ISSUE 9 | SPRING 2011
―I know, but I‘m still glad it was him.‖ She sighed and settled her paws. ―It‘ll be my turn again sometime,‖ I said, ―will you be happy when I get the bone?‖ ―No,‖ she said. ―No? Why not? Don‘t I deserve a bone as much as Jonathan?‖ ―Oh Gregor.‖ She rolled her eyes at me. She looked exhausted. ―It‘s not about the bone. You know that. It‘s about getting something. Nothing ever goes Jonathan‘s way. Do you remember the time that vet came?‖ ―Vaguely.‖ ―I‘ll remind you. This vet came that one time, all fired up. He wanted to save the Pompeii dogs. Make us healthy, vaccinate us, make us fit to survive. Remember?‖ ―Yes.‖ I remembered. Reluctantly. I didn‘t really like to remember this story. ―Do you remember when he saw Jonathan?‖ ―Yes,‖ I said. ―And what did he say?‖ ―He said he didn‘t want to waste his time or shots on a mutt as mangy and hopeless as Jonathan.‖ ―What else?‖ she asked. ―He said it would do Jonathan good to let him die on the streets of Pompeii. He said it was a bigger kindness than arming him to survive one more miserable day in that pitiful body.‖ ―Right,‖ said Ava. ―How long ago was that?‖ ―Six years.‖ I watched Jonathan gnawing his bone. He had shoved one paw into the pile of coats in the corner. His tail was still wagging and it was sweeping a fan shape into the dust. ―You know what else?‖ Ava asked. She was watching him too. ―What?‖ ―His own litter rejected him,‖ she said. ―His litter what?‖ I didn‘t quite believe her.
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