It isn't right to lie to children, Doris knew. They might develop trust issues, which can be devastating to a child's natural curiosity if established at a very young age. Nevertheless, she felt it was important enough that Rosie wouldn't come toddling into the kitchen, that she imbued the babe with a very rich and everlasting sense that the monstrous grey animal that had gored her brother's leg was surely hiding in the cupboards. That's why Daddy was in there now, trying to find him.
Otherwise, the situation was somewhat in hand. Years of backcountry field medicine had served Doris well, so she'd treated and wrapped her son's leg using most of the gauze in the house. And she went through a whole bottle of iodine. The kid howled in pain when she did it, but Doris simply narrowed her eyes and dabbed it onto his wounds with more purpose.
He would need a hospital, and stitches, as soon as her fool of a husband killed the animal that did this with his... sharpshooting skill? When was the last time he had brought that to bear?
Doris left Caillou, with Rosie playing with dolls quietly by his side. She joined her husband by the sink, where he was drawing a bead on the shed out back.
"Is he out there?" she asked.
"Yes, dear, he ran in when I tried to shoot him a minute ago."
"I thought you were some kind of sharpshooter now," she said accusingly.
"Sure, but..." Boris started. "I'm trying not to hit my mother."
Doris smirked. His new backstory was clever, but it hadn't done much to make him more interesting. "Why not?" she muttered.
As Boris looked over his shoulder and fixed her with a glare, something outside caught her eye. A dog was walking upright. She shook her head. It couldn't be, but another look confirmed it. A brown and white dog - a beagle? - was walking toward the shed with his paws held up. Boris saw it, too.
"Shoot it!" Doris yelled.
"No, I-"
"Why the hell not?" she demanded. "Give me the gun!"
"Doris, no!" he pleaded as she wrested the gun from his hands and took it to another window. He stood up and held his palms out to her, as if he was scolding the kids to put away their toys. "What's gotten into you, Doris?" he asked, much too calmly. It infuriated her.
"Shut up," Doris said, and lined up the sight with the brown dog's head. She pulled the trigger.