My family, for supporting me
My friends, for the same reason
Dravin Neil, for the name, and just for being a good friend
And last but not least, all of the dogs I used to own. Their names, in the order that I had them:
Demon – Siberian Husky
Lexy – Siberian Husky
Ike – Siberian Husky
Jupiter – Half Boxer (not sure what the other half was)
Chaz – Siberian Husky, and the picture below is actually a picture of Chaz, not Ike. And he's in my kitchen, not Dravin's.
Ike in Dravin's kitchen
A Boy And His Dog
Dravin bolted up, soaked in a cold sweat and shaking violently. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and put his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. After a moment he raised his head and shook it, clearing any drowsiness that the nightmare hadn't. He got up and stretched, glad that it was summer break. No more sneering faces, no more whispers and taunts. Just freedom. He didn't bother putting on a shirt or changing out of his pajama pants.
His aunts bedroom was downstairs, as was everything she needed. She never came upstairs. As soon as he had moved in with her after his parents died, she had told him he was going to stay upstairs. There was a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, a bathroom, and his bedroom, as his aunt had had the upstairs remodeled so he wouldn't come downstairs. Strange, maybe, but he loved it that way. It was like he had his own little world sort of.
He went into the kitchen to the refrigerator and pulled out some left-overs to heat up. He looked warily toward the sink. The dishes he so hated were slowly piling up. He ate breakfast, then got started on them. He had always had his own system, starting with the silverware, then did cups, then plates, then bowls, then the pots and pans.
After they were done, Dravin went into the living room where he did twenty-five push-ups and two-hundred sit-ups before heading over to the treadmill. He checked the time. One thirty-seven am. He turned the treadmill on, then ran back to the kitchen to get his water bottle out of the fridge. When he got back to the machine and started running, he let his thoughts wander as usual.
They drifted back to his dream. Where had he been? And why had he been there? All he could remember was a bright yellow light, excruciating pain in his shoulder blades, and a feeling of weightlessness.
Then his thoughts turned to his mislaid MP.3 player. He couldn't find it anywhere. He greedily gulped down half of the water in the bottle then refocused on running, setting the speed on the treadmill to the max. Later, when he looked at the clock again, it was three-thirty. He turned the mill off and took another drink, then went out to the kitchen, refilled the water bottle and put it back in the fridge. He yawned, absently rubbing his back with his left hand as he stretched with his right, and felt the old scar that he had gotten in the plane crash that had taken his parents when he was thirteen. He pulled his hand away from it hastily, not wanting to think about what his life could've been, as he so often did when he felt his scar.
He went into the bathroom, undressed and pulled a towel off the rack, and put it on the toilet lid so he could reach it easily once he was done in the shower. Stepping through the sliding doors, he cursed as his foot bumped the bottle of Axe shampoo, knocking it over and spilling over half the contents onto the bottom of the tub. He picked it up and cursed again, shaking his head. He turned on the water and adjusted the temperature to his liking, then took down the flex-hose shower head to spray on the spilled shampoo, rinsing it down the drain, and took his shower.
When he was done, about an hour later, he turned the water off and, not stepping out of the tub, grabbed his towel and dried off. After he put his pajama pants back on, he went to the sink, brushed his teeth, and put his black hair back into its style, spiky and short in the back with his bangs long and covering his right eye. Almost as soon as he was done, there was a scratching at the door. Dravin smiled to himself and went to the end of the hallway.
"Stop it, Ike," He laughed, "you're gonna wake May up." Ike, a beautiful one year old Siberian Husky, just barked and continued his relentless scratching. Still smiling, Dravin opened the door and Ike bounded in, jumping up on Dravin's bare chest trying to lick his face. Dravin was glad there was a door blocking the hallway to the stairs that led into Aunt Mays domain. She didn't like Ike at all.
Dravin took Ike into the kitchen and fed him. When Ike was finished eating and drinking, Dravin wrestled him into the bathroom to give him a shower.
"Boy, you ain't had a shower in... well... a long time," he told Ike, "so I don' wanna hear it." Ike seemed to laugh and stopped struggling. The truth was, he had given Ike a shower last month, which wasn't that long ago for a dog. Dravin didn't really like to pamper Ike with grooming and such and could not understand why he did it anyway.
He got himself and Ike into the shower and closed the door behind him, but not before checking the clock. Five o'clock. After his struggle with Ike, he opened the door that Ike had come in and they both went outside. Ike bounded into the woods. Dravin shook his head, smiling, and walked down the stairs onto the still dewy grass. He enjoyed the cool air on his hot skin for a while, then lay down and fell asleep on the grass.