This flashfiction story was adapted from a flashfic play we were assigned in Pop Market, where we then all cold-read our scripts. Dr. Dial-Driver's reaction - "Okay, a tragedy, that's fine.But - Damn! Why'd you have to kill the dog??!!" I also played a 91-year-old grandmother with dementia that day. It was a super depressing start to the morning, when all of us seniors were already depressed because it was Thursday, which meant another dose of the soul-draining Capstone course. And usually we like Pop Market.
"Not the smartest dog in the world," Ted said, looking skeptically at the puppy his wife of five weeks was holding. "But not all of them need to be."
"I think he's adorable!" Melanie declared. "We can't let him..." her voice trailed off into the breeze, knowing that the owner would send the unwanted puppies to the local pound if they went unclaimed by Wednesday.
"And so that's how we ended up with Gadget. Since then he's torn up shoes, shredded the couch, and angered our landlord by peeing on her purse," Ted mused aloud, remembering the day they'd taken him home, and all the chaos in the years since
"Yes, he had done all that, and more. But there's also been the comfort he gave when your dad died, Or how he keeps me company while I'm grading papers. But now...here we are -" Melanie's voice choked up.
"Do we have to go in?" Ted's question was barely audible.
"Nnnyee-sss," Melanie groaned.
"Damn."
"We'll be okay," she comforted, not believing it in the least.
"I know." Long pause. "I just don't believe you right now."
"Me neither."
But they got out of the car and removed Gadget's crate from the backseat, slowly walking into the building.
"Welcome to Wilson Veterinary Clinic. How may I help you?" The receptionist's name tag said her name was Mia.
Ted and Melanie looked at each other for guidance.
"It's...we....the poor guy -" she gestured at Gadget's crate.
"He's....almost -"
"All right," Mia's tone was soothing but disinterested. "Dr. Cassidy will be in in a few minutes. Take as much time as you need."
The couple sat themselves uncertainly in two of the waiting room chairs, glancing around at the other patients. Mia turned back to the computer screen and began typing again. When it's time for an animal, especially a pet, to be put down it's always so hard. I may pretend I don't care, or the owners must see it that way, but I wouldn't be able to function working here if I could let myself be too empathetic.
Dr. Cassidy poked his head into the doorway. "Ted? Melanie?"
"(That's us, yeah,)" they mumbled indistinctly, moving towards the doorway.
"This is Gadget, huh?" the vet addressed the occupant of the crate. Mute nods from the people. "You've had a long and distinguished career, Inspector," Dr. Cassidy bit his lip, hesitating. "If y'all want -"
"Thanks - but - we'll stay here," Melanie managed to answer the vet's question. She knelt down to get eye-level with the crate, her forehead resting against the bars. They felt stable, but everything was swimming and blurry. "Thank you, buddy. We'll miss you - so, so much."
"Go - go - goodbye, Gadget," Ted choked. Melanie put a hand on his arm, and together they turned away from the freshly-dug grave.
