Southward Bound

On the last day Claire Prescott saw her mother-in-law alive, she had found Dorothy sitting by herself at the kitchen table. She’d just finished snapping off the heads of Claire’s dozen, freshly baked gingerbread men. She probably had first pried loose the eyes, then broken the necks, and finally popped the smiling faces into her mouth, leaving twelve little bodies to finish cooling on the cookie sheet. Claire reminisced about that sad, funny scene, almost a year old now, and sensed there was a reason she was recalling that day.

She cleared the night table of paperbacks for a thorough dusting and tried to shake loose her worries by whistling, but the reluctant tread as her husband mounted the stairs must have registered in her subconscious mind: She knew, even as she turned around to find him standing in the doorway, portable phone held close to his thigh, he brought bad news.

“It’s the vet,” Andy said. “They’re telling us to bring him in. Can you handle this Claire?” He held the phone out to her. “I just can’t deal with it.”

So begins the story of Beauregard, a short story by a dear friend. Her wonderful piece was published in the first Chestnut Hill Local Fiction and Poetry edition. It's a must read. As the judges said of her dog tale:

For fiction, we both agreed immediately that Lee W. Doty’s “Beauregard” was the standout. This funny and touching tale recalls the death of a beloved family dog and the surprising impact that the passing has for the family’s father.

Kudos to Lee!!

All I have to say is John Grogan just better watch his back.