A Series of Seriously Bad Decisions.
Part 1. Osborn With A Curse, Chapter 1. Hello Dolly!
Rated: M – Mature Teens and Adults, 16+
Adult Themes, Coarse Language, Violence and Character Death.
The Explicit Mature Adults Only Version is available on AO3.
Chapter Specific Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Child Neglect & Abandonment, and *spoiler* the dog dies.
Hello Dolly!
Normie never asked for a dog, but his mother 'helped' him pick out a puppy for his fourth birthday present. They'd gone to a shelter and he'd clutched at her hand while they looked at all the animals trapped in their little cages. The lady guiding them through was very nice, she even helped explain some of their specific quirks and which ones she thought would make the best family pet.
Normie honestly wasn't especially enthused by any of them, but he gravitated towards a quiet, relaxed old pit bull mix that seemed to be the most mellow of all the dogs this particular shelter had to offer. If he was honest, he thought he'd have much preferred a cat for a pet. They at least were self sufficient, good solitary hunters, and cuddle buddies from what he'd heard. But Mother insisted that they were going to get a dog and kept pushing him towards one young, jumpy little mutt in particular. "Look at this one, isn't she pretty!"
"I guess," Normie wanted to protest that he didn't want that one, he would've preferred one of the quiet ones, but Mother was already decided on this one. If he tried to say anything it would've fallen on deaf ears anyway. Mother never listened to what he had to say about anything, only selectively heard whatever most benefited her. He didn't even get to pick the name. Unhappily, he followed along while Mother filled out the paperwork and loaded the pup into the car.
Her name was Dolly and she was an aggressively needy, little creature. Normie tried to ignore her, annoyed by all the loud noises she made, but it was near impossible to avoid Dolly when she seemed to specifically make an effort to attack him at every opportunity. Although, perhaps attack was the wrong word.
After the first couple times she'd knocked him over, he'd screamed and one of the nannies came over and explained that Dolly was just clumsy in her excitement and hadn't actually meant to hurt him. If he put his hands up and reached out to pet her then she would stop short of bowling him over and she would just rub herself against him. He still had to strain to keep his face out of reach, it was bad enough when she licked his hands. Norman did not appreciate slobbery kisses.
Admittedly, she was a cute and very friendly mutt. Norman could still vaguely recall getting upset with her for all the mess she would make when she got excited. Dolly would frequently whine and beg for attention, she'd jump on the furniture, scatter his toys, trample his books, run away with his shoes and socks. He'd give chase and scream at her, "No! Bad Dolly! Get back here." When his nanny wasn't around to shush him, he'd even cuss and swear with those words he'd often overheard Ambrose using when he was upset.
Okay, so the little bitch grew on him, she was always so excited to see him. It felt good to be wanted. He'd never really known what it was like for someone to actually be genuinely excited to see him until they'd adopted Dolly. His parents rarely made any time for him. Ambrose was always busy with work. Whenever Mother was around she'd treat him less like a child and more like an accessory to show off to all her friends. Her genius little boy.
"He'll grow up to be an inventor, an innovator, just like his father."
She would reach down and pet his hair in almost the exact same way she would with Dolly. He sometimes half expected her to start scratching behind his ear. It was incredibly irritating, the way her long, polished nails would catch in his curls.
"He's been reading all on his own since he was three and he's so inquisitive. Oh, he and Dolly are so precious, the way they play together." And she would go on to talk about how they found Dolly in a shelter. "Rescues are all the rage," Mother told her friends as if she hadn't complained for a month when Ambrose told her he wouldn't pony up the cash to buy a purebred.
...
'The help,' as Mother called them, mostly tolerated Normie, but they would only occasionally play games with him and mostly just kept him out of trouble, because they had other chores to tend to. "Not my job," he'd once overhead them complaining, "I'm hired to clean house, not to babysit, they don't pay me well enough to compensate for both jobs, but they expect me to multitask and keep the brat out of trouble and leave the house sparkling clean from top to bottom? Completely unreasonable."
By the time Normie turned five, Dolly was his best friend. His only friend. They went on adventures together in the backyard and ventured to the park whenever they could. He told her all about his favorite stories and imagined that she was his sidekick when he played hero. Or occasionally she was the villain, and he would chase her.
But by the time Norman turned six, they were beginning to downsize. They had to move into a smaller house, with a postmark yard, and he wasn't allowed to venture out alone with her, Daddy said the new neighbors couldn't be trusted. The nanny was fired. Normie and Dolly were stuck in a cramped house with his grumpy dad.
Mother left. Dad told her to take the bitch and the kid with her, but she refused. "You're stuck with them, Ambrose. Just think of them as something to remember me by." Ambrose had thrown a bottle at her, but it smashed against the door at the same moment she'd slammed it shut behind her. Normie watched out the window as she left. She didn't look back.
Dad had kicked his poor dog so many times, that she'd gotten defensive and mean. She'd even bitten Normie more than once, out of fear and confusion. She'd licked the wounds in apology, but it still hurt.
Wasn't long before Ambrose started lashing out at Normie. "Control your bitch or we're going to put her down."
She whined too much. She had accidents on the carpet. She shed all over everything. She reminded Ambrose too much of his bitch of an ex-wife. One day, he'd gotten drunk and decided that he'd had enough of the ugly mutt. He smashed a bottle over her head and kicked her until she was dead.
Normie hid in the closet and cried.