The Pahl Paw Patch: Arfie
Nelson Pahl
August 10, 2010
Arfie lay on the hardwood floor, chin resting upon his paws; he stared out the sliding glass door, toward his backyard. Squirrels quarreled beside a large oak tree. Arfie didn´t budge. Three chickadees bickered on a nearby bird feeder. Arfie didn´t bat and eyelash. The three-year-old chocolate boxer´s heart ached; he hadn´t seen Spot, the beagle that doubled as his former neighbor, in almost three months. They´d been best friends for two years, ever since Spot moved in next door. But that was back in the old neighborhood. Now, Arfie lived in another town and another county.
Back in the old neighborhood, Arfie and Spot played together all day. On the porch, in the yard, with a ball, with a Frisbee, wrestling amid the lawn, chasing chipmunks, they frolicked all day long; Arfie and Spot were buddies forever.
Or so it seemed.
Roy, Spot´s owner, stood five foot nine and weighed in at 300 pounds. He didn´t have a job. Instead, he sat in his recliner and watched television all day and all night. He never left the house. His food arrived by way of a Groceries To Go delivery truck. But, Groceries To Go didn´t stock dog food, so Spot never had any food of his own.
Instead, twice a day, Roy would sneak out onto his neighbor´s porch and pull half the food from Arfie´s bowl, put it in Spot´s dish, then return to his recliner. Every day, for more than two years, Roy performed this ritual.
As a result, both dogs began to look underweight and malnourished. Cindy, Arfie´s owner, didn´t understand how her precious pup could suffer from malnutrition. She took great care of him; anything he needed, she worked hard to supply. And, at just four-years-old, he didn´t seem like a prime candidate for a terminal illness.
One morning, shortly after breakfast, Cindy clipped the leash on Arfie, grabbed her purse, and headed for the garage entrance.
After thirty minutes and a routine check up at the veterinarian´s office, the vet concluded that Arfie looked fine and that he just needed to eat more. Had she been feeding him two and a half cups of dog food twice a day?
"Yes," Cindy answered. "Every morning, every evening."
"Does he eat it all?"
Cindy nodded. "The bowl´s always spotless."
The vet took a seat on the steel examination table´s edge. "Any other animals on the premises?"
"Um…" Cindy shrugged. "Squirrels and chipmunks. Maybe a rabbit or two."
The vet looked to the floor, arms folded, hand on chin, deep in thought. He shook his head.
"Well…Arfie does have a friend—Spot, the dog next door."
The vet cocked his head, squinted, and eyed Cindy from the corner of his eye. "Does he have free access to your yard?"
"Yeah."
The vet smirked.
Cindy´s eyes grew wide. "You really think—"
"I do." The vet stood. "Keep an eye on Spot for a couple days and see what you find." The vet reached to Arfie and rubbed him behind the ears. "Hang in there, buddy."
Now, three months after the vet visit, Arfie lay on the kitchen floor, chin on paws, staring out the sliding glass door, alone. The same evening as the vet visit, Cindy caught Roy stealing Arfie´s dinner. The two canine guardians had a heated argument about more than just the food, and Cindy decided the next morning that it was high time to find a new abode. A couple weeks later, she had a new rented house, her old house already under contract, and life seemed to be grand.
Except for Arfie. His heart ached. He missed Spot something terrible.
Cindy made her way to him. She had to break the news at some point: Spot died the day prior, apparently from starvation. Cindy squatted next to Arfie and leaned to his ear. She whispered the news. Arfie groaned without moving an inch; he just stared out the sliding glass doors.
"I´m so sorry, Arfie." Cindy stroked his head, as Arfie´s face grew longer. "I wish I could make the hurt go away. I wish, I wish, I wish…" She kissed his forehead.
Cindy inhaled a deep breath, exhaled, then stood. She stared at Arfie for a long moment. "I guess now, Arfie," she uttered, "you understand how socialism works."
Copyright © 2010 Nelson Pahl
Back in the old neighborhood, Arfie and Spot played together all day. On the porch, in the yard, with a ball, with a Frisbee, wrestling amid the lawn, chasing chipmunks, they frolicked all day long; Arfie and Spot were buddies forever.
Or so it seemed.
Roy, Spot´s owner, stood five foot nine and weighed in at 300 pounds. He didn´t have a job. Instead, he sat in his recliner and watched television all day and all night. He never left the house. His food arrived by way of a Groceries To Go delivery truck. But, Groceries To Go didn´t stock dog food, so Spot never had any food of his own.
Instead, twice a day, Roy would sneak out onto his neighbor´s porch and pull half the food from Arfie´s bowl, put it in Spot´s dish, then return to his recliner. Every day, for more than two years, Roy performed this ritual.
As a result, both dogs began to look underweight and malnourished. Cindy, Arfie´s owner, didn´t understand how her precious pup could suffer from malnutrition. She took great care of him; anything he needed, she worked hard to supply. And, at just four-years-old, he didn´t seem like a prime candidate for a terminal illness.
One morning, shortly after breakfast, Cindy clipped the leash on Arfie, grabbed her purse, and headed for the garage entrance.
After thirty minutes and a routine check up at the veterinarian´s office, the vet concluded that Arfie looked fine and that he just needed to eat more. Had she been feeding him two and a half cups of dog food twice a day?
"Yes," Cindy answered. "Every morning, every evening."
"Does he eat it all?"
Cindy nodded. "The bowl´s always spotless."
The vet took a seat on the steel examination table´s edge. "Any other animals on the premises?"
"Um…" Cindy shrugged. "Squirrels and chipmunks. Maybe a rabbit or two."
The vet looked to the floor, arms folded, hand on chin, deep in thought. He shook his head.
"Well…Arfie does have a friend—Spot, the dog next door."
The vet cocked his head, squinted, and eyed Cindy from the corner of his eye. "Does he have free access to your yard?"
"Yeah."
The vet smirked.
Cindy´s eyes grew wide. "You really think—"
"I do." The vet stood. "Keep an eye on Spot for a couple days and see what you find." The vet reached to Arfie and rubbed him behind the ears. "Hang in there, buddy."
Now, three months after the vet visit, Arfie lay on the kitchen floor, chin on paws, staring out the sliding glass door, alone. The same evening as the vet visit, Cindy caught Roy stealing Arfie´s dinner. The two canine guardians had a heated argument about more than just the food, and Cindy decided the next morning that it was high time to find a new abode. A couple weeks later, she had a new rented house, her old house already under contract, and life seemed to be grand.
Except for Arfie. His heart ached. He missed Spot something terrible.
Cindy made her way to him. She had to break the news at some point: Spot died the day prior, apparently from starvation. Cindy squatted next to Arfie and leaned to his ear. She whispered the news. Arfie groaned without moving an inch; he just stared out the sliding glass doors.
"I´m so sorry, Arfie." Cindy stroked his head, as Arfie´s face grew longer. "I wish I could make the hurt go away. I wish, I wish, I wish…" She kissed his forehead.
Cindy inhaled a deep breath, exhaled, then stood. She stared at Arfie for a long moment. "I guess now, Arfie," she uttered, "you understand how socialism works."
Copyright © 2010 Nelson Pahl
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