Justin stood over
what would have been the corpse. He looked at the floor from one
angle, then another, and finally shrugged and scratched his scalp
again. This was strange...
A lot of strange things had happened to him, even since he could
remember. That dog he had. It was odd moments like this that he
remembered how much he missed him.
Had him for thirty years. Never seemed to grow old. He never told
anyone about it -- made the excuse that he just preferred the same type
of black lab when the old one got taken to live at his parents' farm.
It was something of a relief when Roosevelt (the dog, named after
Theodore rather than Franklin Delano) got killed. It was getting hard
to keep up the pretense, especially after the local vets started to
compare notes. But just when it seemed like half the town was talking
about the Dog That Wouldn't Die, Justin woke up and found Roosevelt
laying by his feet, even though he had left him out in the back yard
and shut the bedroom door. Roosevelt was lying as content as he'd ever
been, but dead. A coincidence, to say the least.
Pages:
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65