For his eighth birthday he received the leash without anything connected. A gag gift from an uncle who found loneliness to be amusing. Walking around pretending, double-taking folks, playing the joke is what you ought to do.
Tommy, meanwhile, was not playing. He called her Ghost. Gave her invisible kibble sharp at six o'clock. Walked her in the drizzle. Her mother sat at the window, concern wrinkling her forehead like poor origami, wondering whether this was typical or the sort of thing you call someone about.
The ideal aspect of invisible canines is that they are ideal. They never die.Never bite the neighbor's toddler.Never crap on the carpet, get cancer, or drive into traffic.Their loyalty remains just as you require of them. They hear every secret and never disclose.Tommy's counselor identified it as a defense technique. His father departing, the new school, the youngsters who made loneliness a sport. She said he'd outgrow it.
He is thirty-four years old presently. No leash any longer. But occasionally he still arranges two bowls late at night in his house. Still tells good girl to the vacant space next to his couch. Still believes something loves him presses against his leg still. His girlfriend thinks he's talking to himself.