“Not happening, Ollie?”

Ollie looked at his favorite tree, then at me.  He inched forward until his stiff little hind legs were pointed straight back, then splooted on the grass.

This was the fourth time I’d taken him out. Yesterday, when no one was home, he’d piddled in his bed where he lay. I don’t know how, since both his food and water bowls were barely touched, but the apathy and weakness in his face told us what we needed to know.

Last week the vet said to be prepared for something like this. Everything will begin to shut down, without warning. If you like, I can put him down now, or you can take him home and let him be comfortable for as much time as he has left.

Willow and I had agreed. Now, while she helped Cara change into the dress they had picked out for the sixth grade graduation dance, I sighed and dropped down beside him, probably on top of old neighborhood dog-news, and scratched him behind his ears the way he liked. He closed his eyes and panted softly. My eyes blinked rapidly a few times; a habit of mine, kind of like a twitch. It tends to happen when I’m at a bit of a loss.

Ollie perked up when Cara appeared in – how did the website describe it; a ‘watercolor garden belted party dress’ – her thick dark brown hair tied back with a floral pin. And was that a hint of pale lipstick, or just gloss?

“Wow,” I said, blinking to control the mist in my eyes, “don’t you look beautiful. What do you think, Ollie?”

He lifted his head and appeared to nod, though that may just have been incidental movement from the effort of panting.

Her first dance. We had been anxious until Willow had latched on to the dress-buying project. Projects calmed her, and when she was calm it settled me. Now as she appraised our daughter I saw Willow’s evaluation face, the same expression she wore when she evaluated her pottery.

Cara bent down and took over the scratching. A wisp of hair fell across her face. “Maybe I should stay here,” she said.

“Don’t be silly,” Willow said, bending over and tucking the hair behind Cara’s ear. “You’ve been looking forward to this dance for months. Ollie will be fine.”

Ollie squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Blink once, for yes?

Cara turned to me. “Daddy?”

We hadn’t told Cara what the vet had told us. As far as she knew Ollie was just not feeling well. I shrugged. “I’ve tried to give him water and food. He’s been like this all day. There really isn’t much you’d be able to do for him.” I stood and brushed my pants. The backside was damp from the long, course grass.

“Why don’t you take Cara to the dance?” Willow suggested.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Yes. You’ve been with Ollie all day. Let him and me have a little time together.” She eased herself to the ground and gently rubbed her thumb on his forehead. We expected him to lift his nose to look at her but he closed his eyes and continued to pant.

As we walked to the school I kept the topic on the dance–was everyone going, had her friends Kimberly and Aisha bought outfits, had she seen the decorations. It felt false. I was pressing–as a guy those subjects didn’t interest me much. Besides, I wasn’t doing it because she wanted to talk and needed encouragement. I was doing it to distract her, filling the speech balloons with topics that I hoped would shimmer like presents under the Christmas tree.

A block away from the school we could hear the music. The front doors were open as were the gym doors but it wasn’t like when we’d come for basketball games. The gym was black, no, not black, but dark, dim. Flashes from strobe lights illuminated frozen heads or shoulders of sixth graders. The tan linoleum of the hall ended with transition stripping and then the hardwood of the gym darkened into a night-clubby atmosphere. The principal, Mr. Gregson, stood in the doorway like an undersized bouncer in a jacket a tie; the first time I’d ever seen him not in jeans.

“Hi Cara. You look lovely,” he said, then grinned at me.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“Hi,” I said as I followed Cara past Gregson.

“Sorry.” I felt his fingers touch my elbow. “No parents except the chaperones allowed inside tonight.”

A whisper of panic flamed through my belly. “Cara?” I called. She was already fading into shadow. “Wait for me or Mommy after it’s over, okay?” She nodded. “Have fun.” I added, but my voice cracked and I don’t know if she heard me. A girl called her name and I heard giggles, and my daughter disappeared. My eyes twitched.

Gregson grinned again. “See you at eight.”

I feigned a smile and left the school, the music slowly shrinking away behind me.

I wanted to give Willow time with Ollie so I texted to let her know I had dropped Cara off and was going for a walk.

As I wandered, I had the sensation that the world had raced on ahead of me, like jet lag, where everything around me was in a different zone. My movements felt imprecise, as if my feet had melted away or were numbed with ice. I monitored my steps and balance but nothing seemed off.

At the park halfway between the school and our house and I leaned against an oak. The musty odor reminded me that the last few days of rain had revived the soil after a dry spring. New weeds sprouted, ever hopeful, between the roots of the tree and the grass that had dried from the city’s efforts to conserve water. This was also likely home to more dog-news but it was the furthest corner from the playground and afforded the most privacy, so I sat. Willow was right; staying all day with Ollie had worn on me and after seeing my daughter swallowed up by the darkness I needed to gather myself. I stretched and tried to force my neck and shoulders to relax.

We were a week from solstice so the sun was high above the horizon. I watched a mother in the play area guiding her toddler over the log stumps and bridges. He wore a floppy sun hat. His mother wore none. She kept trying to take his hand as he maneuvered through the passageways but he squawked, flapping his hands to chase hers away. I couldn’t make out her words though I caught her admonishing tone when he stumbled and sat unceremoniously on his diaper. He accepted her help to stand but then was on his way again.

Cara hadn’t been like that. She had always been willing to accept our help and our advice. I’d walked those stumps many times beside and behind her, slid down the slide with her between my legs, but she was also solid and capable on her own. The first time she took Ollie for a walk by herself I watched the minutes tick away but after that, never gave it a second thought. In my mind I saw her in her grad dress, bent down, scratching Ollie, the expression on her face serious, intent. Maybe willing Ollie to health.

When we took Ollie to the vet Cara had been away on a school camping trip. We tried to figure out what to tell her and Willow said, “We don’t know how long this process is going to take. No need to worry her until we have to.”

I’d agreed, for lack of a better suggestion. But when? And how?

The toddler in the play area let out a squawk and began wailing. His mother carried him arms extended is if he were a bag of smelly diapers. As she strapped him into his stroller he twisted and fought and screamed so loudly that a German Shepard on the other side of the playground barked out of concern or annoyance.

Where I grew up we lived in an apartment, just outside downtown. Groceries, stores, movies, and only two blocks to school but pets weren’t allowed in the building. I couldn’t even take the class hamster home for weekends. My mother wouldn’t have permitted an animal anyways. Too much trouble, too much mess. Willow and I moved far out to the suburbs where there are houses and lawns and fences and where we could afford a place with a garage that we turned into a studio for her to work and teach from. A great place to raise a family. And to have a dog.

How do we know if we’ve made the right choices for Ollie? Should he have gone to the vet yesterday? Or should we have put him down when the vet offered? And should we have told Cara, or is she too young for this? We’d postponed telling her. Now it’s the same thing as having decided not to tell her. It had progressed from being unmentioned to skipped over and now we were actively hiding it. Soon it would evolve into a secret, festering and poisonous.

I watched a few other families use the playground or tour their dog around, checked my email, watched a sports blooper video my friend suggested, worried about Cara, thought about Ollie off and on. Willow texted to say nothing had changed. I replied that I would pick Cara up. The warmth of the sun was soothing, the soft humidity and the distractions so relaxing that by the time I left my brain had unknotted.

With the lights on the night club was a gym again, albeit one with white and red streamers of crepe paper and a banner reading “GRAD ‘19” hanging from one basketball backboard to another. Cara was saying goodbye to Aisha and her mother as I arrived. I smiled at other parents and their kids and we made our way out the doors.

“Did you have a good time?”

“It was nice.”

“Lots of dancing?”

“A little.”

“With boys?”

“In groups, mostly.”

She didn’t seem chatty. Not down, just not as excited as I expected. The pit of my stomach relaxed and I was surprised how relieved I was just to have my daughter back. That, plus sitting in the park had mellowed me, so we walked in silence for a while.

A woman was reading under the tree in the park, a golden Lab stretched out nearby. The dog turned its head to watch us as we passed, pink tongue with black spots lolling.

 “Daddy?” Cara said.

“Yes?”

“I think Ollie might be dying.”

I was shocked, but my meditative mood kept it from penetrating fully. Almost calmly, I responded, “Why do you think that?”

She said, “Aisha’s cat Herbie was like Ollie. He was old and fell sometimes when he tried to jump onto the windowsill. We used to help him up.” She stepped around a wet ice cream wrapper on the sidewalk. “Aisha said at the end he stopped eating and just lay around. Like Ollie.”

“When was that?”

“Last summer. Before we went to visit Grandma.”

I wasn’t sure what to say but I didn’t want to leave too much silence. “I think you might be right. Ollie is very old for a dog.”

She shook her head as if to chase away a fly. “I didn’t want to say anything. I thought you and mommy might not know. I didn’t want to worry you.”

I froze. Some shell of tension that I hadn’t been aware of crumbled and fell away. The sun prickled my skin. From the other end of the park I heard the music of the ice cream truck; Pop Goes the Weasel, and I became aware of glare reflecting off the chrome of cars along the road.

Cara had taken a couple steps before she realized I wasn’t there. Now she stared at me, eyebrows furrowed, wondering.

I walked to her, bent down, and hugged her. Her skin was warm and soft and a little clammy from the gym, and she was taller and narrower than the last time I had held her this close. I smelled the beachy coconut scent of her shampoo and caught a tang of preteen body odor as she put her bony arms around my neck.

I hugged her tight against my chest, then stood and lifted her to the air before letting her down and kissing her wet cheek. Tears were streaming from her eyes. I bowed my head and touched my forehead against hers.

“Let’s go home and have a talk with Mommy,” I whispered, “and see how Ollie is doing. Okay?”

She nodded, rubbing her forehead against mine. I took her hand, something I hadn’t done since she was smaller, when I used to guide her to make sure she stayed close enough, when her arms were shorter and she had to reach up to hold my hand. Now her head was as high as my elbow and we walked, neither needing to guide the other.

I felt something at the back of my calf and turned to find the yellow Lab sniffing at my leg. It looked up at me, tongue still lolling, tail waggling.

“Jas-per,” called the woman from the park, “come here.”

I reached down to scratch its head, as did Cara. The dog gave a quick grunt then turned and ran back to its owner.

Glenn Mori has a master’s degree in music composition, a designation as a CPA, has used online poker winnings to pay for vacations, and—pre-pandemic—played in local jazz groups but he spends most of his free time editing his own fictions. He is an Editorial Assistant for Every Day Fiction, the Ekphrastic Review is the most recent publisher of his writing, and Lycan Valley Press Publications will include one of his stories in an upcoming anthology.