John & Rusty

John stood on his front porch looking out over his yard.

The porch was sagging and in need of a good staining; the grass could use a haircut. His car sat idly in the driveway; a 1993 Subaru hatchback - a little rust, a few dents, a lot of miles.

Smoke drifted from his cigarette as a slight breeze comforted him. He shook his head. Been doing that a lot lately.

He was tired. The kind of tired that was as much psychological as it was physical. It didn't matter though; he knew he could get up the initiative to deal with anything he had to. Nobody gets 8 hours of sleep, and everybody is fucked in the head. Still, everybody keeps moving.

That's just the way it is. Life is not glamorous. Lately John's been wondering if it is the gift everyone says it is. Doesn't feel that way very much.

Rusty, his dog and precious friend, nudges John's hand. He looks down and smiles. Rusty has been a source of so much comfort and love over the years, with many more to come. He is a warrior. John believes Rusty keeps him alive. What a gift.

John drops his cigarette to the porch and rubs it out with his work boot. He sits quietly with Rusty, enjoying the evening, appreciative of the bond they share.

Eventually he gets up and says "Come on, old boy, let's go in and watch some TV." Rusty happily trots by John's side.

He pours himself a short whiskey and slides into the recliner; Rusty lies next to him on the floor. The chair's  a little worn, a few cracks; it's broke in just right.

He turns the TV on and dials up Wheel of Fortune while looking forward to Jeopardy. Jeopardy makes him feel stupid more often than not, but when he gets a few right, he feels proud.

He drops his hand down to scratch Rusty behind the ears. Gonna be a quiet night.

John doesn't mind.