Sweetie

"Sweetie!" you scream. You've been screaming that name so much your throat is getting hoarse. Your legs are burning, your sides are aching, you're sweaty, and now your throat is going hoarse. You're starting to wonder just how much you want that stupid dog back.

Said stupid dog ran out the door almost an hour ago. Okay, maybe it's only been a few minutes, but it really feels a lot longer. Chasing after a loose dog feels like an eternity to anyone, but imagine chasing after a loose dog wearing a diaper. And a pink bow. And the dog isn't even smart enough to know its own name. And you just moved into this neighborhood. Wheezing, you slow your pace and ponder the worst case scenario if the dog got lost.

Mom would kill you, that's what. For some reason, she loves that ugly thing. She is soul mates with a beige, shaved, elderly, incontinent shih-tzu. It's the most embarrassing dog ever, if you can even call it a dog. You cannot understand why Mom takes her to the groomer for special shampoos, fancy haircuts, and a different colored bow on top of her head every week. Sweetie's flattened face and long ponytail on top give her a weirdly human look, despite her black spherical eyes and perpetually protruding tongue. Her face has turned a ghostly white with age. It's really unsettling, especially when you're home alone in the dark. You kind of avoid her when you can and once you even locked her in a closet. Her weird barks started to morph into what sounded like your name and that really creeped you out. You may have started hating Sweetie at that point. You can't tell that to Mom, though.

Mom is always snuggling with her. When Sweetie got old, she had to start wearing diapers in the house. Special dog incontinence diapers do exist, but Sweetie is very small, even for a miniature breed, so she doesn't fit in any of the pre-made dog diapers. So you buy Pampers and cut holes in the back for her tail. That never stopped Mom from cuddling up to the stinky animal and even letting her sleep in her bed. Mom would do anything for her, including racking up enormous bills at the vet and the groomer. You pick up speed again and recommit to catching the dog, if not for you, but for Mom. You couldn't take away her "fur baby," as she so disgustingly calls her.

You keep moving at a jog, only pretty sure you're headed in the right direction. She is lightning fast. How, you don't know. She doesn't seem to do much but yap at the neighbors and try to escape. Where does she think she's going anyway? She's not smart enough to have mapped out Grandma's neighborhood by now. You've only been here a few days. School would be starting soon, and you are not interested in being the new kid who can't even control their dog. 

Thankfully, your new neighborhood isn't too busy, so dodging traffic isn't much of an issue. You're sprinting down the middle of the street, still pointlessly screaming for Sweetie. Out of the corner of your eye, you spy a little gremlin with a pink bow scurrying around a corner. It zooms towards a hedge of azaleas at an amazing speed. You'll have to cross into the neighbor's yard if you want to catch her before she goes into the bushes to play keep away. You pray nobody is home, but you're not that lucky.

A man with a beer belly is seated on the front porch of the house with the bushes, and is apparently doing nothing whatsoever. Soaking up the sun, Grandpa calls it. "It went that way, sweetie," he calls uselessly. You cringe at the pet name for more reasons than one. 

Although you don't want to, your manners force you to say thanks.

You taste the sweat beading on your upper lip. You probably smell disgusting, too. You were about to take a shower, but went to the yard to water Grandma's tomato plants. Like you were told. Is this what you get for doing your chores? You only got so far as to open the door before Sweetie bolted. You’re still wearing your Spongebob-printed pajama pants. You wish you had at least had time to wash your hair and put on normal clothes before you caused a scene.

As if on cue, two boys your age appear in front of the house ahead. Of course it's the house with the nicest looking yard and a pricey car parked in the driveway. The boys look like they’ve had a chance to shower this morning.

You're simultaneously excited that there are other kids in your new neighborhood and desperately wishing you had moved to the middle of nowhere. Then you could live in peace with Mom and the world's most embarrassing dog.

The tallest boy guffaws. His friend stares with a condescension only tweenage boys with good haircuts can muster. You are extremely aware of how sloppy and harried you look right now. You try to regulate your breathing so you don't sound quite so winded.

"What was that thing? A monkey?" Oh god, you're blushing so much your head feels like it might pop.

"Was it wearing a diaper?" He barely catch his breath from laughter.

You squeeze your eyes tight and wish you could go back in time. Just five minutes. You never would have opened the door. You would have let the tomato plants die. Then Sweetie wouldn’t have gotten out. You're running across the boys’ backyard, kicking up clods of dirt and sweating profusely. You run faster just to get out of there.

"See you at school, new kid," jeers one of the boys just at the edge of earshot. You'll have to transfer. Ask to be homeschooled. Run away. Get plastic surgery. Change your name and go into witness protection. You wonder idly if humans have colonized Mars yet. 

"Get back here you dim dog!" you screech at the top of your lungs. You hope the boys heard you say "dog," just to clarify that that's what the creature is. Not a monkey. Not a creepy baby. Not some thing from a horror movie. 

Your lungs are about to give out. You really should have done more exercising over summer break, but moving house was such an ordeal, it just slipped your mind. Mom said you had to get out of there and fast. That guy is a real piece of work, Grandma says, and you know this vaguery to be true. He was never particularly nice to you, but he had a job and a house and kept you fed, so you suppose it could have been worse. Maybe it was worse. Mom was different when her boyfriend was around, and now that he was gone, you liked her more.

You’re not exactly glad that she brought Sweetie along when she left, though. Not like she would have left her behind, even if you begged her. Their relationship was just that - a relationship. She’s had Sweetie about as long as she’s had you, and you know she’s more than a dog to her. She’s her rock. Her common denominator. Mom’s told you as much. She was Grandma's dog originally, but has always truly belonged to Mom. She took Sweetie with her when she moved out at age 18 and has been right by her side through everything since. You're struggling to remember a time when you saw Mom at home without Sweetie panting noisily at her heels, googly eyes tilted upwards, hoping Mom might drop some snacks.

"Swee-tieeee," you cry out in despair, knowing full well that she never comes when you call. You've lost sight of her. For a moment, you stand panting in the street, unsure of your next move. Turning on your heels, you force your exhausted legs to run back to Grandma's garage and get your bike, doubling down on catching Mom’s stupid dog.