Best Friend

‘An eight year old dog is what, fifty-six in dog years?’ The man called Tony watched the terrier gouging the surface of the tomato bed. Dirt spat from its hind legs as its head sank in hole.

‘’Bout that,’ said his long standing friend Mick, who sat away from the window.

‘I never wanted the bugger,’ said Tony. ‘It was the wife’s idea. She took him for walks. Out for ages she was. Come home all tired and whatnot’.

He thought, And then she vanished. Gone, without a word.  Despite what the cops said, despite his grief and bewilderment, he refused to believe it was foul play. Could be in the arms of some other bloke for all I’d know. And I’m left holding the bloody dog.

He’d sought solace in the company of his closest friends, Mick the closest of all.  Mick’d been a rock this last fortnight. Top bloke.

‘Eight years and it still frigging digs,’ Tony said. ‘Bloody terriers.’

Mick leapt up and looked out the window.

‘Oi!’ he yelled, ‘Not the bloody tomatoes!’

The dog started jerking up and down, harrowing something it had found. Mick ran out to the yard.

The terrier was pulling something. Mick swung a boot at it. The dog dodged and lunged again at its treasure.

‘Gerrofit!’ The man swung a boot again. It brushed the dog’s side. The dog growled and leapt into the hole again.

‘Oi, no need to kick the animal!’ Tony had joined them in the yard. ‘Jackie! What’s the emergency, boy?’

Jackie barked and pulled; soil rained from its frantic paws.

‘Stop it!’ yelled Mick and lunged at it. Jackie skipped aside. Mick fell, knocking over a staked tomato bush. Jackie yanked its quarry again.

‘What’ve you got?’ said Tony. He leaned in. Jackie growled. Mick threw a trowel at it. The dog yelped. ‘Hey, careful, Mick. There’s no need -’. Tony looked down, horrified.

A hand lay in the dirt, soiled, red nailed, wearing his wife’s wedding ring. The wrist extended into the tomato bed.

‘Hey Mick,’ said Tony and reeled as his mate hit him with a piece of board.

The dog yelped and bit into Mick’s heel. Mick yelled. Tony rose and tackled Mick to the ground. He was bigger, stronger. He shoved Mick’s face into the dirt. Jackie yapped and growled, and nipped Mick’s ear.

‘You wanna tell me what this is, Mick?’

*             *          *          *

Tony sat on the back porch watching a group of police in hazard gear surround the tomato garden with blue tarp. Mick lay against the fence, cuffed and guarded by two men in blue.

Tony held Jackie tight, and felt the dog quivering with excitement. He patted it, leaned in close to its raised ear and said, ‘You found mum, Jackie, you found her. Good boy.’

The dog licked his cheek then turned back to watch the yard.