Hurley
Fiction
Tractor
A cat passed this spot, Hurley thought. Natalie was sitting on a park bench, busy on her smartphone. The air was full of rich smells, perfect weather for a small walk in the park. The sun was out, white fluffy clouds floated in the sky, and the flowers glinted with night dew. People were playing frisbee, and families were having picnics. A plastic orange and green toy tractor lay on the grass. It smelled of a human child, sun tan lotion, chocolate spread, and peanut butter.
Who is this kid? Straightening to my full 12 inches of height, I picked up the toy, and put my nose to the ground. A hedgehog walked from right to left, a squirrel hid an acorn, a poodle left hair, followed by peanut butter and jelly. I ignored a mouth-watering salami sandwich by sheer force of will and tracked through meadow and hedge, flower bed, and copse.
Peanut butter and sun tan lotion, this is the man-cub I was looking for, a hundred percent. I lay the toy in front of him wagged my tail and pricked my ears. Then scratched my paws on the grass; there is just nothing more satisfying.
“That is so stereotypical,” a tall woman interjected disapprovingly,
“just because he is a boy doesn’t mean that he plays with tractors.” Meanwhile, the kid was rolling the toy on the grass mimicking loud engine sounds. He petted me, pulled an ear affectionately, and offered a half-eaten chocolate cookie.
A Doll
“Hey Hurley, want to go for a walk?” Natalie said. She slammed the door, put on “Dancing in the Moonlight”, my favorite song, and we were off. I stuck my head out of the window and my ears blew in the wind; the best thing ever.
This time, I found a doll. Obviously, a girl had lost it and was in desperate need. I picked it up and tracked the smell. There were traces of Earl Gray tea, cookies, and oil colors. The trail led right across the grass. That was when I heard the rottweilers. The animals don’t bark, so there is no alarm signal. They were running in my direction. Fifty yards ahead and to the right was the rose garden, and I ran for it. They were faster. Twenty yards, I could see the drool coming out of their mouths. Ten yards, I could smell the raw hamburger meat they had for breakfast.
The rose bushes saved me; there are advantages to being small. They were too big to follow. I heard their jaws snap shut just behind me as they slammed into the thorny bushes. I hoped it was painful. “Flash, Bolt, what are you doing?” a weary voice asked. I heard the rottweilers chuckle as they turned around, pretending to be lost.
I belly-crawled under the bushes and continued on the other side. Miraculously, the doll was still in my teeth. Then someone grabbed my tail.
It was a girl with wavy blond hair and brown eyes. Her other hand held an ice cream cone, and she had a big smile on her face. I wagged my tail, and she started to giggle. I couldn’t get loose, so I took the step of last resort and started licking her face. She giggled harder and let go.
I was scot-free, enjoying my newfound freedom when it hit me: this was the girl I was looking for! I ran back and smelled her; indeed, cookies, earl-gray tea, and oil colors. She cried, then hugged and kissed her doll. She offered me a lick of the ice cream; it was ill-mannered to refuse, so I accepted. I ended up eating the entire ice cream. Then her mom came and bought me another one since she thought I should have my own. I don’t know how people eat that stuff; it just melts in your mouth, with no crunch to it. By the time I got back, I had a stomach ache. It was a good day’s job though.
Bones
Someone took my bones. My bowl, which always has two big juicy bones, had only some scraps. What is this city coming to? Is it really a dog-eat-dog world?
I sniffed the remains carefully. There was a slight aroma of, well, it can’t be. Vanilla? Granola?
Who could it be? As a famous dog once said, “after you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, must be the truth.” The only dog in the area which was even close to granola was Daisy. She was a big Doberman; her person was a vegan.
I saw them going for a stroll the next day. Daisy’s ears were downcast, her gait was slow, and she looked thin. Later, I went by her house yard. “Daisy, what’s up?”
She was lying on the ground, and hardly looked up, “mm.”
“Are you eating lately?”
Her ears perked, “This week it’s granola mix with some tofu mixed in. Tastes awful.” Then she added half-heartedly, “It has minerals, probiotics, and coconut. Do you want to try some?”
“Is that even dog food? What about some old-fashioned steak? Or, as a last resort, some chicken? I hear they started importing Koba beef.”
“I wish,” she said, resting her head on her forepaws.
“Someone ate my lunch yesterday, do you know anything about that?”
“Sorry,” she said, licking her lips. Then her ear twitched.
Daisy had a tell, the twitch; clearly, she was the culprit. I found it hard to blame her though. Who gives a dog coconut and probiotics for lunch? They don’t even know which probiotics dogs need.
As a famous dog once said, “If you can’t fix it, don’t break it.” I dug deep, can I spare half my lunch for Daisy? A dog gets cranky if he doesn’t eat.
The next day I brought a bone for Daisy. And the day after. Pretty soon there was a monument in her yard. We decided it was going to show Carly, her person, that real meat is what a dog needs, not some fake soy-based product that doesn’t even have bones you can crunch.
The week after, Carly burst through our door. “Natalie, are you aware that your dog has been sneaking food to my Daisy?”
“Say what?” Natalie said.
“He has been destroying Daisy’s carefully prepared diet,” Carly said.
“Now I am curious, what’s the diet?”
“It has plenty of vitamins, fiber, antioxidants, and superfoods. On weekends she gets a pie with peanut butter, applesauce, and pumpkin. It bakes up really well,” Carly said, warming to the subject.
“Hmm, I can try it with Hurley. Can you send me the diet?”
