The Weekend-Sunday
Airbud. Balto. Every dog has his idol. I like to think I'm like Balto…but with a red cape…And I save one person, but it's daily mind you, and he saved a whole bunch of people from…Bieber Fever or something…
Point is: no matter the dog, every dog is loyal to mankind. Period. It's almost like we have it programmed into our DNA or something. It's inescapable.
And Anna Fitzgerald sits across from me legs straight out, as I lay by Campbell's feet as he yells into the telephone. She is sitting on the floor digging her nails into the carpet making that grating, and irritating noise as she pulls at its grey strands.
And it's bothering me.
She looks over at me, and notices I'm watching her.
We are all waiting patiently for her mother to show up for a meeting, and she looks nervous. And scared.
I look up at Campbell, who is so busy on the phone arguing with his mother that he hadn't even noticed the kid began to look worried.
Which is strange because through this whole mess, not once had I seen Anna distraught over this idea. Bothered yes, but worried, no.
I may be sarcastic and rude sometimes, but I'm not heartless. So that loyal canine instinct decides to kick in, and I move over to her.
"Hey boy," she whispers to me.
I sit and she pierces her lips before going back to destroying the carpet.
Over the course of this case, for some odd reason, I've come to like this girl. Maybe it's because of her brave nature, or her strong attitude, I don't know, but I've grown fond of her. Seeing her like this, out of character, unnerves me.
I hang my head down looking up at her using the definition of "puppy dog eyes."
She sees me out of the corner of her eye, and gives me a light smile, before hesitantly scratching me behind the ears. She gives Campbell a wary look knowing she's not to suppose to be doing this, but continues anyway.
I then notice her eyes are glistening.
Being a dog, I don't cry. I've never even made a pitiful whimper that would even suggest that I was crying. So you can imagine I don't do tears.
But as I look at this girl whose fighting back waterfalls, I can tell she needs someone to talk too. Dogs are good for that. We listen, but don't give feedback and don't snap at you if we don't like what you say. We're perfect for this sort of thing.
"I wish I could tell someone," she whispers.
My ears perk up. She probably isn't even aware she said it aloud and Campbell has no notion of what she said either or else he would have made some remark.
I cock my head, and she moves both of her hands to ruffle the sides of my neck. She glances at Campbell again.
"It must be so easy being a dog," she says to me.
"Not really," I tell her. "You don't have to deal with fleas once a year."
She smiles.
She stops messing with my coat to place her hands in her lap, and leans her head against the wall gazing at the ceiling. She goes somewhere else.
"I know I'm going to get a mouthful for this later, but…" I lay down, and place my head on her knees. She comes back, and looks down at me, and strokes my back.
"I really wish I could," she says again. She takes a deep breath.
I can't really imagine what the girl is going through. Fighting with not only her family, but herself as well.
Throughout this whole mess, she's remained calm and together, and now she decides to second-guess herself.
"Maybe if I just told one person…" she mutters.
She looks at Campbell who is now on the phone with her father arranging a meeting with her mother.
I sigh, and an idea comes to her mind and her teary eyes light up as she stares at me.
She takes a deep breath, and lets it out as I look up at her, "This was all Kate's idea."
I pick my head up and look at her. Never would've thought that.
She looks at Campbell for the fifth time, still oblivious, and lets out another big breath to where her cheeks resemble a chipmunks, and once again looks at the ceiling.
"Thank you," she says.
I wonder if she's talking to the air, but she looks down at me again.
"Thank you," she repeats.
She stares at me for a moment, and I notice something different about her. A sort of glow that wasn't there before, and a certain shine in her eyes that had been missing. It was almost like Anna Fitzgerald gained something from letting that off her chest. It was almost as if she'd transformed.