My Paul is a cat person. I hate cats and always wanted a dog. So we agreed when we moved in, ‘No Pets.’ We even shook on it.
But when one day I was walking home and found this husky pup stuffed inside a box on top of a skip, shivering, I couldn’t help it. I scooped him up and took him home.
Paul was furious when he saw me in the hall.
‘Look at him! He’s starving,’ I pleaded. ‘I couldn’t just leave him.’
‘Feed him. Then he’s out.’
I fed him, washed him and gave him a bed for the night. Next morning I gave him a name; Skippy.
Paul was all scowls.
‘Look at him!’ I kept saying.
But by then I knew I was winning the argument. Whenever he thought I wasn’t looking, Paul would pet Skippy and slide him a biscuit.
The dog stayed.
Then the accident happened. I was driving and a car came out of nowhere. I crashed, broke my spine and been in a coma ever since. Well, sort of a coma. I can still hear, smell, feel everything around me, but can neither speak nor move.
The doctors said there’s nothing else to be done and Paul took me home and became my nurse. He would sit and talk to me often at first. But I could never respond, and I could feel him losing heart. He was alone, sad.
Skippy was always there. I would feel his breath warming my hand, never a bark.
‘Skip, it’s just you and me now,’ I heard Paul saying one day.
Skippy whined and I heard Paul succumbing to a sob.
‘You still love me don’t you old boy?’
Skippy whined again.
I could hear Paul talking to Skippy after that. They kept each other company, took care of one another, and me.
Now I bet Paul feels lucky that, at least, he has Skippy. I’d love to ask him, but I guess, I’ll never know.
Hello Trifectans, veterans and newbies. As you know, the word today is the adjective Lucky. Hope you like my attempt.