Prompt: What do you do when you inherit something that you don’t want?

The doorbell rang at midnight. Sarah’s eyes snapped open, then shut, trying to drag her back into the dreams that had kept her restless the past few nights. She shook her head and sat up, maneuvering her legs out from between the glaring cats and the still-snoozing dog. Some watch dog you are, she thought grumpily.

She grabbed her phone and pulled a robe around her as she ran down the stairs in bare feet. There was no way this could be good at this hour. Peering through the spyhole, she saw nothing. The dog appeared at her feet – About damn time -- and with that encouragement, she opened the door.

The package lay on her doormat. No address. Simple brown paper, tied with string. Hemp, she thought, as she stooped to pick it up. Oh no…

The dog whined and lay his head on her lap as she sat at the table, sipping water and staring at the package. Putting off the inevitable was only keeping her from going back to bed. Who was she kidding? She’d get no more sleep tonight. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the string. She gripped her fists tight, pressing them together in front of her heart—a warrior’s Namaste—before she reached out again.

It was time to go home.

#

“Last stop 110 miles,” Sarah read the sign to the dog as they pulled off the freeway. “Better stop, then.” She grimaced as she ruffled his fur. He sat upright in the passenger seat and whined softly. “Yes, you have to wear the leash here. But this is the last time.”

After walking him around the skimpy grass and sandy dirt, she looped the leash around the water bowl at the door. “Stay,” she said with the ghost of a smile. As if he would really obey her. As if he wouldn’t do anything she wanted.

Continued in Part 2…

Dogs in house:	Houdini
Music	Martine Kraft, Fragile Mind
Time writing	30 minutes
July word count	1,011