My First Pet
Part I

One of the young trees lay horizontal, straining, as the wind pulled on it with all its might. The sky roared its anger, and the rain hammered down. I stood at the window, looking out and practiced not being afraid. Daddy said that the things that are difficult to do are usually the ones worth doing. The lights around the house showed several fallen trees with their roots in the air. A branch flew past, crashed into the driveway, then the wind whisked it away.

Jagged forks of lightning lit up the sky and I saw Doggy for the first time. She ran from under a bush and slipped in the mud. She tried to get up and fell again. She disappeared from view, and I waited for the next bolt of lightning. The sky flashed, revealing that she had failed to rise and now just lay there, like one of the uprooted trees.

I ran out of the room and down the corridor. Two suits sat on either side of the exit door, talking. They didn't notice me until I was past them. I turned the handle, and the doors flew open. Ducking my head into the wind, I charged out, stumbling as the rain slapped down on my head and shoulders. The wind howled and tore at my clothes which flapped loose. Shouts and splashing footsteps followed me, and I ran harder. They wouldn't listen to me; I had to get to her before they caught me.

As I reached her, I fell, sliding in the mud. Lightning crashed once again, and I saw her clearly for the first time. Mud splattered and bedraggled, she opened her eyes to give me a sorrowful look, then closed them again. I hugged her around the neck, wrapping my body over hers to protect her from the rain. Her skin shivered.

One of the suits grabbed me. I squirmed free and screamed, clutching tighter to Doggy.

“Bring the dog as well,” the other suit said.

Hands reached under and lifted both me and Doggy and carried us back into the house. The wind stopped pulling at my clothes and the roar of the storm faded when the suit closed the door behind us.

They brought us into the kitchen and set us down on the tiles. Water puddled below us. I let go of Doggy's neck so I could see her better. Muddy and wet as she was, it was hard to tell her exact color — maybe light-brown. She was big, as big as me, but not mean-looking like the dogs the suits sometimes brought. Her stomach was swollen. She shivered and closed her eyes.

“What the hell is going on here? Who let my daughter get like this. She's soaking and covered in mud. And what's that with her?” Daddy was yelling again. I burrowed my face into Doggy's neck.

“She ran out into the storm before we could stop her, sir,” said a suit. “She found the dog and won't let go of it.”

“Sharla, come away from that animal right now,” Daddy shouted. “Looks more like a giant rat than a dog. It could be diseased.” Doggy looked up at Daddy with those sorrowful eyes.

I turned my head and put my mouth close to Doggy's ear. “Don't listen to him. You are beautiful and I love you.” I whispered the words so only Doggy and God could hear them.

“Sharla.” Daddy used his YOU-WILL-OBEY-ME-NOW voice but Doggy was sick and alone. I couldn't leave her.

Just then Mummy ran in and knelt at my side, hugging me. ”John, what are you doing?” Daddy had a great number of names: Daddy and John and Mr President and Sir. Mr Carlson and Senator as well but no one called him those any more. “The child is drenched and shivered and you are yelling at her.”

“Sharla, dear.” Mummy rubbed my back. “We need to get you in a warm bath and get some fresh clothes on you.”

“Doggy needs me,” I said.

Mummy looked down at Doggy who continued to watch Daddy. “She's sick, isn't she? You come with me and get cleaned up and I'll make sure that she sees a vet, that's a doctor for animals. Then we can come back and check on her.”

I didn't want to leave Doggy like this but I trusted Mummy so I transferred my arms from Doggy's neck to hers and she carried me out.

“I assume you can take care of getting a vet for the dog, John,” Mummy said as she left the kitchen. “You are the president, after all.”

After being warmed up by a bath and Mummy's hugs, I was ready to go back to Doggy. It took Mummy a while to figure out where they'd put her. There are too many rooms and too many people here. I didn't understand why we left our perfectly nice house for here. People always say: ‘Isn't it great you get to live in the White House,’ but they don't know what it's like. Doggy was in one of the many rooms with fancy decorations, but empty, without any heart or soul. She was in a basket, asleep.

“Wait here, dear,” Mummy said. “I'll find out what's going on.”

I knelt beside Doggy and watched her chest rise and fall with her breathing. Her swollen stomach reminded me of Mummy's friend who was having a baby.

After a while Mummy returned. The clicking closed of the door woke Doggy. She looked up at me with the same sorrowful look. She might be clean now, but nothing had really changed. Her head fell back into her front paws.

Mummy sat behind me, and I leaned back into her. “I'm sorry, Sharla. The vet said nothing can be done. Remember when Grandma was so sick she had to leave her body behind and go up to heaven.”

“I cried,” I said. “I still cry when I remember.”

Mummy arms compressed about me. “I know, sweetie. I still cry sometimes too. We are sad because she is gone, but Grandma is happy because she's in heaven with God and not here suffering with sickness.”

“Doggy might be happier in heaven.” Then a thought struck me. “What about her babies?”

The breath caught in Mummy's throat. “I forget how smart you are.” She turned me around so I faced her. “The vet says that the puppies are too young to be born and live.” Tears gathered at the bottom of my eyes and I twisted my neck around to look down at the sleeping dog. I understood now why Doggy was so sad.

The door clicked open and Daddy walked in. “I heard,” he said. “Maybe just as well. Sharla's too young for a dog.”

“John, don't be so insensitive. She can hear you, you know?”

But I wasn't listening to Daddy's words. I was watching Doggy's reaction. She raised her head and her gaze followed Daddy as he walked across the room. I remembered that Doggy had perked up when Daddy talked in the kitchen too. I whispered into Mummy's ear.

“Louder, dear,” Mummy said.

“Doggy likes Daddy's voice,” I whispered, “It makes her stronger.”

“Say something, John.”

“About what?” Daddy asked.

“Anything.”

“I was just on the phone to the Governor of Florida. Hurricane Wendy hit hard over all over the south east.” Daddy strode to the far wall and back, and Mummy watched Doggy's gaze follow him. “We'll have to declare a state of emergency.”

“She does indeed. Curious,” Mummy said.

“Maybe if Daddy talked to Doggy, she'd get better,” I whispered.

Mummy smiled. “I don't think it works that way, dear.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Daddy asked.

“The dog likes you,” Mummy said. “Sharla thinks that if you talk to her enough, she'll get better.”

Daddy laughed. “I barely get a chance to discuss North Korea, who'd be perfectly happy if the world blew itself to bits, never mind finding the time to coax a dying dog back to life.”

“Right, John. You are so important you can't spare a moment for your family.”

“Wait a minute, Sarah. I never said that.”

“It's not what you say, John.”

I didn't want them arguing, so I spoke up quickly. “Daddy talks all day long. We just have to let Doggy hear him.”

“Mummy laughed. “He does like to hear the sound of his own voice, that's true.” She lifted me off her and stood up, taking my hand. “Sharla's right. You can let her and the dog into a few of your meetings, John. They can both do with hearing more of your voice.”

Daddy began to smile, then stopped. “You can't be serious. I haven't a spare moment tomorrow. I'll be on the phone to the Governors of the worst-hit States all day.”

“You'll just have to tone down the shouting and cursing when your daughter and her dog are in the room with you.”

“Sarah, these are political meetings we're talking about. There won't be anything left if you take away the cursing.”

“Good. You might actually get something done for a change.” Mummy led me out, leaving Daddy spluttering behind us. I waved goodnight to Doggy, who looked happier. Daddy's voice must have helped.

That night, I prayed for Doggy and her babies until my knees hurt.

The next morning, a suit carried Doggy into the Oval Office in a basket. I followed. We took a spot by the fireplace. Doggy lay with her nose on her paws, ignoring the bowl of dog food. I could understand that. Ignoring the nasty smelly brown food just showed she had good taste. I'd sneak her something from dinner later. I rubbed the back of her neck – at least she no longer shivered.

Daddy came in and rubbed the top of my head. I didn't like it when he did that but said nothing.

“So Mammy didn't come to her senses?”

As usual, Doggy perked up. She lifted her head to watch Daddy.

“I must sound like its old owner.” Daddy frowned. “What's its name?”

“Doggy,” I whispered.

“Speak up, darling.” Daddy knelt beside me.

“Her name is Doggy.”

“You have to give her a real name. You can't call her Doggy. That's what she is.”

“Mummy is called Mummy and that's what she is. And you're called Mr President.”

Daddy laughed, and messed my hair up again. “We'll make a politician out of you yet.” He reached down toward Doggy.

I started. “Don't be rough with her!”

“I'm allowed to talk to her, but not touch her, is that right?” Daddy smiled, and he leaned over and gently stroked the back of Doggy's neck.

My First Pet

Part II

Then he went back to his desk, picked up his phone and started shouting at someone. I leaned my head on Doggy's shoulder, looking back at her stomach, thinking about the baby Doggys inside there.

Every day thereafter, except the one he was in Florida, I spent a few hours in Daddy's office. Daddy would always stop to pet Doggy and ask me how she was doing. He even stopped messing up my hair after a few days.

Then he'd start at his job, which involved shouting at people. First on the phone, then they'd parade in various people in all shapes and sizes for him to shout at. He must have been good at his job because they all nodded and agreed before leaving. It was less scary when he was yelling at other people.

I figured the national crisis was easing when Daddy stopping calling Hurricane Wendy that word which Mummy told me means a female dog. It meant something else as well though, something bad — I knew that from the way he said it. The real female dog wasn't doing so well. Doggy responded less and less to Daddy's voice and wouldn't even eat the gravy-soaked beef that I smuggled to her in a tissue.

Then one morning Mummy woke me up early. “I'm sorry.”

That was all she needed to say — I understood. The pain was so strong, I didn't think I could bear it. Sobs caught in my throat and I had trouble breathing. Mummy held me and rocked me back and forth. “She's in heaven now. It's all right,” she whispered over and over again.

After a time, the tears dried up and I no longer felt like I was going to explode.

“How do you feel, dear?” Mummy asked.

“I have an emptiness inside me that's bigger than me. Bigger even than this house.”

“It's okay to feel sad. The emptiness won't go away at once. Don't try and pretend it isn't there. Whenever you think of Doggy, you'll be sad, but the feeling won't always be as strong as it is now. You'll fill the emptiness with love for others. Do you understand?”

“I nodded and choked back another sob. Even though I didn't truly understand, I was good at remembering and intended to think on her words later.”

“This won't make the emptiness less, but I have other news. Doggy gave birth to a puppy before dying.”

I smiled. Mummy was wrong — it did make the emptiness less. All Doggy wanted to do was make sure her baby was born safely.

“Daddy and I weren't sure if we should tell you because the puppy is so small and weak. He was born too young and has to fight to survive.”

“Doggy was a fighter,” I said.

Mummy took me down to see Scrapper. I won't tell you much about him because this isn't his story. I'm sure you can guess from his name that he didn't just give up because he was too small. He grew up to be my best friend for many years.

My teacher told me to write this essay but I don't think I'll hand it in to her. I'm not sure I want anyone else reading it and anyway, my classmate only wrote four sentences about his goldfish and drew a picture that looked more like an orange rocket.

The day after Doggy died, Daddy gave a speech about the hurricane. But he told me it was also about Doggy so I made sure to remember it.

“The country is still recovering from the devastation wrought by Hurricane Wendy. We mourn the tragic lost of life — those who have died can never be replaced. But we also celebrate the courage and resilience shown in adversity. It's in a crisis that a nation's true worth shines through. We remember the rescuers who went out in the terrible weather, risking themselves to save others. And relatives and neighbors who helped one another, and by helping, became stronger and more united within their families and within their communities.

“We can't control what Mother Nature throws at us, we can only decide how we face it. And this week, the American people came together and responded with kindness and generosity, sending aid, support and prayers to the worst-affected areas. I've traveled down to Florida and seen what's happening on the ground. Already, in the midst of the chaos, the reconstruction has begun. And in rebuilding, we become stronger as a people, and as a nation.”

Even though I haven't figured out how it is about Doggy, thinking of her as I wrote the words made me cry. I know I'm supposed to write The End at the bottom in big letters but there are too many tear stains, so I'll just leave it at that.

So what's the deal, guys? Are we meant to discuss the stories in here, or will a discussion thread be started, or what? I guess I'm a little confused. Maybe others are too? I have a few reactions re the story above, but I don't want to clutter up this thread if it's not the place for them.

All stories will be posted in sequence after the submission deadline in a dedicated thread for posting and discussing stories. Apologies for the confusion. Save dem thoughts.

Are we supposed to attach a file in the PM? Because I didn't see a way to do that. I tried to copy and paste my story in the message, but I was given an error when I tried to send it. (It said text that you have entered is too long (18037 characters). Please shorten it to 10000 characters long.)

Send two messages..?

Yeah, that could be done. Was just wondering if there was a more tidy way, I suppose.

Please break it up into multiple PMs.

Only a few days left. I hope everyone is polishing and submitting their stories.

Cause it would be a shame if you were the automatic winner amirite

I'd prefer there to be 20+ entries and for mine to be the worst. That way I get to read loads of cool stories.

I agree! And you of course already hold one Lounge short story award. Been there, done that for you

I can't get mine in until Monday which is the 1st of April due to the fact I won't have the internet this weekend. Hopefully this will be okay?

Ads,

Deadline (for ads) extended to April 1. Hopefully John is in a playful mood on that holy day and gives you a proper response.

Thanks Busto.

No matter what everyone else says about you, I think you're okay.

I'm bowing out of this. I started my story a few weeks ago, and was excited about it, but I hit a brick wall and have subsequently become distracted. The fact that I'm not a regular Lounge poster is also a factor, I guess I'm a little uncomfortable with attempting to jump into someone else's competition (not that I'm arrogant enough to think I'd have won, lol).

I look forward to reading the entries. I lurk just about every sub-forum on 2+2 despite mainly posting in MTTc and OOT, and some of my all-time favourite posters appear to be involved in this so expectations are high!

if we can confirm a prize for worst story, I'll enter. and I'm sure many more will also.

Sorry to here that you hit a wall. I hope you will enter future contests. The contest is open to any 2+2 poster who meets the registration date (and posting criteria). Don't ever feel like you are not welcome here

I'm really interested in holding another contest this summer - a flash fiction contest, or perhaps one where we give you guys a topic or a character. It would be a lot of fun. So please consider it, okay?

thanks Katy, I'll keep my eye out for future competitions.

BTW, you're not the subject of my location in case you were confused by that! haha

Quick tip for submitters (and John Cole maybe): Use the [noparse][/noparse] tags in your PMs to preserve important formatting.

Example story-in-a-PM:

Hi there! I am a story. Behold me and despair!

If JC copy-pastes the above into a thread, all that nifty formatting will disappear:

Hi there. I am a story. Behold me and despair!

But! If you stick a [noparse] right before the text of your story and a [/noparse] right after the end, your PM will look like this on the receiving side:

[B]Hi there![/B] [I]I am a story[/I]. [U]Behold me and despair![/U]

So then all JC has to do is copy-paste the above into a post, and boom, formatting preserved.

Sorry to hear you won't be submitting this time, LO. I was looking forward to reading your entry.

lagdonk doing god's business right there.

I'll hopefully be able to soon confirm the writer of the worst story will have the option of several prizes.

1) Permaban
2) A private dinner with dids
3) Daily PMs from me linking to old Sklansky threads

I'm guessing the loser will select a permaban, but it's tough to know what someone will select until the offer is on the table. Obviously a private dinner with dids would also result in a permaban.

Entry in at the last minute!

I know I said entries would be posted on April 1, but April Fools!

We're doing some magic behind the scenes before posting them (rigging the contest, ldo). Look for a discussion thread soon.

The story I wrote was as bad as I said it was and even I lost interest in what I wrote. I look forward to the unmitigated story-bashing I am now free to do. I think I've been a non-fiction writer for too long.