So it’s a week after Tug and I’m sitting at my Me Only Desk in the Me Only Room staring at my sleeping laptop with a rapidly warming beer in my fist when I hear a quiet throat-clearing behind me.
I swirl around in my Me Only Chair and see Cutter sitting and looking up at me.
When’s my brother coming back? he asks softly. And shifts from paw to paw.
Um, I say, he’s not.
Why not? Cutter asks. What did you do with him? Where did he go?
I squeeze back tears and say- Tug got very sick, very quickly, and we couldn’t save him.
So you put him down, Cutter says.
Yes, I say, weeping now.
And you didn’t let me see him, Cutter says.
No, I bawl.
I’m sorry, I whisper.
Cutter glares at me and opens and closes his mouth and says- Well. Fuck you then.
And turns and walks away.