OLD PEOPLE 13
Janice ate sparingly; she drank less sparingly. She felt better. Mazie are more, drank less. “Hard to believe it’s nearly July 4th,” Mazie said. “I had in the back of my mind to plan a July 4th something. But since Clyde died I can’t seem to get organized. He was the planning master.”
Janice drained the last wine from her glass. “What you need, Mazie, is dog. Or a cat or a bird for god forbid a man. Alone is not the way to go.”
“I don’t need a cat or man or a dog.”
“But you like my dogs, don’t you?”
Mazie ran her finger around her plate, scraping up hardened cheese bits. “I love your dogs-- in your house. But not in my house. My god, Janice, I see how you’re plagued with dog hair-- everywhere-- everyday. That I do not need.”
The beagle Paddie and the ‘who knows what breed’ Kelly lay on either side of Janice’s chair. “Mazie, just look at them. So sweet. Sometimes when I feel so alone and can’t decide whether to sob or drink Paddie or Kelly or both circle around me demanding I meet their needs. When I do I feel better. I feel alive. I feel needed and loved. I’m telling you you need a pet.”
“Works for you maybe. But not for me.”
Then came the gasping, gurgling sound from Kelly. Janice was out of her chair, on her knees watching Kelly gasp for a breath. “Oh my god Mazie, call my vet.” Mazie was on the floor, arms around Kelly. She hugged, she tugged, she slapped, Kelly’s heaving body. Kelly gasped. Mazie hugged the dog tightly and squeezed. Kelly gulped; the gasping stopped. Mazie pulled Kelly to her chest.”
Janice I am so sorry.”
“Sorry? You were great. You saved her life.. I thought she was going to die.
“But it’s my fault. I slipped her pizza crust.” Silence. More silence. “I am really sorry.” Kelly nuzzled up against Mazie’s legs and licked her. A tear ran down Mazie’s cheek. “And you’re right, I need a dog.”
“Get your own, you can’t have Kelly.”
