Prepper

Chapter Five

Since I completely forgot about the gardening supplies, I decide to wash Kate's car instead. Heath and the dog are a huge help - by which I mean - a total hindrance. Needless to say, the job gets done in twice the time it should take and in the end all three of us are soaked. We had some good laughs though and there was precious little to laugh about these days, so I will take it where I can get it.

I follow the wash with some routine maintenance. Kate and I had talked some more, and with me at home now, she was going to see if should could take on additional duties at work. The worse they could do is say no - but they were so busy lately she had a feeling they might take advantage of the offer. If she was going to be commuting full time, best to have the car in top running order.

I move to the backyard and turn over more garden beneath the blazing Sun. Heath is under orders to fetch ice water at regular intervals so I don't suffer some kind of thermal breakdown. In the end my back gives out before my determination does and I hobble back inside to put some ice on it. In my exhaustion I fall asleep and now I wake to find it dark out and everyone appears to have gone to bed.

I find some leftovers in the fridge and pop them in the microwave, I grab a beer while I wait for that marvel of modern technology to completely desecrate my food. Unlike the blue plate special quickly approaching critical mass, the beer is uniformly cold and satisfying. I watch the food rotate on the carousel like it's part of some radioactive gastronomic carnival. Mmm... carny food.

Three bites into the lasagna, I find it still partially frozen, which feels good against the roof of my mouth that was burnt by the first bite. I plod along however, consuming the dish with a machine-like rhythm. I'm distracted by other things and I finish the entire plate without thinking much of it.

I make it through the ordeal with minimal injuries, although now I can't stop probing the burnt roof of my mouth with my tongue. I see the dog peaking around the corner of the kitchen where she knows she can beg from a safe distance and avoid scolding or thrown objects. I figure a walk would be good for my back so I finish my beer and grab the dog's lead. This is where she typically loses her mind. Tonight she doesn't disappoint.

We head out into the night, one homo sapien, recently unemployed and nursing a sore back, and one Canis lupus familiaris who is clearly part kangaroo. It's calm and humid a thin mist hangs in the air, I can smell the lake and I hear crickets and peepers and little else.

I try to get the dog to heel and walk proper on my left side. Instead she half drags me down the sidewalk and zigzags madly following her nose. She gobbles up gum wrappers and cigarette butts like so much candy. I yank and swear and threaten to disown her, but to no avail. The power struggle between mutt and master continues, this is undoubtedly a war of attrition. At least it's dark, that helps to minimize the potential for embarrassment, hopefully all the neighbours are sleeping.

On a whim I head over to Jake's, he's in the driveway under the truck. Which I guess shouldn't surprise me.

"Hey Jake."

"Connor. What's got you out so late and who's the bitch?" He scoots out from under the truck and goes straight to the dog.

"That's Merida. My boy helped with the name, he's quite fond of that movie."

"What movie?" Jake asked. Clearly, I am wrong to assume everyone watches all the Pixar movies that come out. I imagine a tattoo across my shoulders that reads PARENT. It's done in comic sans.

"Never mind, doesn't matter."

"What's she, about two years?" He says, checking her teeth. He runs his hand all over her, assessing her dogness I suppose. She wriggles with glee, loving all the attention.