Arthur didn’t mind the weird metallic smell of air conditioning and bleach any longer. Who knew, maybe being in a place that smells like that for too long forces you to get used to it. Or, maybe his nose didn’t work that well at ninety-nine as it used to. Anyway, I guess that even that awful smell was better than the one in the old house, especially after the pipes started backing up.
It’s weird, but Arthur spent a lot of time thinking of those pipes, and it’s fun how he wouldn’t instead think of bigger events he experienced, maybe the war, or the Great Depression, or even that one time he got promoted. Arthur spent his time thinking of that day the kitchen sink overflowed in 1984 and he spent hours under the cabinets, trying to fix the issues, while Martha stood in the doorway and wouldn’t stop complaining about the hardwood floors. He even remembered how Martha looked that day, with her floral apron on, and her hair in a bun as she always styled it. Truth was, Arthur missed her yelling during those quiet days at the hospital room. The silence of the hospital was polite, it really was, but for this old man, polite meant empty.
The nurses were young. Actually, everyone was young. They had bright, garish scrubs with owls and cartoon characters on them, and rushed around with incredible energy, so Arthur’s head spined if he looked at them for too long. They’d come in and say, “How are we doing today, Arthur?” and he’d think, “Who is ‘we’? You’re doing all right, and I’m a wreck,” but he’d just smile and nod at them because they were trying, and they’d always be taking his blood pressure.
And then, of course, there was the food, and to Arthur, that food looked disguising. The thing was that he was used to colors when it came to his diet, and the hospital’s food had all shades of beige, and that was it. He was served mashed potatoes he didn’t like, and some mystery meat that was supposedly a Salisbury steak, which he also didn’t like because to him it tasted like cardboard. So, Arthur would play with the food using the plastic fork, because he wasn’t even hungry, because hunger is for people with a future, and to him, eating was just a chore.
Richard was the only thing that felt solid. The dog was a mess, really. The fur on his back had been shedding in clumps from the stress of going to the hospital, and there was one spot on his elbow where his fur had all been licked off. But when Richard put his weight against the side of the bed, it was a real weight. It wasn’t the “gentle” touch of a nurse or the “supportive” pat of a doctor. It was seventy pounds of living, breathing, slightly-smelly dog who didn’t care a thing for medical charts.
Arthur recalled the day Richard entered his home. It was hid daughter who brought that ball of fluff over to him and said, “Dad, you need a companion.” Arthur also recalled how he thought his daughter had lost her mind. He told he that she was crazy and that he hated the idea walking a dog outside. But the dog ran towards Arthur and then chewed on his mahogany table and that made him smile. It was then that Arthur smiled after many months. He was lonely and didn’t really smile after Martha died.
At that moment, something about that puppy made him feel a bit better.
Richard wasn’t a puppy anymore. He was twelve, maybe thirteen—they’d lost track. His muzzle was almost entirely white, and he had these fatty lumps under his skin that the vet said were nothing to worry about, just “old dog things.” Arthur knew all about old dog things. He had his own lumps and bumps, his own creaky joints that popped every time he tried to shift his weight.
The nights were the longest, and that’s when the hospital felt like a waiting room. The lights in the halls were dim, but never off.
Arthur would lay there, trying to think of the names of all the people he used to know. It was a game, of sorts. He thought about his first-grade class. Tommy Miller, Sarah Jenkins, he wondered what they were doing now. Probably under a headstone somewhere, or in a place just like this one, staring at a Kidney-bean-shaped spot on the ceiling.
Then he thought of his kids who called on Sundays. They talked about the weather in Chicago, or the traffic in LA. The also told him about their own kids, his grandkids, who were doing a bunch of youngsters’ stuff he was too old to understand. One was a “social media manager,” which Arthur thought was a title concocted out of thin air. He’d nod and say, “That’s nice, real nice,” trying to remember which one liked dinosaurs or which one played the flute.
The calls however became less frequent during the final years of Arthur’s life, and he somehow felt left behind, you know, like the last guest standing at a party and feels like he overstayed his welcome by a decade.
One day, the sun hit at a particular angle and it reminded Arthur of his old porch. He could have sworn he could smell the fresh cut grass and the charcoal from his neighbor’s grill. He used to spend hours on that porch, having his iced tea, and watching the world go by. Richard would spend hours on that porch too. He was mostly lying on the cool concrete, snapping at flies that weren’t even there. It was a boring life, you know, but to Arthur it was this cool kind of boring, and he somehow didn’t realize that until it was gone.
Arthur’s breathing became even harder over time, he struggled to inhale and exhale, and every breath felt painful. But Richard was still there. He was fully on the bed and had his head on Arthur’s chest.
“You’re a good boy,” he said. He’d said it a million times, but it felt like something he should say again. Richard wagged his tail once.
Arthur then closed his eyes and stopped starring at the ceiling. All he did at that moment was feel Richard’s fur that felt soft and rough at the same time. And he thought of his life once again. He thought of his wife, of the chewed leg of the mahogany coffee table, of the smell of rain when it hit the pavement during the hottest of days.
Arthur was many things, and afraid wasn’t one of them. He knew fear asked for a lot of energy; energy he no longer had. He then felt Richard shift and press closer, and it felt like the dog’s weight became a part of Arthur’s own body.
There is that specific kind of quiet when the end is nearing. And it doesn’t really feel like the absence of sound, but like the absence of need. He didn’t need that phone call from his kids and grandkids, nor he needed the nurses to come into the room and check on him. Arthur didn’t need the hospital’s boring food. What he really needed was this moment with his furry friend, the only living being who stood by his side until the very end. It somehow felt awkward to Richard that all he needed at that moment was the dog.
When the nurse finally got to Arthur’s room, she sensed the moment, because she’s witnessed moments like that before. Arthur somehow looked younger, and the wrinkles on his forehead seemed smoothened. And Richard, it looked like he was sleeping next to his favorite human.
Arthur was gone. There was no heartbeat. So, the nurse tried to wake the dog up and get him out of the room. But Richard wouldn’t move either. His body was still warm, but he wasn’t breathing either.
It felt strange, almost impossible. The dog was perfectly fine that morning, he even had his food and water. The nurse remembered he even licked the bowl. To her, logic had no place in that room.
And then she thought of her own dog, a scruffy terrier mix who waited at the door every night and acted as though she was his entire world. And that’s the only truth about dogs, really. To them their humans really are their whole world. And Richard no longer had purpose, not after his owner died.
She didn’t call for help right away. She just pulled the curtain closed and gave Arthur and Richard some more time.
Out of the hospital, the world moved on. But in room 412, the promise was kept. No one went anywhere alone. It wasn’t a tragedy just the end of a very long, messy, real day.
Arthur and Richard. Just two old souls who’d decided they’d had enough of the bleach and beige food and thought it was time to go see if there were any flies to snap at somewhere else. And honestly, as the nurse turned off the monitor and the screen went dark, she couldn’t think of a better way for the story of these two souls to have ended.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
