Duke

There was no love lost between us, but I had to do what was best for him.

         I never expected my wife to understand—the reason this journey felt like it would be the death of me.

         Just the thought of seeing that thing again made my palms slick with sweat, haunted by flashbacks of the pain and resentment it had caused.

         “My goodness, Dave,” she said softly as we neared our dreaded destination. “You’re soaked through. Is it really that bad?”

         I couldn’t trust myself to answer.

         The old, suffocating dread returned as we rounded the corner, and there it was: the two-story house where I had spent the first eighteen years of my life.

         Nothing had changed. The whitewashed boards, the coffee-brown slats. The lace curtains my mother adored still framed the windows. Dad’s rusty rooster weathervane clattered on the roof, just as it always had. The garden, once immaculate, now lay untended, though I could almost imagine Mom still kneeling there, fussing over every flower and blade of grass like the children she was never able to have.

         A blink dispelled the vision, leaving only overgrown shrubs and silence.

         “Ah, good to see you both,” came a jovial greeting.

         Mr. Barnes, our family attorney, waddled toward us, pumping our hands. I held my breath, waiting for the sound I dreaded most.

         But nothing came.

         As he rambled about selling or renting the property, I barely heard him. My eyes scoured every corner of the house. I was searching for it.

         The bane of my existence.

         It had first appeared when I was ten—a timid boy, more comfortable with books and stars than people. That summer, Mom brought home a jostling cardboard box. Out popped a chocolate-brown Labrador puppy.

         “Isn’t he the cutest?” she gushed, kissing its muzzle. “What should we call him?”

         I didn’t want to call him anything. From the very first glare, I knew: we would never get along.

         I was terrified of dogs.

         No matter how much my parents tried, the bond never formed. Instead, he grew hostile, snarling when I entered a room. He chewed through my books and shoes, but I endured—until the day he bounded into my room and shattered my prized telescope. I had saved for nearly a year to buy it with Dad’s help. That was the day hatred truly rooted itself in me.

         Mom adored him. After Dad died, she poured everything into that dog. It filled the role of both husband and child, while I became a shadow. Jealousy gnawed at me, though I hated admitting it. Only when I moved out did I finally breathe freely again.

         Even years later, I never knew if my resentment was toward all dogs—or just this one. It took my wife, Allie, to coax me into even petting another.

         “Where is it?” I finally asked, cutting into Mr. Barnes’s speech.

         “Where is what?”

         “The dog.”

         Its scent still lingered in the house—wet fur, stale food. If it was still living, I'd have to send him to a shelter at least.

         “Oh, him!” Mr. Barnes beamed. “He’s doing well. In fact, they should be arriving any minute now…”

         As if on cue, laughter and barking burst through the front door.

         I froze, pen clenched in a death grip. A young family stepped inside, neighbours who had been caring for the house during Mom’s illness. On the leash was Duke—older now, slower, but still alive. The boy holding him struggled to contain his eager leaps.

         Allie squeezed my shoulder. I barely felt it.

         Duke approached cautiously. I braced for the familiar wave of revulsion, but it never came.

         Instead, I met his cloudy golden eyes—eyes that carried the weight of years we had shared. Was there regret in them? Or was it only my own?

         “We were wondering…” the father began carefully. “If you’d let the kids keep him. They’ve really taken to Duke, and…well, we’re willing to pay if—”

         I was already shaking my head.

         “He’s all yours,” I replied as I felt something hard stuck in my throat; a lump that wouldn’t leave as something hot stung in my eyes. Perhaps it realized it too, for it gave a whimper and nuzzled my hand – a farewell perhaps – before trotting back to a family that would give it the love I could never return.

         As Allie and I drove away, the last image I carried was Duke chasing after two laughing children. For the first time, I felt a quiet reassurance.

         I had done the right thing.






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Word Count: 745
Prompt: Turn something you hate into something nice. Show in your words what happens when you do.
Written For: "The Writer's Cramp"