A dog named Daisy lies on a dog bed. The dog bed is comfortable. Much more comfortable than the cold, hard concrete floor Daisy had to sleep on at one time. But, somehow, she can’t fully relax. She has moved too much in the last year, and moving again seems inevitable. It’s not if. It’s when.
Nearby, Susan and Amy sit at a table having coffee. Susan is the woman who brought Daisy here from the cold animal shelter.
“Daisy seems like a really nice dog,” Amy says. “But it’s a strange name. She really doesn’t seem like a ‘Daisy’ to me.”
“I would have chosen a different name,” Susan says. “But that was the name her former owner gave her.”
Actually, Daisy’s name came from her original owner. Susan is Daisy’s fourth owner. Or is Susan the fifth owner? Who can keep count? Daisy certainly can’t. People come and people go. Today’s human is tomorrow’s memory.
“Of course,” Susan says, “people give all sorts of odd names to puppies. I sometimes wonder if they ever think that the tiny puppy will eventually be a fifty pound dog.”
Indeed, Daisy’s original owner thought Daisy was “the cutest little puppy ever!” She gave Daisy away once Daisy got “too big!”
“Do you wonder why Daisy’s last owner gave her up?” Amy asks.
“In this case, I know. The animal rescue said the last owner was seven months pregnant. She was worried that Daisy was too big to have around a baby. Or else Daisy was just a temporary ‘child’ while she was waiting to have a baby. Either is possible.” Susan sighs. “I can’t understand it, myself. I grew up with animals in the house. My parents had at least three dogs when I was born, and there was no question that they were staying!”
“Well, at least Daisy has a permanent home now.”
“Yes,” Susan says. “Unfortunately, I don’t think she believes that yet. She’s been through too much in the past.”
by John M. Carlson
From: Friday Flash Fiction