The kitchen table breathed deeply and rhythmically.  It stretched itself with a sigh; joints cracking.  The morning light knocked on the windows, disturbed the dusty green and yellow checked curtains, and extended its long fingers in to explore the familiar room.

On the counter was a vase with three snowdrops - the first - their elegant heads askew where the stems had been crushed by the children's overly-eager hands.  The morning paper lay there too, untidily refolded with its dignity somewhat rumpled: it was already middle-aged in newspaper years.  The mother's mobile, forgotten in the pocket of her winter coat, rang urgently and somewhat ill-tempered, but when it didn't wake any reaction it gave up, offended.  The dog woke up from the noise and its claws beat an irregular tick-tack on the floor, back and forth a few times until it sank down on its rug again with a dejected sigh. Yet a while to wait. On the table dishes and crumbs.

Suddenly a key was heard in the lock, and after a pause the door opened with a reserved squeak.  The dog's muscles were fully alert, anxious and eager, ears perked, tail straight out.  Why was somebody home?  If someone came home this early in the day they never wanted to play, hardly smiled, just threw their bag in the corner and lay on their bed, coughing.  The dog's cold, curious nose was gently shoved away with a "Not now, Estelle. I'm sick."  Then she had to slink back to her corner and lay quietly.

However, it was not the boy who entered, nor was it the girl or the mom.  First she thought it was A Stranger and she raised her hackles, her legs stiffened and a growl started deep down in her throat.  She was Estelle the Terrifying Guard Dog: true, she wasn't even up to most people's knees, but she was fearless and would defend House, Home and Honor!  Just watch out!  But the man knew her.  "Estelle", came his taut voice, "It's me, Alex.  Don't bark, and you'll get a treat."  Treats always win over caution, so the dog went up to him with her tail wagging cautiously at first, then more freely.

She sniffed at his shoe, as he had covered his hands with rubber gloves, and now she recognized him!  He was The Man Mom Got When She Forgot The Keys.  But now he was nervous and impatient, and shoved her curious nose away irritatedly.  That didn't stop her from following close on his heels when he started wandering around the apartment.  She pranced happily after him, glad to have company, but he ignored her spitefully while he walked quickly and purposefully from room to room.

When he reached mom's room she halted.  She wasn't allowed there; that had been drummed in her ever since she was a puppy.  "No, Estelle.  Stop.  Not in here."  She sat down and whined, sure he would understand.  "Quiet, mutt!" he hissed, and continued in.  She barked a little louder: Come back!  And he came, so she wagged her tail as hard as she could, dancing back and forth in the doorway.

She felt something hit her side and she flew backwards across the hall and into the opposite wall.  She sat up, confused, questioning.  "Your foot happened to hit me when you were coming over to pet me.  It's alright, it was a mistake, I understand."  She wagged her tail forgivingly and went up to him again.

He kicked again, harder, and this time she saw it coming, tried to run, duck, but too late.  With a shriek of pain she flew across the room and landed on her side beside a table.  Something cracked.  With her last strength she dragged herself under the bed and lay pressed up against the wall, shaking.

The man's footsteps, drawers being opened and shut, undetermined thumps.  The door opening, the mom's shriek, the children's frightened questions.  Police, sirens.  Angry cries.  Chaos, silence.  The crumbs and dishes still laying unmoved on the table.

Many hours passed before they remembered Estelle.  She didn't come, didn't answer, maybe didn't hear.  She had internal bleedings, and by the time they found her it was too late.  And you can't redo life, no matter how much you may want to.