"Paul-David, are you crying?" asked Edgar. "Maybe," I said. I thought the situation called for tears...little lost dog, safe and home. Dramatically, I dropped to my knees, my muted whimpers practically begging Lil'Bit's attention. He would leap from his hiding place, attracted by my cries, like dogs are - a moth to a flame. My yip - his yap, my wail - his weep, his little white face pushing at my face, licking my cheeks to soothe my bleating soul. This would all be witnessed by my queen, now so filled with joy on seeing her two boys together, past fights would be forgotten and all would be forgiven and new. But when I opened my eyes, knees firmly on the floor, Lil'Bit had not moved from his safe place, still staring, unmoved by my laments. "You're freaking me out," said Edgar nervously, "this is some seriously fucked up shit." He took a step toward the dog. "Stop!" I hissed, "if he runs out, we may never find him in this place." Edgar shook his head, "Paul-David, that dog ain't going no where." I stared again into Lil'Bit's vacant face, so scared, and I felt a connection had been made. "Don't get too close. Kristina told me he doesn't like strangers. He bites." Edgar laughed, "Look at that little thing, I'm not too worried about it." "Tommy taught me along time ago, it's the little things you should worry about most," I said. "Now step away from the dog!""Hey, buddy. Hey Lil'Bit. Nobodies gonna hurt you. It's OK." I slowly crawled a step closer. "Where you been all this time? You had a lot of people worrying about you." Another step. "I bet your mama was so happy to find you, I wish I could have been there." Another step closer. "But you're gonna be seeing a lot more of me now. I promise. You hungry, buddy? Are you?" Just a few feet away now. Edgar pleads, "Jesus, Paul-David. Stop it." I looked back to Edgar, "What?" Edgar stood behind me and pointed to Lil'Bit, "Look at it!" Even in the dark, I can see the fear frozen on that poor doggy's face. "He's so scared," I said. Angry, Edgar replies, "He's not scared. Look at it." I slowly crawled over to the dog and the closer I got the more confused I became. A foot away, I leaned in and stared Lil'Bit in the face, that little white face, so close I could feel his breath, but just one little problem...no breath. Like a scene from a vampire movie, Edgar grabs hold of a curtain and flips it away from the window, dousing the room in sunlight, revealing everything, including Lil'Bit, was covered in a thick blanket of dust. With a jerk, I jumped to my feet, shaking off all the imaginary creepy crawlies and shouted, "What the hell? Oh my God, is he dead?" "Worse," said Edgar, "he's stuffed!" In disbelief, I leaned over the dog again and soon realized Edgar's diagnosis was indeed correct. "That crazy bitch fucking stuffed her damn dog," said Edgar, though the more standard term would be of coarse, "That crazy bitch fucking mounted her damn dog."
As Edgar paced in the background, blasting out profanities about how "sick this shit was" and how "messed up this whole situation was", I simply felt sad. Sad for that poor pup, stuck, frozen forever in that same fearful state. I wheeled him out of the closest, his three remaining legs nailed to a wooden plank, his forth leg, barely hanging on by a literal thread and tape and what appeared to be a piece of peppermint gum. Left ear gone, tail bent to the left, teeth missing, still, slowly decaying, and I stared once again into that face I had just moments before felt a connection to, wondering what the last picture Lil'Bit's one remaining right eye saw and was it as horrific as his expression hints it to be.
I had seen enough. I grabbed the open curtain and pushed it closed and for a moment, the room was once again dark, that was until the whole curtain rod gave way and came crashing down. I rushed to catch it before it feel on Lil'Bit, slicing off his remaining one good ear, but in the process, I tripped on a table, spilling everything on it to the floor, including a large box of even more pictures. "This is a nightmare," I whispered to myself. "Help me pick these up, we got to get out of here. And wheel Lil'Bit back into the closet for me."
With the dog safely back home, Edgar and I started picking up the pictures, each one of Lil'Bit, alive and all sitting beside a little girl, no older than 8, with red hair, freckles and too big glasses, smiling, hugging the dog, playing with the dog, loving that dog. Knowing the answer, but still asking the question, Edgar says, "Who's the little girl in the pictures?" Down the many flights of stairs, we heard a door slam, we heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I looked at Edgar DuHaven, eyes wide, and I whispered, "It's Kristina."
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