Lacy

Lacy had been missing for three days, and I was tired of pretending to be distraught. I was anything but distraught; I was elated. I had hated that dog from the minute I saw it in the pet store. Unfortunately, Mary fell in love with it on sight, and it was her eighth birthday and I had promised her a dog. But when I promised Mary a dog, I had envisioned her choosing a real dog- a lab, a greyhound, or English sheepdog. Instead she chose something that looked like a fluffy tampon with legs. The first thing it did when we brought it home was piss on my good rug, the one my grandmother had willed to me. I saw red, and had to clutch the back of a chair with all my might to keep from breaking the little shit's legs. Lacy was always doing something to rile me. It broke into my closet and chewed on my best pumps; it pissed and shat all over the house-never when Mary was around, always when she was away; it spilled the water dish; it left food crumbs all around the food dish. And, Mary loved it. She loved it more than she loved me.
After six months of torture, Lacy was gone. Its parting gesture was to shred my bedroom slippers, but it was gone! Mary came home from school one afternoon and, as usual, picked up Lacy's blue ball and went outside for their customary game of "fetch." But Lacy was not there. Mary found me in the kitchen, reading the newspaper.
"Mom, where's Lacy?"
"Outside, I think."
"No, she's not. I was just out back and she's not there." And so it began: the search. I had to help Mary look all over creation for that dog. We checked and double-checked the little doghouse, we looked under the back porch, and the house was combed from the basement up, and we found nothing. Out the door we went, to search the neighborhood, calling its name. At dusk I insisted on going home for dinner.
"If she isn't back when I've finished the dishes," I said to Mary "then we'll call the neighbors."
Of course there was no little white dog scratching at the door when I was putting the last of the dishes away, so Mary brought me the address book and we starting making calls. I did my best to sound upset, "Our Lacy is missing. Have you seen her? Perhaps she wandered into your yard...?" And of course they all said No, we're sorry, we haven't seen any dog. For the first time, Mary realized that Lacy was gone, and she flopped down on the floor at my feet and began to wail. It was startling; I'm not used to her behaving like that. I did my best to comfort her, but she was completely unreasonable- she wouldn't take any hot cocoa, or ice cream.
"I thought she liked it here," Mary blubbered at me, "I loved her! She knew that. Why is she gone? I want her back!" I told her that if she was going to be a crybaby all night that she could do so in her room.

I made waffles the next morning, because it's Mary's favorite. The first thing she did, though, was run outside in her pajamas to look in the doghouse. It was vacant. Mary refused her breakfast and just sat at the table, looking at her feet and crying quietly until I told her to get dressed and go to school. After she left I went out and bought new slippers.
The next couple of days were nearly identical: Mary ate very little, did her homework without complaint, and sat by the big picture window, staring out into the neighborhood. She was silent for most of the time, and I told myself that if this went on for more than a week that she should see a therapist. By Saturday I had grown so used to the quiet that I nearly jumped out of my skin when Mary addressed me directly at breakfast.
"Mom," she said through a mouthful of Cheerios, "can I have a big piece of paper?"
"What for?"
"A sign for Lacy."
I blinked. "A sign for Lacy? What do you mean, Lacy isn't here anymore."
"If we put up a sign, then she'll know that we miss her and she'll come back." Mary said. I didn't feel like arguing, so I gave her a brown paper grocery bag. She sat on the floor of the living room and wrote, in red crayon, "come back Lacy." I gave her some tape and we hung it in the front window. Mary seemed pleased with herself, and I assured her that yes, it was an excellent idea, while all the time thinking you stupid girl, dogs don't read- and especially not infernal little shits like Lacy! However, the sign seemed to make Mary feel better, which I was grateful for. For weeks, every day after school Mary would look all over the yard for Lacy. Every day she found nothing. In her little eyes I could see her telling herself Tomorrow! Poor naïve child.

I have always believed that a child should have a pet. One day when I was out doing errands, I passed a pet store and decided that it was time for Mary to have a new pet. Something small, I told myself; something small will be easier to take care of, quieter, and not destructive. I stood in a small part of the store, looking at the mice, the rabbits and the guinea pigs. To my right was a pen of hamsters, and a small brown one put its front feet against the glass and looked me with wide black eyes. I bought it, as well as a cage, a wheel and a water bottle. I put the cage on the table in the upstairs hallway, and deposited the hamster, which immediately curled up and went to sleep.
Mary was thrilled with her new hamster. She named it Harry, and walked around with it perched on her shoulder for the rest of the night. She even kissed it good night at bedtime. I was happy to no longer have the desire to strike her, to scream at her to stop snivling and to give me some peace. Moreover, she took another step in the direction of forgetting all about Lacy.
At three the next morning I was woken up by a loud, rumbling and squealing noise. Turning on the hall light, I saw that it was Harry, running on the wheel. It had not occurred to me when I purchased it that hamsters are nocturnal. Another mistake! Why oh why are pets so complicated? I need sleep to function; Mary would not like me if I didn't get plenty of sleep. I took a hand towel from the linen closet and opened the cage. Plucking Harry from the wheel, I wrapped it in the towel, and placed its head on the edge of the table, where I crushed it with the bottom of the cage. On my way outside I took Mary's sign out of the window and crumpled it up.
I dug a hole in the garden with a trowel and placed Harry next to where Lacy lay, with her leash still wrapped around her neck. When I finally got back to bed, I decided that perhaps a turtle, or some fish, would be just right for Mary.