Erbalach

Two days after Fred’s return, the faucet started leaking.

The brand new, $400 faucet. And now it’s got a damn leak. “Fine,” Fred thought. “I’ll fix the damned thing myself.” But Fred, being Fred, had never touched a faucet before in his life. Fred had no opposable thumbs. Fred was a dog.

His mother, a shitzu, his father, a Maltese. His other father, a Great Dane (Fred likened himself to the Dane, even perking his ears up high. He thought it made him look “regal”. And it did, to Fred’s defense.). Fred had just gotten back from vacation (boarding), and was starting to settle back into the swing of things (found his place on the sidewalk to poop), but that damned faucet had caught Fred’s attention. He had tried to tell his owner, but his owner made no notice. Fred’s ears were long and big and he could hear everything. Every drip was like a firecracker into his head. He pointed, he whined, but that just got him locked up in his cage. For hours, he sat and stared at the faucet, but he ended up being the only soul in a dark and empty kitchen. He was used to being alone, but not used to being ignored.

It was this that made Fred wonder why his owner had stopped paying attention. It was this that made Fred go to his owner, wag his tail, cock his head, and open his mouth.

“Hey boy,” his owner said. While the usual response would be the excited invite for Fred to join him on the couch, this time, all Fred got was a pat on the forehead, and a scratch under the chin. So Fred decided to get personal. He inched carefully to the couch, and when his master wasn’t looking, he jumped up.

Now Fred’s timetable was a little off, sure. After all, he had just gotten back to the city. And of course, he and his master hadn’t exchanged all the pleasantries yet of the new light of day pouring through the window, but Fred was almost positive that the day had begun hours ago. And so when he jumped, he wasn’t expecting his master’s coffee cup to be sitting on a notebook, and on top of this, because of shitzu heritage, he did not see, he could not see, he did not know, he was not expecting his master not to be wearing pants.

And once again, Fred was shoved, smacked on the butt, and locked in his cage. “Pfffff,” said Fred. Defeated, he turned himself around, once, twice, three times, and laid down in his bed.

Fred awoke to the sound of his master’s voice- “Erbalach! Erbalach! Erbalach!”

He pawed at his cage. Something was not right. A loud bang- “Erbalach! Erbalach!”

A crash. A howl. Fred pawed and pawed. He whined and whimpered until-”Noo-” And then silence.

Fred peered through the bars of his cage, lowering his head, cradled into the self-made pit of his pillow. A clunk. A whimper. Fred cocked his head, opened his eyes to see his owner’s hand, on the floor. His master pulled himself around the corner, and Fred could see there was blood following his body. The owner coughed- “Erbalach… erbalach.” He coughed again. “Erbalach… erbalach…”

His hand, over his chest. And Fred could see that his owner, his master, was choking. Fred pawed at the gate. He whined. He barked once, twice. Fred knew this was his chance. His owner needed the water. He needed to catch the faucet. To see it. To turn it on. He needed to see that the faucet was leaking. Fred needed to get him to that faucet.

He barked again. “Erbalach…” his owner panted, clutching at his chest. Clutching his neck and coughing. His fingers outstretched. His arm as far as it could go, until… finally, he unlatched the lock on Fred’s gate. The door flew open and Fred bounded out, up and over his master, out to save him. To rescue him. To show him the faucet was leaking, and he could help. He ran into the kitchen and slid across the hardwood floors, his butt finally catching up to his front paws. He raced over to the cabinets and-

Stared. Fred, of course, was a dog. A small one at that. “Erbalach…” his master croaked from the other room. His master would need water. His master would need to get up. His master would need a glass. Fred stretched his neck to peer over the counters, to see that cabinet that held the glasses, but yet, that cabinet was too high to reach. Four feet too high. And even if he could reach, he couldn’t carry the glass. He couldn’t do anything. Fred was helpless.

His master had stopped moving when Fred got to back to the other room. No more coughing. No more words. Nothing. Fred laid down next to him, nudging him with his wet nose. Pushing him with his small body. Nothing. No more Erbalach. Fred closed his eyes.

And from the other room, like fireworks into his head, came the sound. Drip. Drip. Drip.