He watched the end of his smoldering cigarette.
"Tense," he muttered. I'm just tense, that's all.
The dying ember flickered, reminding him of the city.
They were lovers. They met on a street corner. It was a Saturday night. She played hard to get. He pursued her relentlessly. She was beautiful. Auburn, wavy hair. Large, brown eyes that reflected the street lamp overhead. She was perfection.
He was young, full of life. His strong penchant for taller women fueled his desire for her. She laughed at his small bodied mischief. Impetuous youth had him believe that this would never end. Later he would find out that youth, size were definitely not on his side.
Their meetings were almost desperate. As if trying to hide they met in alleyways, the park near the bushes, anywhere they could be alone. Furtive glances kept them protected them from discovery. It was beautiful.
Then it happened.
One day as they sniffed each other, she told him.
"Frankfurt, I'm pregnant."
"That bitch," he thought. "Well, am I at least the father?" he asked uncertainly, always one to be insecure in love. The sound of his heart shattering covered the soundless wasting away of his life.
"Heavens no, Frankfurt. I am an Irish Setter. You are a wiener dog. It is impossible," she said in her French accent. He still didn't understand where she got the French accent, but it made everything romantic and he had loved that about her.
"A Dachsund, Colleen. I am a Dachsund. We hate to be called Wiener Dogs."
That was the end of it all. She disappeared that night. He never saw her again. Since then he had lost his zest for living. Sure he might chew a slipper now and then, but it all tasted like cheap plastic now.
The occasional runs he took with his owner took on the flavor of a stroll down a discount store mall. Yes, there was stuff to look at and sniff, but it wasn't worth the effort. Even his trips out to his neighbor's yards to up end the trash cans bored him. Of course that left him confined to his yard, but that was better than braving the stares of the other dogs. Used to be he didn't care that they mocked him - now it brought back all his failures.
So there he sat on the back porch smoking; something he only did when his owners were gone. They figured the discarded butts were from the mail carrier or maybe the missionaries.
"Just tense," he muttered to himself.
Glancing up he happened to catch movement through the fence. It came from the new neighbor's house. It was rumored that the new owners were red meat eaters. And it was common knowledge that they put their garbage cans out the night before trash pick up. He wondered when he'd meet them.
"Who cares?" he thought. "Who really cares?"
Tossing the cigarette butt aside he ate a piece of liver dog food to kill his smoker's breath. He moved closer to the fence.
Then he saw her. Her glossy hair was outshone only by her piercing, black eyes. Her narrow face turned toward him.
She sighed and said, "Hello, my name is Schatzi. Do you have a smoke? I'm dying for one."
Instantly the future brightened for poor Frankfurt. Oh merciful heavens, the clouds parted and the sun began to shine on his toppled empire.
"A cigarette?" he casually asked her. "Regular or Menthol?"
"Tense," he muttered. I'm just tense, that's all.
The dying ember flickered, reminding him of the city.
They were lovers. They met on a street corner. It was a Saturday night. She played hard to get. He pursued her relentlessly. She was beautiful. Auburn, wavy hair. Large, brown eyes that reflected the street lamp overhead. She was perfection.
He was young, full of life. His strong penchant for taller women fueled his desire for her. She laughed at his small bodied mischief. Impetuous youth had him believe that this would never end. Later he would find out that youth, size were definitely not on his side.
Their meetings were almost desperate. As if trying to hide they met in alleyways, the park near the bushes, anywhere they could be alone. Furtive glances kept them protected them from discovery. It was beautiful.
Then it happened.
One day as they sniffed each other, she told him.
"Frankfurt, I'm pregnant."
"That bitch," he thought. "Well, am I at least the father?" he asked uncertainly, always one to be insecure in love. The sound of his heart shattering covered the soundless wasting away of his life.
"Heavens no, Frankfurt. I am an Irish Setter. You are a wiener dog. It is impossible," she said in her French accent. He still didn't understand where she got the French accent, but it made everything romantic and he had loved that about her.
"A Dachsund, Colleen. I am a Dachsund. We hate to be called Wiener Dogs."
That was the end of it all. She disappeared that night. He never saw her again. Since then he had lost his zest for living. Sure he might chew a slipper now and then, but it all tasted like cheap plastic now.
The occasional runs he took with his owner took on the flavor of a stroll down a discount store mall. Yes, there was stuff to look at and sniff, but it wasn't worth the effort. Even his trips out to his neighbor's yards to up end the trash cans bored him. Of course that left him confined to his yard, but that was better than braving the stares of the other dogs. Used to be he didn't care that they mocked him - now it brought back all his failures.
So there he sat on the back porch smoking; something he only did when his owners were gone. They figured the discarded butts were from the mail carrier or maybe the missionaries.
"Just tense," he muttered to himself.
Glancing up he happened to catch movement through the fence. It came from the new neighbor's house. It was rumored that the new owners were red meat eaters. And it was common knowledge that they put their garbage cans out the night before trash pick up. He wondered when he'd meet them.
"Who cares?" he thought. "Who really cares?"
Tossing the cigarette butt aside he ate a piece of liver dog food to kill his smoker's breath. He moved closer to the fence.
Then he saw her. Her glossy hair was outshone only by her piercing, black eyes. Her narrow face turned toward him.
She sighed and said, "Hello, my name is Schatzi. Do you have a smoke? I'm dying for one."
Instantly the future brightened for poor Frankfurt. Oh merciful heavens, the clouds parted and the sun began to shine on his toppled empire.
"A cigarette?" he casually asked her. "Regular or Menthol?"