writing doodle - as yet untitled - not in an order, but the muse wants to talk

a shoe eater from my past

"You sound like a woman moaning over your shoes like that," Manny said. He opened the cabinet next to the sink where I keep my stash of junk food.  I only restock it once a month so I can maintain my diet, but yesterday was the day to stock and I had gone a little wild at the grocery.  He pulled out a can of Pringles, popped the top, and poured about half the can into his hand.

"Leather is expensive," I said.  "And this isn't the first time."  It was, in fact, the third time this week I ha come home to discover someone had gotten into the closet and consumed the left work boot.  Always the left and always a new pair of boots.  Pretty soon I was going to resort to ebay to find replacement shoes.  Wonder if anyone ever sells just the left boot?

"You could try blocking the closet door," he said.

Right.  The last time I did that, yesterday, she ate the pillows on the bed and had eaten all four corners on the comforter.  I was lucky she hadn't gotten to the mattress.

I raised a bottle of water to my lips and shrugged.

"What about consequences?" he asked.

I shrugged again.

"Come on, you of all people know that there have to be consequences."  He stared at me like he'd never seen me before.  "Reward and punishment?"

I took a big gulp of water, recapped the bottle, and shoved away from the kitchen counter.

He heaved a sigh so loud you would have thought his wife had announced they were going to visit relatives for fun. For a month.  His.

"How are you going to be the alpha in your own home if you can't periodically step into authority with, how big is the dog?"

"Forty pounds."

"Kind of small for six years old, isn't she?"

"Not six years old, six months old." Turned out that when I adopted the dog a little less than a week ago, her owners lied about how old she was, how much training she had had, and the state of her overall health.  The bitch was in heat and neither one of us were sleeping.  "She's getting spayed tomorrow." Provided she wasn't already pregnant, then life was going to get really interesting.

To make matters worse, after the third day, I found a notice on my front door.  It was a Notice to Quit, also known as an eviction notice.  I'd lived in that complex for eight years.  I'd been an exemplary renter. Turned out that in previous years the owner didn't care about animals on property, but the last lease I signed had a no pets clause.

When I called the office, I stated my case.  I'd been clear and concise.  None of it mattered.  The landlord wasn't going to budge.

"But-"

"No but about it, Gabe.  It doesn't matter how long you've lived here or how wonderful you've been in the past."


"But-"


"Either the dog goes or you both do."


"But-"


"You've got a week.  Well, six days to make a decision."

"What about a deposit?"

"A week, Gabe.  I'm sorry it has to be this way."

"Me, too.  I've really liked living here."

"Your father and I will miss you, dear, but times are changing. Will we see you at dinner on Sunday?"

No. "Sure, Mom."