Dandy

Place is falling hard, falling apart. The kids, they come up to the front door, want to know can they play with Dandy? Dandy all supersonic tail making a blur of the air. Stirring it up like a pot of honey. They stroll right up on that busted-up brick walkway, none of them offered to fix it ever. They could have, too. Would have taken them a couple hours, they all worked on it together. They don’t have bad backs. But they don't care about any of that.

Place needs paint, too. I get up on a ladder, I'm liable to fall and break my head open. Be a paint can spilling out Royal Sky and my head spilling out my brains. Do the kids care about that? They do not. Not one lick. And what about the window I know they broke with their football or soccer ball or frisbee plate or what have you? They never said nothing about it. None of them did.

And still they want to borrow my dog for a run in the park. Old pig in dog's clothing needs it, I can't deny that. I say okay, let me get the leash 'cause you got to have the leash. But it's only for the old fat dog's sake. Dandy needs it, I know that. He's hanging low. He's scraping by, just. Got to get some air into his lungs. Got to let him stretch his legs. All he's doing in here is eating my house down to the pit. Breathing on me.

This one little kid, he's down with his hands on his knees, looking in at Dandy through the screen. This one can't wait to take that one out for a run. Would it kill them to help out around the place once in a while? I bend down and hear it in my back and hook the leash onto Dandy's collar. And open up the screen and give the kid the leash. Take him. And don't you forget to bring him back.