My Best Friend

His door is closed, which means one of two things: that girl is in his room, or he’s too sad to let me in. I’m his best friend, and he’s mine, but sometimes he closes that door so the others can’t get in, which means I can’t get in either. He knows I can make him happy again, that if he lets me in I’ll kiss his face and snuggle close until his face isn’t wet anymore. That’s why he doesn’t let me in yet. When he wants to feel better, he’ll open the door.

I lie down right outside that door, watching the lights move as he moves around that room like he’s chasing his tail, but slower. He goes back and forth so many times that I run downstairs and grab my favorite toy, full of softness on the outside and inside. He’s always happy when I run for it and bring it back, ever since I came here all that time ago, when he and I were both much smaller, and he went to that new school, then to the next one. He’s supposed to go to another one, where they won’t let me go to with him. He says this one is far away. “Call-ej.” He doesn’t say that word around me much.

I return to the door with the toy in my mouth, sit on my bottom, and lift my paw to scratch as his door. There’s a collection of marks where I’ve done this same action because the door was closed, and I scratch right in that same spot. I make a whimper, not too loud so the others come looking for me, but loud enough I know he can hear.

His room goes quiet, he stops chasing. My tail thuds against the floor loudly, and I know he can hear it. I whimper again, scratch, whimper, scratch. balance on my two back legs and scratch with both arms. Sometimes if I scratch the door hard enough, I can open it on my own. Still, he’s so quiet.

Then, there’s a noise so loud my body moves backwards on it’s own, and my tail goes between my legs. I bark and howl so my toy drops to the floor and I trip over it as I run back for his door, my legs and paws twisting under me and my body slamming against the hard floor. I pounce at the door. Something hurt him, he’s hurt now, and I’m so scared. Sometimes, the small person who lives here with us makes noises as loud as this, but usually as he chases her around, or when he scares her. And now I’m scared and it’s my turn.

I stand and reach up the door, leaning against it and begging at him to open the door, but not like how I beg when he’s eating. When he’s eating, I’m not so scared.

My body is moving crazy, like when he puts his hand on my belly and shakes me around, I’m moving so wildly even though my legs aren’t taking me anywhere. Warm and wet flows down my my legs, onto the hard floor, and I’m even more scared because he’ll be so mad, but at least it wasn’t on the carpet, because then he’d have to tell the others and they’d make me sleep outside.

As if they could tell I did the bad thing, they race up to us, yelling at the little one and pointing at the bottom of the stairs. Her face is wet and she’s scared too. They shoo me out of the way, but I won’t go, I can’t leave him he’s hurt. They try to open the door but it won’t work. She yells at the man and he looks around, crazy. He looks how I feel.

If they won’t let me in, I’m going in on my own. I run to the door and throw my legs at it. It barely moves. I bark through the door to him so he knows it’s me and I’m here to help.

The others see what I’m doing and copy me. The large man, the one who always is yelling at him, does the same thing I did, only he’s much bigger than I am and he breaks through the door and falls to the ground. I jump through the hole he made, on top of and then past him.

He’s laying on the far side of his bed, where I can’t see him from the door, but his paws are sticking out at the end. I run to him as the older man yells. I lick the wet off his face, but it tastes different than it usually does, like when I taste the big red box the older man leaves us in, or like the cold box that he gets his food from. I’ve only tastes this once before, when I attacked the neighbor who tried to hurt the little human. It’s everywhere and it’s darker than it usually is, and there’s something in his hand that I know did this to him.

He won’t move, he’s hurt so bad. I attack the beast in his hand, accidentally scraping my teeth against him as I lunge for it. One of the others grabs my by my scruff and throws me away. I can’t grip my paws into this floor-never could-so I slide across the room until my body hits the wall. It hurts me, but not as bad as that beast hurt him.

His father takes the beast from his hand and puts it somewhere I cannot see, far away from where I can reach.

With the beast removed, I go back for him, kissing his face and climbing under his arm. I’m always so happy to see him that I can’t help my tail wagging even though I am so so scared. The woman is crying and the man is talking to someone with the little box that he’s always talking on. I’m barking at him, at the man and the woman, and at everyone because I am so scared. I go potty again, and I know I’m going to be in so much trouble, but it truly is an accident.

I put my head on his chest, move it up in the space under his head but I don’t feel the normal thrumming beat that puts me to sleep when I lay against him.

I sit and stay and try not to move because I don’t want to scare him or hurt him. Soon, more of them arrive and start touching him and cleaning away the wetness, and they start to take him away from me-don’t they see? He’s my best friend, and I’m his. He says it all the time. Why would they take him away from me. He loves me. I can make him; happy he’s just sad right now that’s all. The others are crying and the man starts holding me down as I defend my best friend and I can’t do anything except beg and watch as they take him from me.

My best friend doesn’t come back. They fix the door to his room and keep it closed so I cannot get in. I start sleeping in the small person’s room because she smells a little like him, and she is sad a lot now too. Now, she needs me as much as he did.