Slightly Overlooked

Duke quickly lifted his head. His ears went up instantly with full sensibility, his eyes staring into darkness. It seems as if it came from outside. He stood and, with a bit of effort, propped himself up to peer out the window. The pane was translucent, making what little he could recognize even more obscure. He decided that it was just another insignificant noise that would not have disturbed Quickie’s sleep. Duke glanced at his owner, who laid motionless and untroubled, and thought it best to do the same. He slowly walked back to the rug at the foot of the bed, circled around it a few times, found a comfortable spot, and resumed his repose.

         Duke felt the warmth of the morning sun against his fur—it felt good, he thought. He stood up and stretched, and looked toward the bed. Quickie had already risen and gone downstairs. He allowed himself a couple more stretches before finally leaving the bedroom.

         The phone rang three times before it was answered. Duke heard Quickie’s muffled voice talking. He descended the stairs and headed for the kitchen, where he found Quickie clad in his sleeping robe. Eggs were frying in the pan; Duke loved the smell of it. He stared at Quickie who paid no attention to this presence. He found a nice spot underneath the kitchen table and nestled himself onto the cool linoleum tiled floor.

         Quickie’s conversation was temporarily interrupted when the eggs started to burn in the pan. Quickie cursed and felt his way to the stove, being careful not to burn himself. Although the eggs were not saved, it was not a total waste. Duke watched from under the table as Quickie forked the eggs from the pan and into a familiar silver bowl on the kitchen floor. As a matter of reflex, Duke got up and walked over to the bowl, and wolfed down the lightly charred fried eggs within a few seconds. Not bad, he thought, and hoped he would always have his morning eggs done this way. After that brief meal, he returned to his spot under the table.

         Quickie had soon dressed, and was prepared to leave for work. He summoned Duke into the living room. Duke hesitated for a minute, relishing the feel of the cold kitchen floor against his stomach. Quickie called his name again, this time more sternly. Reluctantly, Duke arose and went to the living room, where he found Quickie with his harness and leash. He made his presence noticed, and, immediately, Quickie strapped him up and got him ready to go. Duke was always amazed at how quickly and efficiently Quickie moved, in spite of his shortcomings. This was how Duke got to referring to his owner as Quickie, and thought it suited him. Quickie was not like those old people who took their time in doing whatever they did.

         It was only this morning that Duke felt the pain in his legs again. He panted more frequently now, too. They stopped at the corner of the street, and Duke patiently waited for the right moment before safely taking Quickie across. He was glad that Quickie had kept up with this pace; unlike the old people he’d been with in his past.

         Especially, Flabby, a fat, old lady with a smoker’s voice, who not only had trouble keeping up, but also had to stop every minute or so to catch her breath. She was a difficult owner. Even in her house, she had to stop periodically and breathe deeply even while she was resting. Duke’s patience waned the longer he stayed with Flabby. One day, Flabby was accidentally electrocuted while taking a bath.

         Then, there was Whiskers, an old man Duke could only remember from the thin white beard that covered most of this face. Whiskers was mean, inconsiderate, and very dependent. Duke loathed Whiskers, particularly the times when senility would hit, and Duke would be unfed for days. Whiskers lost his balance one day and received a concussion fatal for a man his age.

         There was also Wrinkles, the oldest owner Duke had ever been with. Wrinkles was most conservative and reserved. She never played with Duke even once during their companionship, despite provoking her numerously. She was stubborn and lazy, and never moved around much. She almost made Duke forget all his training. Wrinkles accidentally fell down the basement stairs one evening.

         And now, Quickie.

         Duke liked most of Quickie’s traits. Quickie kept up with him, gave him great tasting food, let him sleep in the bedroom, played with him as often as possible, and was generous with praise. But, Duke also knew that Quickie was terribly depressed because of his blindness—a condition which he acquired just a few years ago—and would sometimes go into violent outbursts. And, Duke would often get hurt in the process. Duke didn’t like that part of Quickie.

         Duke looked at his owner, and remembered four nights ago when Quickie had one of his outbursts, and repeatedly kicked Duke’s body, many times on his hind legs. Duke felt sore for a couple of days, and had a bit of trouble walking about. But that wasn’t the worst of his experiences. A few weeks ago, a toaster fell on Duke’s head while he was resting by the kitchen sink. Quickie had thrown the toaster in the air when he accidentally touched the hot metal surface.

         Duke was getting old. Although he liked Quickie over all the other owners he’d had in the past, he also didn’t want to be hurt any longer. Duke suddenly realized that he knew exactly what he needed to do.

         Humans are so gullible, Duke decided. They were so quick to believe that Flabby’s electrocution was accidental. Could the hairdryer have magically flown from the vanity into the tub a couple of feet away? Duke knew better. And, he also knew that it wasn’t by accident that Whiskers fell head first into that storm drain, and that Wrinkles didn’t plummet to the basement without a little helping nudge. Yes, humans are stupid, so myopic. And it was because of this that Duke had always gotten his way in the end.

         They’d stopped at that street corner as they always did; it was routine. The stupid human would not suspect anything, Duke humored to himself. Cars were zooming by them. Duke timed it just right. He started to lead Quickie across the street prematurely, as several cars were speeding towards them. Duke heard the loud squeal of the breaks as one was attempting to stop. Quickie froze in his tracks, obviously terrified after realizing what was happening without needing to see. Duke’s plan was to dart toward the other side of the street, the sudden quick movement would make Quickie accidentally let go of the leash, and Quickie would be run over. It would appear to be an accident. Brilliant, Duke thought.

         When the moment came, Duke began to run away from Quickie, just as he planned. But terror instantly overcame Duke as he realized Quickie’s grip was truer than he thought it would be under the circumstances. He wriggled vigorously to try to shake him off, but Quickie began to pull Duke toward him instead. In those final few seconds before impact, the last image that registered into Duke’s brain was the strange, horrific little smile on Quickie’s face.