I've found myself horribly blocked when it comes to writing lately. This was just something to get me writing again. Hopefully it's not too much like other stories out there - I haven't read all the Secret Window stuff around so I don't know. I'm currently without the services of a beta so all mistakes and comma misuse are my own.

Mort had never realized just how much expression a blind dog could have in his face. Or maybe it wasn't expression, maybe it was the lack of it. Turning from his perpetually blank computer screen, Mort looked back down at Chico.

"Believe it or not I know exactly how you feel buddy," Mort said in sympathy. Chico's ears perked up at hearing his master's voice but still the dog stood there, bushy tail between his legs, back stiff, looking decidedly less comfortable than in his normal position – curled up in his chair.

Mort patted the pouting canine on the head before forcing himself up. Few things seemed to make him bother to get up these days but apparently guilt still worked as a motivator.

Pulling off his robe and tossing it through the open bedroom door, Mort ran a distracted hand through his hair. He knew that only made it worse, the unruly locks were better left alone. He knew from previous experience that any attempt to tame it resulted in an even more ruffled state.

He did it anyway.

It was just like what he'd done to poor Chico. Poor pooch hadn't taken a number two in a good four days and it was Mort's fault. 'Well why not, I seem to be great at stopping things that used to work just fine.'

He'd run out of dog food almost a week ago but hadn't worked up the energy to drive to the store and pick more up. Chico had been more than happy to munch on PB and J sandwiches and Doritos. While those things adequately sustained Mort for extended periods of time ('Amy would disagree with the adequately part,' his mind chirped) they had resulted in a less than pleasant situation for old Chico. Mort had wandered outside with Chico plenty of times over the past few days only to see the dog strain to no avail.

With a snort of something coming closer to amusement than he'd felt in a long time, Mort decided if he dragged Chico's chair onto the front porch and watched the dog try unsuccessfully to get it out, they'd have mirrored each other perfectly.

Oh he could hit the bathroom just fine, but how many hours had Chico watched (or tried to from behind clouded lenses) Mort sit there in front of his blank screen, trying to get something out? In the end Mort sympathized with the dog completely. He also felt guilty since he had fed Chico people food out of his own laziness.

It had seemed like an okay solution – Chico loved eating something other than his own boring dog food. But Mort knew better, knew it wasn't a good idea. His mind flashed back to an argument he'd had with Amy a couple years ago:

"Look, is it that big a deal for you to pick up a bottle while you're out?" he'd asked his wife irritably.

Mort really couldn't see what the big deal was, why she was so cranky. He wasn't asking her to do anything difficult and he really didn't need to hear her bitching at him right now, when he was trying to write.

"You asked me to write up the list, Amy," he said aloud.

"Mort," Amy said, her tone clearly reflecting her concern. "I asked you what GROCERIES we needed."

"And that's what I wrote!" Mort nearly snapped at her. He snatched the list back from her hand and read it aloud, "Milk, eggs, cereal, Jack Daniels. What's the problem here? You know I can't do the shopping when I'm on a roll, we've talked about this before."

"That's not the problem Mort," Amy said, looking right at him. The look on her face was one Mort had long since come to recognize as, 'Hey, figure it out Buddy, it's obvious.'

And looking back at it now, it was obvious. But then why the hell had she done it? Why had she bought him the Jack if she was really that against it, if it bothered her so much?

'Well why'd you feed Chico junk when YOU knew better, hmm?' Mort asked himself. 'Just because you know better doesn't mean you do the right thing, does it ol' Morty?'

No, it certainly didn't. But Amy swinging by the liquor store on the way home from getting groceries was a hell of a lot easier than it was for Mort to go out these days. And anyway, what difference did it make now? It wasn't like he had to deal with Amy's questioning and intruding anymore now was it.

'You'd probably kill to have her come in and bitch about your drinking NOW wouldn't you? Of course you don't drink anymore and there's no chance of her coming in, now is there?'

Mort sighed noticing he was still standing at the top of the stairs, same as he had been when he'd got lost in his head. Chico was still standing stiffly beside the desk with that blank look on his face.

Mort headed down the stairs, one hand reflexively trying to straighten his hair, only succeeding in worsening the mess.

Tbc...