Free The Freak Observer by Blythe Woolston Page B

he had to do.
    Sometimes I see shows on TV about paralyzed dogs that zip around in little wheeled carts or dogs that chase balls hopping along on their last two paws. Those stories don’t make me smile. They always seem like a cruel joke. Ket’s story ended so differently.
    My dad stopped the truck on a logging road. Then he laid Ket out on the snow under a pine tree and shot him. That was the end of Ket. He was never going to gather us all up and keep us safe again.
    Like I said, when I got home, home wasn’t there anymore. Little Harold was sitting on his bed holding Ket’s dish on his lap and crying. When I asked Dad where Ket was buried, he looked at me like I was stupid.
    â€œThe ground is frozen.”
    Sometimes when I ride my bike on the logging roads, I see bones. But they aren’t Ket’s bones. They are almost always from Bambi’s stupid brothers. I may never find Ket. Bones don’t last forever in the woods. Coyotes scatter them around. Mice and other little animals gnaw on them. They get chalky and start to break apart. Bones don’t last forever.
    But The Bony Guy does.
    . . .
    The Bony Guy likes disguises.
    I am watching a late-night show. There is a guest who tried to pay for a cruise with a glossy photograph of the host. The host declares that it ought to be as good as money. It is a picture of him. People like him better than any of the guys on the money, don’t they? The audience applauds wildly. Then he has a quiz for all of us. Question 1: Would you watch a bunny rabbit eat some lettuce? Question 2: Would you watch a bird peck something dead by the side of the road? Question 3: Would you watch dogs eat a live donkey? The audience applauds wildly.
    When I wake up. I am surprised I’m in bed. It certainly seemed like a real TV show.
    . . .
    â€œMy mom is sending me to Europe.”
    Corey said it as if moms do that sort of thing, like they do laundry or nagging. Was it a summer vacation or something? I didn’t know.
    If you show me a map of Europe, I can name the countries. I can even name most of the capitals. In France the students riot and cars burn in the streets. In Spain the monument to the people killed by terrorists is peaceful. In England the endless stream in honor of the dead princess doesn’t work very well and kids play in the water. Somewhere, protesters dye the water in a fountain red. What are they protesting? Animal fur in fashion, maybe? Or was it the genocide in Africa? I don’t remember.
    â€œI’m leaving next week,” he said.
    I said nothing. I had nothing to say.
    â€œIf I could take you with me I would, my pet,” he said while he stroked my hair. “In a little pet carrier. I could get you a little pink collar with rhinestones on it. No— rhinestones and spikes—alternating. It would suit you better. During the day, I’ll take you out for walks, and you can spend the nights whining in my room.”
    I knocked his hand away from my head so fast I pulled some of my own hair out. “Stop it. You don’t have to be a jerk. I get it.” I could hear him breathing in the dark.
    â€œNo, Pet, I don’t think you do.” Everything he says is so matter of fact—or so full of bullshit.
    â€œScrew you!”
    â€œThat’s right,” he said. All I could hear was the tone. It’s all, ‘Who’s a good doggie? Who is? Who?”
    â€œJust leave me the fuck alone”
    â€œThat’s what’s happening, Loa. I’m leaving. I’m a jerk, and I’m leaving. And you’re staying here. You’re gonna hate me. Let’s just get it started sooner.” He was very matter of fact while he said this.
    I just wanted to get away, but I’m clumsy, so I fell off the pool table and I couldn’t find the light switch.
    â€œLoa,” he said, “Find your way out. We can see each other in the world someday.”
    I didn’t stop to find out if he