Good Dog

The sky glowed shades of pinks and purples. Terrence had snuck out through the back door and made his way around to the front of the house. He wedged himself into a narrow space between the porch and a flower bed, and there he waited. He hoped the others wouldn’t find him for a while so he had some time to be alone with his thoughts. The colors were lost on him, but he was enamored by the patterns above nonetheless.

Seventeen years had passed in this home. He thought of his time as a puppy; it felt so big back then! The garden was like a rolling meadow, and Terrence could circle it for hours without tiring. He thought of little treats he would get here and there. The others would sneak him a bite of bacon or half a sausage when no one was looking. They seemed to have an endless supply of delicious things to share with him. Terrence’s thoughts carried him to his warm bed. How comforting it was to crawl into each day. He realized how lucky he was to have a place like that to rest all to himself.

Despite the slight chill in the air that hinted at autumn’s arrival, Terrence remained stationary. He couldn’t quite understand why he found this spot in particular. It seemed to him like some primal instinct inside him was telling him to be alone at the end.

The cold began to settle on his aching bones, but he no longer had the energy to lift himself. Dusk approached. The sky’s hues began to dim. Terrence closed his eyes. I was a good dog, wasn’t I?