My Sun Went Down

Michael Bettendorf

via Unstamatic

She stares at me like I’m an idiot, like I don’t understand it’s too cold for the pads of her feet. I scoop a trench in the yard for her to squat when she’s ready. Repeat after me. Take her out every forty-five minutes and she won’t shit on the carpet. I bring her in, set her on the bed, where my wife is wrapped up, always cold. I get a glass of water, pain meds. She stares at me like I’m an idiot, like I don’t understand the dog’s a distraction. Something to take care of when she’s gone.


Michael Bettendorf (he/him) is a writer from the Midwest. His most recent work has appeared/is forthcoming at The Horror Tree, The Martian Magazine, The Razor, and elsewhere. He works in a high school library in Lincoln, NE – a place he tries to convince the world is too strange to be flyover country. You can find him on Twitter @BeardedBetts and www.michaelbettendorfwrites.com.

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