Memoriam for a Loyal Canine
A/N: Mixed feelings on this one. Please let me know what you think.
The pale skinny little boy in a baggy sailor suit sniffled again and wiped his eyes with one hand. The other clutched a handful of fabric on his mother's skirts.
In front of them was a little wooden cross with 'SCRAPS' written lovingly in Victor Van Dort's handwriting.
"Oh really, Victor." Nell Van Dort grumbled. "He was just a stupid dog."
Victor shook his head fiercely. "No he wasn't! Scraps was a good dog!"
The fish merchant's wife rolled her eyes skyward. "Fine, fine. I still say he was a filthy mutt, but-"
Her son turned tear-filled eyes towards her.
"Oh fine, fine, he was a good dog. Just don't give me that look!" Nell snapped.
The woman was not in the least upset by the dog's passing. In fact, one might even describe her as relieved.
On the other hand, Victor was heartbroken. Scraps had been his only friend. The other little boys always made fun of him- but they were a little afraid of his dog.
Not that Scraps had been a very frightening pet. He simply barked with such frequency that the children were convinced he was a rabid dog. (They were far too young to understand the way real rabid dogs acted).
For some odd reason, Scraps had been the only thing that Victor wasn't afraid of, really. The dog was so friendly that his barks only served to make the boy happy.
"Scraps was the best thing that ever happened to me." Victor whispered.
His mother rolled her eyes again. "I'm going back into the house. It's freezing out here!"
"I'm staying." Victor said stubbornly.
"Oh, fine! But if you don't get back inside in fifteen minutes, I'm coming to get you before you die of pnemonia!" Her expression of motherly concern for the year thus concluded, Nell went inside.
The little boy sniffled again. "Scraps…"
Victor burst into tears and fell on his knees. "I want Scraps!"
His sobs slowly died away, and he was just wiping his eyes again when the little merchant's son looked up. "Huh?"
There, sitting on the little wooden cross, was a small blue butterfly.
All his attention turned to the little creature. Taking slow exaggerated stealthy steps, Victor approached the new object of his fascination. It was early winter, and this pretty little thing was still outside? His eyes were wide with amazement.
He reached out a hand to grab one of its wings, but the butterfly fluttered out of his grasp.
"Come back!" Victor chased it around the backyard, jumping up and down, trying to catch the elusive insect.
It was only when the butterfly flew out of the yard, and the eight year old stopped, panting, that Victor realized he hadn't thought about Scraps once the entire time.
At first he felt guilty. Then it slowly came to him that, perhaps he didn't need to think about Scraps all the time. There was nothing wrong with missing his dog, but Scraps had probably had a better life than Victor.
The little boy watched the butterfly fly into the evening sky. Goodbye, Scraps.
Yanking up a dandelion from the ground, he tossed it on the grave.
Victor contemplated it for a few minutes.
"VICTOR!"
Heeding his mother's angry shout, he obediently trotted inside.