Bud's Pet Series: Toby
“Robert, he's not old enough to be doing this!”
“I was his age when my father had me do the same, stop babying the boy Martha.”
“Oh and you turned out to be just a gem of a person didn’t you?”
God I hated when they argued. The walls of the old farmhouse echoed and carried my parents' harsh tones up the stairs to my bedroom where I could hear them arguing about me and my life. Mother imagining how I’m going to feel and what my opinion is, just ask me damnit! And Father, geeze, always with the ‘time to be a man, boy’ nonsense. What part of killing something I love has anything to do with manliness?
Sure, I know the old girl has trouble getting around, Father has to pick her up and carry her in and out of the house. Mother is always saddled with cleaning up her messes, I hear her sobbing every time she has an accident. She has problems eating, I’ve been feeding her by hand most of the time, which I don’t mind doing because when I do she gives me a look like she recognizes and remembers who I am. She gets confused, she wakes up all hours of the night howling at nothing, but she still deserves to live. Every living creature has the right to live, right? Even if the quality of life has deteriorated like hers has.
“Now enough is enough Martha! I’m the man of this house and my rule stands! Me and the boy are putting an end to it right this instant, woman.”
I heard my father marching up the stairs. The time has come Tobias, breathe, maybe mother can stop him. Maybe mother can talk some sense into him, maybe she can at least talk him into doing it himself because there is no way I am pulling that trigger.
“Tobias!” Father boomed as he pounded on my bedroom door. I knew there was no avoiding it, there was no lock on my door, he was just being polite. Slowly, and hesitantly, I got up from my bed and wiped the tears from my eyes, can’t let the old man see me cry. I took a deep breath and shuffled to the bedroom door, it opened with a creak and standing in the doorway blocking out the light was father with his old .308 Winchester in his hand and a serious look on his face, “come on boy, we got work to do.”
He turned and trudged down the stairs, I followed lightly behind, nervously. The twelve stairs felt like a million and each step I took got heavier and slower like I was walking against the current of a rushing river. Once we reached the main floor I turned and saw my mother with her head buried in her arms on the kitchen table sobbing heavily, the sight made my stomach and heart wrench with anxiety, tears welled up in my eyes. We made our way to the living room where Father grabbed the old girl and started leading her out the back door.
We walked through our large backyard through the dew misted grass in the thick, humid summer heat as the cicadas buzzed throughout the trees. Father physically dragged the old girl and mentally dragged me behind him as we walked out beyond the barn, near the tree line, at the edge of our property. The old girl whined and struggled as we neared the barn, like she knew what was coming. After we were out of line of sight of the old house and mother, father handed me the gun.
“Here you are boy, time to put the old girl down.” My hands shook as he placed the heavy wooden and steel rifle in my hands, a tear trickled down my cheek as he motioned toward the old girl sitting on the fallen leaves ahead of me. I’d shot father’s rifle a hundred times at cans, bottles and squirrels, but this was different. I loved her, I’d known her my whole life.
“Go on boy.” Father said more sternly as he bumped me roughly on the back encouraging me to do the deed. Now sobbing and crying I raised the ancestral rifle to my shoulder and peered down the sights. My hand shivered, the target was too close, there was no way I could miss. The old girl turned and looked at me with her soft blue eyes.
“T-toby…” She said with a smile and a gleam in her eye.
“I love you grandma, I’m sorry” I said as I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.
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