Bruiser

A small dog brings bones to an elderly woman. What does he want?

    Mrs. Hill was actually a "Miss", not a "Mrs.", since she had never married.  However, everyone in the neighborhood always referred to her as Mrs. Hill.  Her parents died in a car accident when she was twenty-two and left her a sizeable inheritance.  She had always been pampered as a child and had never worked a day in her seventy years on this Earth.  Mrs. Hill lived in the same house where she grew up, on a cul-de-sac in a nice, though aging, neighborhood.  She spent her days reading and tending her immaculate flower garden.  She looked like everyone's idea of a grandmother;  slightly plump; fluffy, white curls atop her head; bright blue eyes.  To the uneducated, Mrs. Hill was a "sweet little, old lady".   To her neighbors,  she was evil incarnate.

    Mrs. Hill was known for being short-tempered and opinionated, and she never had a kind word for anyone.  She hated children and pets, and would often chase both out of her yard with a broom if they dared to venture near.  Many pets in the neighborhood disappeared without a trace.  The Blankenships never did find their cat, Snowball.  They couldn't prove that Mrs. Hill killed her, but deep down, they knew. 

   Over time, the neighborhood children learned to avoid Mrs. Hill's house, and everyone did their best to avoid her wrath.  The Klein family had several screaming matches with Mrs. Hill concerning a tree growing on the property line between the two houses.  One day, Mrs. Hill hired a man to cut down the stately oak tree while the Kleins were out of town.  Mrs. Klein burst into tears when she came home and found that her beautiful tree was reduced to a pile of wood and sawdust.  Her grandparents had planted that tree the day her father was born.  Mrs. Klein's father passed away a year ago from cancer and the loss was still fresh.  With the loss of his birth tree, it was as if he died all over again.  The Kleins tried to sue over the tree, but Mrs. Hill could afford to hire the best lawyers in town.  Finally, the Kleins just gave up, sold the house, and moved out of town.  To Mrs. Hill's dismay, the house was sold to a "lowly" truck driver.  She thought he dragged down the neighborhood, but she was happy that he was only home a few times a month.  The other resident in the cul-de-sac was a snowbird who spent half of the year in Florida.  Whenever Mr. Davenport walked his dog past Mrs. Hill's house, he always turned off his hearing aid.  Mrs. Hill constantly ranted at him to keep his "filthy" dog out of her yard, so he simply chose not to hear her.  Mrs. Hill's screaming usually bothered Hamish, Mr. Davenport's West Highland Terrier.   At first, the little white dog was startled when Mrs. Hill stormed out to the sidewalk to accost them, but he soon learned to ignore the foul-tempered woman. 

    One morning, Mrs. Hill walked to her front door to get her newspaper.  She mentally cursed the paperboy before she even looked for the paper.  'That stupid boy never puts the paper where I tell him.' she thought in annoyance.  She opened the door and was startled to see a small, white dog sitting on her porch.  At first, she thought it was Mr. Davenport's dog, but this dog had short, white hair with a few brown spots and a brown head.  In her opinion, it was an ugly, filthy thing with a stump for a tail.  She noticed the stumpy tail because it was wagging.  The little dog looked very pleased with itself for some reason.  Mrs. Hill was horrified to notice the dog had left a small, dirty bone on her clean porch.  Mrs. Hill retrieved her broom and chased the little dog off the porch.  Then, she donned a pair of rubber gloves and threw the offending bone in the trash can by the garage.   Mrs. Hill called Animal Control and complained about the dog.  A man came out to look for the dog, but never found it. 

    The next morning, the little white dog was sitting on the porch again.  He brought a present of a few more bones.  Mrs. Hill couldn't believe it.  Was the dog trying to make friends?  "This is certainly a disgusting way to show affection." she told the little dog.  Mrs. Hill leaned down to look at the dog's collar.  She carefully reached forward, not sure if the dog would bite.  He just sat there wagging his stumpy tail with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.  Mrs. Hill thought there might be a phone number on the tags.  If she called his owners, at least she could get rid of the annoying dog.  Mrs. Hill was disappointed to discover that the tags had no information other than the dog's name- Bruiser.  Mrs. Hill laughed aloud at the ridiculous name.  The little dog didn't even flinch at the sound of her voice.  "Bruiser, huh?" she asked the little dog.  "I don't think you could even beat up a rabbit." she added contemptuously.  Mrs. Hill let the tag fall back into place and went to fetch her broom.  She chased Bruiser off the porch, then picked up the bones and put them in the trash can.

    Every day thereafter, Bruiser was on the porch to greet Mrs. Hill.  Every day, the little dog brought more bones.  Mrs. Hill ended up calling Animal Control almost every day.  The dog was always gone by the time they arrived, so she would vent her frustration on the hapless Animal Control officer.  The current victim had the nerve to look at Mrs. Hill with pity, and then suggest she might be imagining the dog.  Mrs. Hill exploded with fury.  "How dare you insinuate that I am seeing 'ghost dogs' you miserable excuse for a man!  I have a sharp mind and I know that dog is real!  It isn't my fault you are incapable of catching one small dog!" she screamed at the man.  After that incident, Animal Control simply refused to show up.

    That afternoon, Mrs. Hill waited outside for Mr. Davenport to walk his dog.  As soon as he came near, she ran out to the sidewalk and immediately assaulted him with questions.  Then, Mrs. Hill had to wait impatiently while Mr. Davenport turned on his hearing aid.   As soon as he could hear her, she asked him if he had seen the little white dog around her house.  Mr. Davenport nodded and said. "I've seen a Jack Russell Terrier around your house a lot lately.  I thought maybe you changed your mind about dogs."  She glared down at Hamish and tersely replied, "No, I still don't like animals.  They are stupid, filthy beasts."  Mrs. Hill turned and walked back to her house.  She felt a little better knowing the dog wasn't just her imagination.  Mrs. Hill decided to head to the library to find out more about this particular breed of dog.  Maybe there was some genetic reason this dog was bringing  her bones.  She had heard that some dog breeds had unusual little habits.

   Mrs. Hill walked out to the garage and got in her car.  Her 1955 Crown Victoria was built like a tank.  It sat low to the ground and had a huge, gleaming bumper.   It had hooded headlights that looked like eyes, and the shape of the grill made it look like the car was grinning.  The neighborhood children thought it looked demonic.  Animals and children fled in terror when Mrs. Hill was behind the wheel.  Her driving was legendary.  She tended to drive straight down the middle of the road and just expected other cars to get out of her way.  When Mrs. Hill finally reached the library, the stomped up to the service desk and demanded that the librarian find the books she wanted.  The librarian was scared to death of Mrs. Hill, and she hurried to find books on Jack Russell Terriers.  Mrs. Hill poured through the books, but only found basic information on the dog breed;  they were bred for fox hunting and were good at catching small, burrowing animals like rabbits.  There was nothing to indicate why a Jack Russell Terrier would bring bones to someone. 

   On the way home, Mrs. Hill decided to buy some rat poison.  She thought maybe she could mix some of the poison with some dogfood.  That would solve her little problem quite easily.  A cat dashed across the road and Mrs. Hill swerved to hit it.  She cursed when the cat made it to safety.  "Oh well, I'll get you next time, kitty." she said with a sneer.  When she got home, she mixed up a special batch of dog food for Bruiser, then placed it on the front porch.

    The next morning, Bruiser sat patiently on the front porch.  Mrs. Hill looked at the dog food, but it was untouched.  Adding to her annoyance was the fact that there were more filthy bones sitting on the porch.  She retrieved her gloves and bent down to examine the bones, hoping for a clue to this dog's odd behavior.  The bones looked old, and they were covered in dirt and bits of leaves.  Mrs. Hill realized there were almost enough bones to make a complete animal.  It looked like it might be a cat or a fox, but the skull was missing, so she wasn't sure.  She gingerly picked up what looked like a broken rib bone.   She sighed and put it back on the small pile of bones.  "What am I going to do with you now?", she asked the little dog.

    The bone pile grew steadily larger.  Bruiser was a smart little dog.  He had refused to touch any of the poisoned treats Mrs. Hill left on the porch.  She had tried several different foods, but he didn't touch any of them.  He no longer sat on the porch waiting for her to chase him with the broom either.  He left his 'presents' of bones, then retreated to the front yard.  He stayed just far enough from the porch so that he could run before Mrs. Hill caught him with the broom.  On this particular morning, Bruiser had left the skull of the animal.  Mrs. Hill was almost certain it belonged to a fox because of the long, narrow muzzle.  The skull had a broken canine tooth, but overall, there was no clue to how the animal died.  Mrs. Hill still had no insight into why Bruiser was bringing her all these bones.  She looked at him as he sat in the yard.  He just sat there, watching her expectantly, wagging his stumpy tail.  She sighed in exasperation, then gathered up the bones and put them in the trash can near the garage. 

    The next morning, the bone pile was back, including a skull.  Mrs. Hill examined the pile and realized it was the same pile of bones from yesterday.  She recognized the broken canine tooth on the skull.  How could a dog remove the trash can lid, get into the trash can, remove the bones, then put the trash can back exactly the way it was?  It was impossible!  While Mrs. Hill was distracted, Bruiser trotted up onto the porch and placed a pink collar carefully on the pile of bones.  Mrs. Hill stared at the collar, then watched Bruiser warily while she reached out and picked it up.  She scraped dried mud off of the tag and read the name "Betty" aloud.  Suddenly, it all came back to her.  About a year ago, Mrs. Hill had been driving to the grocery store and saw two white dogs streak across the road.  She remembered swerving and hitting one dog, but she missed the other one.  She remembered being disappointed that she hadn't hit both of the mangy mongrels.  Mrs. Hill had stopped the car and got out to examine her kill.  It was a small, white dog with a few brown spots.  It had been wearing a bright pink collar with a tag that said "Betty".  Mrs. Hill had been overjoyed that she had killed off a worthless pest, now she was terrified as she stared at Bruiser. 

   Bruiser usually just sat there, looking cute, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, stumpy tail wagging.  Bruiser seemed to realize that Mrs. Hill knew what she had done.  He seemed to change before her eyes.  He suddenly became menacing as he growled deep in his chest and his lips peeled back off of needle-sharp teeth.  Mrs. Hill was too terrified to even scream.  She fell backward and landed on her rump, dropping the pink collar.  She scrambled to get through the front door as Bruiser advanced, snapping and snarling.   He didn't seem to be in any hurry to catch her, he just took his time, confident of his kill.  Mrs. Hill finally managed to scramble into the house and slam the front door.  She rested against the door, trying to catch her breath, willing her heartbeat to resume a natural rhythm.  She could hear Bruiser snuffling at the door, then pawing at the wood.  She knew the little dog could never get through that door.  It was solid oak and this was a very well-built house.  Mrs. Hill felt confident that she was safe and secure inside her house.  Then, she heard a scrabbling noise coming from the kitchen.  She rose to her feet and cautiously crept toward the kitchen to investigate.  She peered around the corner and realized with horror that she had left the window above the sink open a few inches.  Bruiser was standing outside on her flower potting bench, shoving his head into the partially open window.  When he spotted Mrs. Hill, he snarled and worked his narrow head back and forth between the window and sill.  He was frantic to get at her, and even started gnawing at the wooden window frame.  Mrs. Hill heard the wood splinter under the assault.  She finally found her voice and let out a shrill scream, then turned and ran for her bedroom.  She slammed the door and locked it behind her, then huddled on the floor near her bed.  Mrs. Hill strained her ears for any sound of pursuit.  She heard a metallic clang as the dog landed in the sink, then a thump as he landed on the kitchen floor.  Mrs. Hill was petrified with fear when she heard the sound of ticking toenails on the wood floor.  The ticking noise advanced down the hall and came closer to her bedroom.  Mrs. Hill could see the shadow of the dog's legs under the door.  The shadow paced back and forth, and she could hear snuffling sounds from under the door.  'It smells me!' her panicked mind screamed.  She cautiously got up and moved to the other side of her bed.  Her rational mind told her that the bed was poor protection, but Mrs. Hill wasn't rational right now.  A floorboard creaked under her foot and Bruiser went crazy.  Mrs. Hill froze like a frightened rabbit while Bruiser clawed at the bedroom door.  It was made of a cheap wood veneer and quickly gave under the assault.  Bruiser had already made a small hole at the bottom of the door, then he shoved his narrow muzzle through the hole and began to gnaw on the wood.  Bruiser's head was almost completely through the door before Mrs. Hill came to her senses and ran into the bathroom.  She slammed and locked the bathroom door.  She slid down the door and sat on the bathroom floor, panting to get back her breath.  She felt a bit of relief because she knew the bathroom door was solid wood.  'When the bedroom door cracked last year, I never should have replaced it with one of those cheap doors. But solid wood doors are just so expensive now.' she mentally berated herself.  Mrs. Hill stiffened as she heard wood splinter.  Bruiser had finally make it through the bedroom door.  He sniffed around the bathroom door, pacing back and forth, claws ticking on the wooden floor.  He pawed at the door a few times, as if testing the wood.  He seemed to lose interest and Mrs. Hill heard the sound of his retreating footsteps.  She breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into a strangled sob as she heard a clang from the other room.  She tried to figure out what could make that metallic noise on a wood floor.  She heard the muffled sound of claws scraping on metal and had a moment of horrible clarity- Bruiser had  removed the floor register and was now crawling through the ductwork.   'He couldn't be small enough to fit through the ducts!  It wasn't possible!' her mind screamed in denial.  Before Mrs. Hill could get up off the floor, Bruiser squeezed up through the floor vent near her feet.  He snapped and snarled , then launched himself at the helpless woman.  None of the neighbors heard her screams.

************************************************************

    The mailman walked up to Mrs. Hill's house and pushed the mail through the slot in the door.  He couldn't see the growing pile of mail on the other side of the door.  He had been lucky the last few weeks, since Mrs. Hill hadn't come out to scream at him.  She always found something to yell about; the ridiculous price of stamps, the poor quality of mail service, the amount of junk mail she received.  It had been unusually quiet lately, and he secretly hoped the horrible old woman had died of old age.  The mailman whistled a happy tune as he walked toward the next house.  He stopped when he noticed a small, white dog digging in Mrs. Hill's garden.  Dirt and flowers flew everywhere as the little dog enthusiastically dug into the soft soil.  The mailman cautiously approached the dog to see what it was doing.  "Hey, boy, what have you got there?" he asked.  Bruiser stopped digging and wagged his stumpy tail at the man.  Then, he picked up a large bone and dropped it into the hole he had just dug.  "That's quite a prize you've got there, boy.  You're a lucky dog, huh?" the mailman asked with a friendly smile.  Bruiser trotted over and let the man pat his head.  "Don 't let mean old Mrs. Hill catch you digging in her yard.  She'll skin you alive.  Be careful, boy." the mailman warned as he gave Bruiser a final scratch behind the ears and went on his way.  Bruiser watched the man walk away, then started to bury the bone.  When he finished, he jumped back through the kitchen window, then returned a moment later with another bone in his mouth.  Bruiser happily layed the remains of Mrs. Hill to rest in her garden.

Author's Note

This is dedicated to my father's dog, Bruiser. I would really appreciate some constructive criticism on this one. I feel like it needed more detail, but I sort of got tired of the story and just wanted to finish it. I will probably revise it at a later date.

Reviews

[Vanessa Rico]

Your stories always have a twist, which I like by the way! This also has a bit of a bone-chilling quality to it that made me glad that I read it during the day! LOL I am such a scaredy cat. To me, I couldnt tell that you got tired of it until I read your author's note, because you always add such detail...that always sweep me away with their magnificence! Great like always

[Hugh O'Donoghue]

Very well written, I don't think it needs anything. Very interesting idea, though if you feel it needs it perhaps you should try.