Where Perfume Lingers
Each morning the God damn dog brought him an orange from the grove.
Like clockwork this gnarled shaggy dog would bring him a just dropped orange from almost one mile from his front step.
He would grab the dogs face when he would come in and jump on the bed. Sometimes covered with mud... sometimes wet with rain or slobbering. He would grab his face and curse him almost every morning... but then simply rub his head in a moment of realization - that to be a brute to a dog is to be a brute to all. He had tried locking the bedroom door but the dog figured it out. He put a chair in front of it for quite some time as well... still this animal was relentless. He even tried locking the back door and front door... but still the dog would howl, pound, and push his way into the house to deliver his "present" every God damn morning.
"Every God damn morning." The sentiment was echoed throughout the day. He thought to himself how horrid it was to start everyday like this. He wondered why he hated it so much. How long had it been happening?
He shuddered. The puzzle pieces clicked into place like the ticking of a working clock. It happened when she died. And the perfume she wore - smelled of oranges. The puppy she purchased when they bought the farm was the same one that was trying to remember her by clawing his way into his morning with an orange that smelled of her.
He lurched his shoulders over. He took the orange and placed his nails into it's skin. It released a sweet fragrance. He leaned over to the half of the king size bed that she once occupied. He sighed deeply and turned towards the mongrel and said, "Really?". The dog tilted his head the way dog's do when you think they understand you... and pawed at the bed. He rubbed his head... and said, "Let's get to work. Come on boy."