Cherry

“Cherry,” a story inspired by The Great Substack Prompt Celebration prompt.

	Cherry is the worst. First, she chews everything. Still. Even though she’s not a puppy anymore. Mom always yells at her about it, says she should be done chewing because she’s a dog now, not a puppy. But she keeps chewing on everything, like the couch and the rugs and shoes and all kinds of stuff. And who names a white dog Cherry? Mom says she’s a yellow lab, but she is also not yellow. Not yellow or red. So why Cherry? I wanted to call her Whitey, but Mom and Dad were very clear that wasn’t going to be her name. 
	I don’t really know why we got her in the first place. Mom and Dad are always mad about something she’s doing. Like the chewing, but really, it’s the digging up holes in the yard. Mom really likes her flowers, and Dad likes to sit outside on the little patio, so they’re out there all the time. I like to stay inside, where it’s always nice and the bugs aren’t eating me. 
	Like right now, everybody is outside. Mom’s pulling weeds. Dad’s got a beer. At least he’s talking to her. I don’t think she likes it when he doesn’t talk to her. Me, I prefer when no one is talking to me. My favorite place is in my bed, under the covers, reading or drawing my invisible horses. Mom and Dad like to say my favorite place is in my head. Mom and Dad thought Cherry and I would be best friends. That ended when she peed on my bed the first week we had her. Mom said that that’s just what puppies do, but I don’t care. Mom gets really mad when I tell her that digging holes in yards is just what dogs do.
	Oh look, guess what Cherry is doing. Stupid dog. I’m not supposed to say that out loud, but everybody knows it’s true. And it’s not cussing. Mom’s not paying attention to Cherry, and Dad’s too busy talking to Mom to notice. Gosh, Cherry’s really going crazy. What does she dig for, anyway? What’s so exciting out there? I don’t think Mom or Dad bury dog treats or anything. Sheesh, she’s really going at it now. There is dirt flying everywhere, and I can’t even see her head. That’s a big hole! 
	Mom and Dad aren’t seeing this. But I guess she’s not barking at the hole like normal, so they’re just not paying attention. Maybe I should drag her out of this one. I wonder who will clean it all up. 
	She stopped digging. She’s scratching at something now. I can’t see anything yet, just a bunch of black dirt. She’s kind of sniffing at whatever it is. Sniffing and scratching. What the heck? Usually she’s losing her little dog mind by now, barking and going crazy. What is in there?
	She is totally still now. I still can’t see her head, it’s so deep in her hole. Her tail is frozen, sticking straight up. It’s a little creepy, actually.
	I feel warm going over to her. It’s nice outside, yeah, but it’s a warmth in my legs. Especially in my feet up to my ankles. Like this heat is coming from the grass as I get closer to Cherry and her weird hole. 
	“Cherry,” I say. “Get out of there,” I say, but I don’t say it like normal. I feel like honey that drips from a spoon in those cereal commercials, slow and sweet and gooey. I need to see this hole. 
	I’m on my knees now. The grass is blue here. Blue and smooth. Like the sand on the beach just after the tide goes out, the really soft, clean sand. My yard is a blue beach and my dog is a white cherry. 
	On my tummy, I swim toward the hole. I push my fingers into the dirt and my hands are little flippers and I’m swimming right into the ocean that is the hole my nutso dog just dug. Cherry’s tail is still frozen, and now I see her head, her eyes, fixed on the bottom. She’s blue now, too – not all of her, just the part I couldn’t see from inside the house. The part that disappeared into the hole. She’s half white, half blue, and I don’t think she’s still anymore. No, she’s shaking, actually. Vibrating. I am here now, at the edge of the hole, on my tummy with my own tail, now, with flippers, too, in the ocean I didn’t know we had in our backyard. Maybe this is what she’s been looking for, with all these holes she’s been digging. She is elated, and I have never been a fish before, and I’ve never felt so warm and splendid. I am almost there. I can almost see what she found. 
	“Terry!” Mom barks at Dad.
	I freeze. They’ve seen us. Are they mad? Scared? The yard is an ocean, and I’m some type of fish, and the dog is half blue, and she’s found it. She’s dug up the new world! Where we can be new, too! What an amazing dog! These holes, she’s probably been looking for this all along!
	“Look!” Mom says, probably about us, her kid, her dog. 
	I see shadows now, hovering above us. “Good dog, Cherry. You got her out of the house for once.” 
	The shadows shake their shadow heads. 
	They don’t see this. They don’t see us. They don’t feel the water at their ankles, soaking their shoes. And now I look at Cherry, who is looking at me, and I can hardly wait to dive into whatever she finds next.

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Thank you for reading. I’ll see you next time.