Killing Mittens

Friday was a bad day, perhaps my worst ever, and then the next day things went crazy. The neighbor's kid had a dog, a German Shepard mutt, I think, and when the bitch ran off
he went hunting for it. Todd was around 10, a skinny blond brat, and he knocked at my
door and asked, "Have you seen Mittens?"
"Mittens," what a name, I'd run away too if they'd named me that. So, I said, "No, why?"

"She ran off and I've called and called and can't find her." Good for Mittens, I thought, I hope you never see her again you sadistic little snot. I was in mourning, feeling bitter against the world for losing my Marion, and I had to listen to this. I just wanted to be left alone with my grief, and was about to slam the door in the kid's face, when I realized this could be trouble.

"I'll help you look," I said. "Walk down to the road and call her, and I'll check out back. I'll meet you here in a few minutes."

And so the snot walked off yelling, "Mittens!" while I ran out back to the blueberry bushes, afraid of what I'd find, and there it was: That little mutt had my sweet Marion half dug up, with the plastic torn off. I ran up and started kicking dirt back on her, and Mittens, being the little bitch she was, flopped Marion's shirt around in her teeth. It was Marion's white t-shirt, all slashed up and covered with blood, sort of obvious.

"No, gimme," I said, but Mittens backed up, crouched, and watched me, ready to run. "Look, you little brat, give me the damn shirt!" Mittens growled, wanting to play. In the background I heard Todd yelling, "Mittens! Mittens!"

Poor dog, lousy name and now she gets it screamed across the country too. "Look, Mittens, I can't play right now girl, so please, please just give me the shirt?"

Mittens didn't move, she was waiting on me. I lunged, and she skittered back and watched me. "Please, Mittens, please? Give me the shirt, please?" But no, Mittens wouldn't, and so I chased her, and she'd let me get close and then rush off. I stumbled through the blueberry brambles and tripped over ruts and got cut and scratched and bloody, and after a little more running we were in the woods. I didn't have time for all this – the brat would show up before long – so I picked up a stick and hit the bitch and she yelped and dropped the shirt. I dived for it, and Mittens just looked at me.

Breathing hard, my lungs burning, I got up and walked back to the blueberry patch, and Mittens trotted next to me. Then as we got close she rushed forward, and before I got there, she had Marion's shorts in her mouth. I slapped the back of Mitten's head and she dropped them. Near the front of the house I heard, "Mittens!" Todd was heading our way. I stomped and said, "Git!" Mittens crouched, looked at me a moment, then trotted off. I threw the shirt and shorts back on top of Marion, who now stank bad enough to make me choke. Then I walked to the front door where Todd was hugging Mittens, and the bitch waved her tail and licked his face. Sweet thought, huh?

"Found her," I said.

"Where was she?" Todd asked, as Mittens frolicked around him, then me, sniffing at the grass and the front steps.

"Running out in the woods," I said. "You gotta be careful, she could get lost, or get hurt. There's dangerous things out there."

"I'll watch her," Todd said.

"Good," I said. "You better go on home now, I've got things to do." I was sweaty and scratched up and needed a shower. I walked to my door, looked back, and froze – Mittens had disappeared again. "Damn," I said.

Then, "Look kid, stay here, don't move, I'll go find her." I walked around the corner of the house, then ran to the blueberry patch and found the mutt at it again.

"Come here," I said. But, Mittens kept digging. I reached out and slapped her on the ass, but she wouldn't quit. I grabbed her by the scruff and yanked, then reached under and picked her up with a grunt. She was 60 pounds, at least. As I stood, I saw Todd coming around the corner of the house. I kicked a little dirt over Marion's face, then walked towards Todd, and Mittens turned in my arms and tried to lick me and slobbered over my chin. "Stop it, dog!" I stumbled through the blueberry patch, but didn't fall, then reached Todd and put Mittens down.

"Here, hold her, don't let go until you get home," I said.

"Okay," Todd said, and grabbed her by the collar. I wondered if he could keep control of such a big dog.

"Goodbye," I said, and watched him walk off through the woods. I stood and waited until they'd disappeared, then waited a little longer. When I was sure they were gone, I walked back to Marion, kicked more dirt on her and stamped it down. Then I walked into the woods, got a dozen large stones, and dumped them on her. When I was done, I was tired, and I started to get ideas that Mittens might get buried too, if she didn't keep away. Not that I'm mean and cruel or anything, I actually like the dog when she's not digging in my backyard. But, I was worn out and didn't plan on chasing her everyday. Well, as it turns out, I almost did anyway.

The next morning, I woke up to screams of "Mittens!" outside my window. I looked out and found Todd wandering around my front yard. I already knew what'd happened, and I wasn't happy.

"Well?" I asked Todd.

"Mittens ran off again."

"Figures. Just do what we did yesterday. Walk to the road and I'll look out back."

"Okay." So he walked off, happy that I'm helping, and I rushed out back and found Mittens in the blueberry patch chewing on a piece of plastic. I grabbed it from her, she tried to get it back and failed, so she started to scratch under the rocks and gnaw at something. I kicked her, she skittered away and ran right back. I cursed and shoved and threatened, but the dog wouldn't quit. I finally had to carry her out front, getting dirty again.

"Go home," I told Todd. "Keep her tied up."

"Okay," the snot said, and dragged Mittens home.

I knew they'd be back, and that I'd have to go through this every day. Mittens probably couldn't get at Marion now, but if she kept digging in those bushes – and she would – Todd might think it was something to play with, and that'd be bad. Especially since he wasn't some unwanted runaway who could just disappear. Besides, how was I supposed to spend my time feeling bad about Marion, if I had to spend it worrying about Mittens? I'd have to do something permanent, and when I heard Todd screaming "Mittens" two hours later, I had a plan.

Todd was still in the woods, though coming my way, so I ran out back with a handful of hamburger, and there was Mittens in my blueberry patch. I fed her, and she gulped it all up and promptly died.

Rat poison is bad stuff.

So, I carried Mittens out front, and sat with her on my lap and cried. Then Todd came up and started to cry too and he asks what happened and I said, "It just happens, sometimes old dogs just die."

"She was only six."

Oh hell. "Well," I said, "it might be something she ate. There's bad stuff in the woods." And here I thought it was time for a little poetic justice. After all, for a name like Mittens, that kid deserved some pain. "You should've kept a better eye on her," I said. "She got at
something bad, and now she's dead." In other words kid, it's all your fault.

And poor Todd just cried and cried and shook and sobbed. "I'm sorry Mittens, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let you go and die." So, this went on for half an hour, crying and moaning and petting poor dead Mittens. Then I got bored.

"Let's go bury her," I said. "Right now, I'll help you dig."

So we walked through the woods near his mother's trailer, found a place under a pine tree, and buried her. We had a little funeral, I even made a cross of sticks and string and said a few words, about how I didn't know her for long but still loved her and would miss her and how life was so unfair but we'll always have the memories. Todd was happy with that and gave me a hug, and I hugged him back, and after another good long cry I went home feeling a lot better.