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Cliff was taking Brandy for her usual late-morning walk, a little hazy from the joint he’d smoked with Rick instead of having breakfast. The dog pranced ahead, leash slack in his hand. He waved at neighbors, nodded to the mailman, all while pretending he was alert and in control.
Then Brandy spotted a squirrel, and lunged. The leash wrapped around Cliff’s ankle faster than he could react. He tried to pivot, tried to free himself, but his coordination had left the building. There was a sharp snap, and Cliff went down hard, hitting the sidewalk with a thud that made him groan.
Brandy, meanwhile, sat back, tongue lolling, clearly convinced she’d done nothing wrong.
Cliff grunted and sat up, then tried to untangle the leash without moving his foot. “In case anyone asks,” he muttered in Brandy’s direction, wincing in pain. “This was stunt practice. Got me?”
Brandy dutifully gave an acknowledging whuff.
Cliff’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, half-grimace. He tried to rise. He really did. But the sharp pain in his ankle made him swear under his breath. He pushed himself backwards, skidding on his ass, until he reached the nearest lamp post, and used it to pull himself to his feet. Well, foot. There was no way he could put any weight on his injured ankle. He knew it was broken.
He tried to shuffle forward on his one good leg, Brandy tugging him along with surprising stubbornness, but he was mostly just skip-hopping while trying to find anything to hold on to or brace against - lamp posts, parked cars, hedges.
They finally made it to Rick’s bungalow. Cliff could see the faintly yellow stucco walls, the familiar green door, the little potted plants along the patio.
Rick opened the door just as Cliff limped up the steps, Brandy bouncing happily at his side. “Cliff? What the hell happened?”
Cliff lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Ah... Dog. Leash. Squirrel. You know how it goes,” he said, trying to sound breezy while the pain radiated up his leg. Brandy barked once, as if confirming his story.
Rick’s eyes narrowed. “That looks painful.”
Cliff shrugged, wincing again. “Yeah, yeah. But don’t worry. Got it all totally under control. Just, you know, testing gravity.”
Rick blinked, unsure if Cliff was joking, hurt, or both. “Right.” He blinked again and frowned in confusion. The damn joint was screwing with his mind. He knew why his usual drug of choice was alcohol. “Well, you’re gonna need some ice,” he finally announced, pleased with himself for coming up with a solution. Then he frowned in deep thought. “Or, ya know, maybe a doctor.”
Cliff grunted, leaning on the doorframe. “Nah. I’m just gonna walk it off. Give me a minute.” He let out a quiet groan as Brandy nudged his side with her nose.
Rick opened the door wider, muttering something about Cliff being impossible, while Cliff limped inside, thinking, I survive falls from a roof and car chases, but my own mutt? That’s how I go down.
THE END