Writing Prompt: He refused to meet my eyes.

Morning all and welcome to a drizzly Monday Morning. The sky is gray my sinuses are stuffed and yet somehow I feel rather wide awake. My eyes itch, but that’s just pollen. Otherwise, I am ready to start the week. Ready for our first Prompt of May? Fantastic, Let’s go.

Kinda fun. Not sure what I’d do with this, but it was fun to write.

Monday, May 3rd: He refused to meet my eyes.

He refused to meet my eyes. “You know what you did was wrong?” I said it more like a statement than a question and he ducked his head.  Slowly his eyes lifted up as though checking to see how mad I actually was. 

“How did you even get in here?” I asked.  Hearing my tone relax into a question he decided my temper ebbed and looked up.  His stump of a tail gave a short wag.

I sighed.  “Don’t think you’ve gotten off completely.” I looked around at the destruction and he took the opportunity to slink off out of my sight.  I knew from experience that he would stay hidden until bedtime when he thought my temper would have faded and he would have been forgiven.

To be honest I was more surprised by the fact that he managed to find a way over the barrier between the living room and kitchen in the first place.  I studied the gate.  It was perfectly intact.  It was locked into place in the door frame just as it was supposed to be when I got home.  I had in fact struggled with it for a few minutes after spotting the destruction in the kitchen in order to gain access to the kitchen myself.

‘He had to have gone over it,’ I marveled.  There was no sign he went through it, or even tried ramming it.  Despite myself, I was somewhat impressed by the display of athleticism.  I sighed.  This couldn’t continue.  I began gathering up the trash now strewn across the kitchen.  The boxes and bags were easy enough, but the coffee grounds and other detritus would need not only a sponge, but possibly a vacuum to get all of the things up.  There were also grease slick spots that would need to be dealt with.  Clearly the entire kitchen would need to be scrubbed down. 

Again.

At this point I was willing to believe I had the most often scrubbed down kitchen in the neighborhood.  I just knew that if I didn’t spray everything down before bed with an anti-bacterial spray then the next morning I would find a stray grease spot left by olive oil or sausage dripping and bad things would happen.  My mind conjured up slapstick images of people slipping on banana peels.

‘Add in the coffee and it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.’

I re-bagged the trash, Rolled up my sleeves and got to cleaning.  Something clearly had to be done.  Thus far, he passed three separate obedience training classes.  In face he passed them with flying colors.  He followed all commands, no longer had any bad habits his instructors could point to and in fact was considered the top of each of his classes, praised for his intelligence and his willingness to learn.

But then there would come the trash can. It was the beacon, luring him to evil. His one Achilles heel.  I tried everything I could think of.  This was actually the fifth gate I tried to keep him from the kitchen. It too had failed me.

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