The Deer Effect by Susan Wingate

The Deer Effect - Chapters One - Ten

19 For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts, even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity. 20 All go unto one place; all are of the dust and all turn to dust again. 21 Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth? Ecclesiastes 3:19 - 21

Foreword

When you reach Heaven, you're given three memories. Just three. One for the past, one for the present and one for the future.

My memories? Of my mother, my husband and my dog. In that order.

Part I

ONE

One brittle leaf found along our usual path proved the days had gone wintry. Papery thin as onion skin--blanched from frosty temperatures and yellowing like the pages of an old Bible, the leaf’s long slender shafts, crooked and dry, painted my world.

The blue sky dragged me out that Sunday in December—December 5, 2010, if you must know—when the temperature rose to only forty-two Fahrenheit. What was I thinking?

Hold on. Wait a second. Let me back up just a tad.

For your information, I'm dead. Although I speak of myself, make no mistakes. I died this day.

This story will tell you a tale about my dog and my husband and the two going on a journey in order to come to terms with my death. It's their story. Through my eyes, ears, nose, fingers, tongue and mind you'll get a sense of me, of course—an infusion of me, but I'm just the storyteller here. Make no mistakes.

It looked like a good day to take the dog for a walk. A good day to walk, to let off steam from a nonstop fight about money between me and my husband.

Bobby, to anyone who knew us, was my dog. He slept with me on my side of the bed at Rod’s request. Although Rod liked animals, at least the concept of them, he’s not exactly what I would call an animal person.

I held that distinction in our small family pack.

The photo of Bobby and his litter mates showed each of them, cream-filled bellies, shocking white with piglet-pink skin peeking through their fur, up on the bed on a blue thermal blanket trimmed in satin. There were five in all—females and males—some playing with each other, others looking askance, but not Bobby. His button eyes and black nose peered into the camera lens. And, when all the other ears spiked up at attention, Bobby's flapped over as if someone had missed him in the proper ear assembly line. Perhaps the dog-ear quality controller had taken the day off when he rolled through.

"That one." I pointed. "I want him." It was instant, the falling in love.

In eight years, he never got much bigger than when he was as a pup. In those same eight years, things had started to shrink between me and Rod.

I'd gotten a term life insurance policy and used it against him, as a joke, to threaten him.

"If anything should happen to me, the police will automatically suspect you. They always suspect the husband first. Especially when this kind of money is involved."

Or, when I was feeling particularly morose, I'd say, "You'll just love cuddling up with half a mil when I'm gone."

You know. The typical guilt trips we play on people who we just wish would stop yelling and see our worth.

I'd heard self-worth rated a close second in importance to the average person's survival instincts.

I suppose it did with me, for sure.