside her mum’s dented, dirty Nissan.

Later, after dinner, she stood in her bedroom at the window that gives her a view down the street.

Half way down the street, in the greyness between streetlights two cats smelt and licked the dried drops of blood that ran in a trail from the middle of the road to the gutter. Their tails entwined for a second and Kim smiled. Later that night she dreamt of cats and of Tamsyn naked and purring under a long fur coat.