Sarah Pearsall
Dear Sister,
I killed your dog today. I came over to water the plants, like I told you I would. God forbid I be the one who killed your ficus. I really didn’t want to do this job anyways, but it felt like an olive branch in this war of sisterhood we have waged since infancy. I had to be the bigger of the bigger of the two of us and so agreed to come.
I found the note you left, after the fact, that your Rottweiler, Rak, would be waiting for me in the back yard – that there had been some mishap at the kennel (which I assume meant they wanted nothing to do with the beast) and if I could toss some food and water out to her when I came to fulfill my watering duties. A call would have been appropriate, and considerate.
I went out your backdoor to water your beloved potted plants (unaware, remember, that she was out there) and, well, there she was – sitting and looking at me through the open panel where the screen had gone missing (I assume Rak had punched it out long ago and you, the intelligent woman you are, never replaced it knowing she would just do it again.) As soon as I saw her, I remembered our last encounter—how she had torn a good chunk out of my Kenneth Cole micro suede skirt as I went over the fence. And what did you do? Stand on the porch, laughing? I want you to know, I loved that skirt.
I realized as I turned and put my hand on the knob of your back door that it had locked when I closed it (I didn’t want to waste your electricity) and the key you gave me was sitting on the dining room table. Our beloved Rak start to growl in low, almost inaudible, tones behind me. I felt a bit better knowing that Shiv was inside; he had come with me since we were on our way to dinner, but I wasn’t given enough time to bang on the door to get his attention. I was wearing such a beautiful new sundress from Cache’ and I swear that dog was just itching to use it as her chew toy because she began to run towards me. Screaming, I ran as fast as I could, climbing up the woodpile to the shed roof. I must say, I was very impressed at how hard and diligently Rak tried to get at me. My dress was in ruin by now—see it was mostly chiffon and the wood was unforgiving.
I saw the door fling open and Shiv emerge. He must have been quite alarmed by the commotion I was causing. Seeing me up on the shed roof, he immediately came running (obviously he hadn’t seen that sweet puppy trying to claw its way up to me.) Of course, that back door of yours slammed shut the moment he let go of it and was still locked. It was a strange moment when Rak heard the noise from the door and turned towards Shiv—I felt an almost instant relief as I watched Rak refocus on my dear husband. It felt like things were now the way they should be—that the strong man should be the one to fight off the beast-like dog to save his frail and fragile wife.
Rak took him down in a flash. So I did what I knew I must; I climbed down and went into your shed to find something I could use to pry the dog off of my husband. I must say, why even have a shed if you are not going to use it? There was an extension cord and a gallon of antifreeze in there. I now understand why your yard is always such a mess. Expect some gardening tools for Christmas this year.
My plan: to hurl the heavy jug at the dog in hopes of stunning her so we could, once again I might add, scale the fence to safety.
I must say it worked rather well. The dog was stunned and I was able to rescue Shiva. He was bleeding quite badly from the back of his thigh, but he told me that “she really had mostly twill and not tuckus” (That man, always able to joke, even in the most inappropriate time.)
I realized as we were trying to flee, that the container had burst open and your dear dog was lapping up the neon yellow liquid with great zeal. What could I do but watch in horror. I couldn’t scold her for what she was doing, that might have meant another round of ‘chase Kali around the yard.’ And I was just too spent to even consider that. So I stood there, frozen and watching—knowing that she was going to die.
I want you to know, I stayed with her—there on the cement slab. I sat next to her. I placed my hands on her stomach and could feel the rise and fall of her breath. I could feel the rhythm of her heart. She passed away in the morning in sleep. I don’t believe she was hurting.
We buried her out by the corner of the lot. I planted flowers—Sweet William, I know they are your favorite. Shiv found a beautiful stone we used as a marker and we put in a small bench as well. You can sit and visit her whenever you wish. I would like to ask you if I may come and sit with you some times. I would dearly like to come and sit beside you.
Your Sister,
Kali