Trigger Warning: Death of a pet.
Another day of monotonous work called for me as soon as I stepped through the doors of the post office. I’d driven the same route over, and over, and over again, delivering mail that I knew served no purpose other than to be thrown away. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. It seemed pointless, but it was just about my only option for work. And I would be damned if I fell in with a clique of feral teenagers at some greasy fast food place. I was alone, with no one else to provide for besides myself, so I intended it to be a temporary role until I could find something more satisfying. At least, that’s what I’d been telling myself over the past few years. Searching for other roles led to dead ends every which way I looked. With no other opportunities, I was stuck here for the foreseeable future.
Over the years, I realized that spring was the most bearable season to work. Brisk mornings like today would eventually warm up to the point where driving around felt comfortable. Not enjoyable—the driving itself was never enjoyable. But it could be comfortable. Before heading out to start my shift, my postal manager stopped me.
“J.D., I have you on a new route starting today. ”
“You do? Why? Are people pissed with how I deliver their precious mail?” I had meant for that to be sarcasm, but it wasn’t interpreted as such.
“Not that I know of… anyways, your new route is marked in your truck. It’s a little bit bigger than your last route, so make sure you manage your time well.”
Bigger? The last route wasn’t fun in the slightest. I couldn’t tell if it stemmed from its size, or just how boring it was. There was no exciting scenery, unless you enjoyed depressingly dull infrastructure that was inhabited by people who were just as depressed. Now that route was replaced with something even larger and probably equally as boring. One could hope that the new route would offer some life. I wasn’t counting on it. I nodded and left, cursing him under my breath.
My truck had to have some sort of mechanical issue. Its fumes always found their way into the cabin somehow. I had splitting headaches at the end of each day, and today was no different. A new route wouldn’t fix this. Mid-afternoon had arrived, and I came upon the last few houses I needed to deliver precious junk to. Surprisingly, the new neighborhood had some vibrance to it. The trees were in the process of leafing out, flowers were growing, and the scent of fresh-cut grass was thankfully stronger than the fumes. It was normal, sure. But it was an aspect of life that I was missing out on.
On the corner of the last street sat a small but cozy-looking gray single-story house. The front yard was fenced in, with the mailbox attached to the siding right outside the front door. Of course the last house I had to deliver to required me to get out of my truck. I opened the gate and hurried up to the box. Before I could reach it, though, an older woman, likely in her sixties, opened the door to meet me.
“You’re new. What happened to the old guy?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am. I was just told that I’m delivering to this route now.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. I really liked the other one.”
I know she didn’t mean that as an insult, but it was difficult to think of it as anything else. Without saying another word, I handed her the mail. She thanked me and turned to head inside, until something stopped her. A golden retriever puppy appeared from the door. The adorable little thing waddled over to greet me and gave me a few kisses. Before long, the ball of fluff was running around me, at least as much as it could with its stubby legs.
“Bentley, get back in here! I’m sorry, sir, she’s not supposed to get out.”
“It’s no worry. I love dogs, especially little pups. She’s adorable.”
I gave Bentley a few pets before she turned back for the house. The door shut behind the two of them. As I got back into my truck, a subtle smile painted my face. It was a nice little surprise to end my shift.
The summer afternoons made the truck cabin stuffy. Now it was neither enjoyable nor comfortable. I started looking once again for job opportunities, but yet again, no luck. At the very least though, that little dog made the delivery of useless letters in the sweltering heat somewhat bearable. The house at the end of the street quickly became the highlight of the route.
Each day I fired up the truck, I had the end in mind. My headaches started to subside ever so slightly. After working the route for a little over a year, I’d gotten to know the woman decently well. Her name was Sylvia, though I suppose that was apparent based on what was addressed to her. She lived alone, and told me that she got Bentley to fill the quiet of the house. I learned that her husband had passed away a little while back, and Bentley brought Sylvia out of isolation. In this time, I’d come to terms with the fact that this job might not be one of the worst positions in the world. People like Sylvia were refreshing. Of course, each time I’d visit, I’d throw a ball for Bentley. A few tosses turned into a dozen. A few minutes turned into half an hour. At the end of every week I’d bring a rawhide for her. My postal manager had been growing frustrated that I’d arrive back at the office later than normal. I chalked it up to being stuck in traffic. Driving still sucked, but it sucked a little less each day.
Now that Bentley was in her teen phase, Sylvia’s hands were full with a furry ball of energy, and she had some trouble keeping up. Sylvia wanted to take Bentley on walks around the neighborhood, but a hip replacement limited her ability to do so frequently. With no family at home and no other time-consuming hobbies on my off days, I’d offer to walk Bentley for her. Sylvia was a little hesitant at first, but eventually agreed that it would benefit everyone involved. Sylvia would have a little time to rest, Bentley would tire out, and I could have some time with the pup that was happy to see me every day.
Bentley and I would go meet the other dogs around the neighborhood. Though she was a little shy at first, Bentley eventually warmed up to her new four-legged friends on the block. Occasionally I’d take her to get ice cream, but I never told Sylvia about that. I’d also take her to a park that was close by so she could have more space to run. When I’d take her off the leash, I could no longer tell if she was at the park or in heaven. It was Bentley’s world, and I just happened to live in it.
On a comfortably warm summer evening, Bentley and I returned to the park that seemed to be her paradise. All of it seemed to be hers, and she pranced around as if she was very well aware of this. The cool grass was hers. The towering trees were hers. The cicadas and their buzzing were hers as well. We stopped under one of the tallest trees in the park and I took off her leash. She knew what happened next. I didn’t even have to tell her to sit anymore. When she sat, she got the ball. Her ball. I held the purple rubber sphere in front of her, and her eyes grew to the size of melons. With ears perked up, saliva dripping from her panted breaths, and quick paw taps, she was most certainly ready. She barked her confirmation.
The ball left my hand, and once it caught air, I knew it was going to go far. She darted off quicker than I’d even seen before. Her eyes on the prize, that ball was going to be hers, no matter how far she needed to go or how quick she needed to be. Bentley traveled from one end of the park to the other in a matter of seconds. With a leap, she grabbed the ball in the air, and returned to the ground, still in stride. Back with her prized possession, she dropped it at my feet, looked up, and gave me a wide toothy smile. This was the happiest I’d ever seen her. This was also the happiest I’d been in a long time as well. I didn’t have much, and neither did Bentley. But we both had each other. Getting a dog was something that had always been on my mind, so I could also fill the void similar to Sylvia’s. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to give it the care it needed, though. But here was Bentley, who felt like my dog.
Each passing fall had been cooler and cooler. The leaves would start to drop earlier year-to-year, which painted the neighborhood in beautiful shades of orange and yellow. For Halloween, Sylvia would dress Bentley up in a costume. This year, Bentley, with Sylvia’s influence, wanted to be a witch, so she became the most believable witch imaginable, besides the fact that this witch wagged her tail. Her black robe fit a little too tightly, but she didn’t seem to care. Her nonchalant nature was the best thing about her. She even had a black hat that contrasted with her whitening face. She was more beautiful than ever before.
At this point, Bentley was trained to pick up the mail at the gate and bring it back to the house. She couldn’t find it within herself to run over to me anymore as she once had. The passage of time was painted on her face by each of her white hairs. Time slowed, and so did Bentley. Instead, she traveled to me with a little pep in her step. She didn’t let her age control her excitement. After doing a good job, she’d reward herself by slowing down and walking back to the house. We’d stopped going on walks as often as we once had. Sometimes Bentley didn’t feel up to it. I heard that she was now on medication to help with her arthritis. The changing weather didn’t help either. By the time I could meet them on my off days, the nights had gotten awfully chilly. And not to mention, with how early it got dark, walking around at night was difficult in itself, too. Every now and then we’d still go out, but I missed the frequency. Why do seasons change as quickly as they do?
With each snowfall, in my time off, I would shovel a path from Sylvia’s front door to the gate. There was no sense in risking her health with the elements, and doing so made it easier for Bentley to get the mail, the few times she did, anyway. Still though, I was a little disappointed to not see them as often. The route started to feel dull. I’d gotten so discouraged that no other job opportunities turned up. Of course, I’d still see Sylvia and Bentley whenever I could, but the cold started to take its toll on me. I wanted to be done with it. Unfortunately though, with no way out, I came to terms with the fact that delivering mail was going to be it.
The cabin of my truck could no longer hold in heat. For the majority of my shifts I drove around with ice in my nostrils and beard. Winter was always my least favorite of the seasons. The road conditions sucked, which was only made worse when riding around in a good-for-nothing hunk of metal. I couldn’t tell you how many crashes I almost got into because of a lack of traction. Consequently, I worked slowly—slower than I would’ve hoped. In an odd way, though, it was fitting. Life around me seemed to do the same.
I didn’t see Sylvia much anymore, though I couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay inside when she could. More often than not, I’d bring the mail up to the house again because neither of them wanted to come out. However, on most days, by the time I returned to my truck, I’d usually see Sylvia slightly crack the door to retrieve what was hers. One day when I briefly talked with Sylvia, she told me that she ordered a pair of reindeer antlers for Bentley. Sylvia’s sessions of dressing Bentley up had carried over to Christmas. As opposed to everything else I delivered, the antlers weren’t junk. They were one of the few items I was excited to deliver.
A few days later, as I arrived on one of the coldest afternoons to date, the snow started to fall once more. The flakes were huge, and I knew that before long the ground would be freshly blanketed. It was perfect timing, with me being at the end of the route. I would be able to get back to the office in time before the streets got too bad. I placed Sylvia’s mail in her box and headed back for the truck. I didn’t hear the door open or the mailbox close, but I just assumed she was keeping warm inside. Back in the truck, I glanced over at the house. Still no sign of either of them. I hadn’t seen Bentley in a little while, which didn’t surprise me. But no sign of Sylvia did.
A day later, I noticed that Sylvia must’ve left and come back since I’d been here last. Through the fresh powder, I saw her footprints lead out through the front gate and back to the house. Bentley had been out through the gate as well, but not back to the house.
Confused, I reached for Sylvia’s two items that were due today. One was a small package that came from a holiday company. I shook the box and it chimed back with the ringing of bells. It was the reindeer antlers. Honestly, I was probably more excited that the antlers were here than Sylvia. I was tempted to put them on Bentley myself. The other item was a postcard from a local veterinary hospital, which had a heart made of paw prints on the cover. I couldn’t fight the temptation to read it.
Your dog will leave you memories that stay inside your heart. They’ll bring you smiles forever, even when you feel apart.
I took a few minutes before continuing, hoping more than anything that the card had been sent by mistake.
With heartfelt sympathy for the loss of Bentley. May memories of joyful moments together bring you comfort during this difficult time, signed by all of the veterinarians on staff.
After staring at these words for what seemed to be an eternity, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. My hands shook as if I were loaded up with caffeine. Just as quickly, though, I went numb. I couldn’t feel the rumbling of the truck, nor could I feel the cold anymore. My thoughts came to a halt. A minute went by, then two, then three, until I lost track.
Routine finally kicked in. My hands fumbled with the door handle, but I managed to get it open. Instantly I caught a sheet of ice. The landing didn’t hurt, and I thought about staying down. Getting up meant returning to where I started, not just in this physical spot, but with where I started this job. Bentley was gone, and she took my tolerance for this work with her. More importantly, she took a piece of me with her. As I laid on my back, I pulled the postcard to my chest. I wanted to leave, to keep the antlers and forget the postcard even existed. It was wrong—illegal even—but tempting; tempting to put that which had brought me so much joy to rest. Bentley was still Sylvia’s dog, though, even if Bentley seemed to enjoy her time with me.
A dog barked in the distance, which snapped me out of my trance. I hoped it was Bentley, but I had the physical proof that it wasn’t. As my senses came back, though, I realized that Sylvia didn’t need to see me out here like this. Once I stood up, I stuffed the postcard in my coat pocket and grabbed the box with the antlers. Slowly, I shuffled my way over to the gate and up to Sylvia’s front door. The mailbox sat there, filled with the letters I delivered yesterday. I took a deep breath and glanced back at the truck, and then, with a sigh, I knocked and waited. A minute passed. Nothing. I could still leave if she didn’t answer. But even then, it was already too late to turn back.
Reluctantly, I knocked once again, and Sylvia, with bloodshot eyes pedestaled on dark bags, opened the door. Without even saying a word, she melted into me.
Hunter Nixdorf is a senior at Rocky Mountain College, located in Billings, Montana. There, he is double-majoring in creative writing and communications. His writing adventures include being an editor for The Rocky Mountain Review, the college’s student-led literary journal. After college, he plans to become a sports journalist. In his work, he focuses on how characters interact with their environment and strives to make them feel like more than just names on a piece of paper. Focusing on emotionally vulnerable narratives is also an aspect that he enjoys bringing to life.