Amy wiped her nose on the fresh bandage. She had not foreseen the need for a handkerchief. She didn’t think that she’d miss George, but on the way home from the animal adoption center, she couldn’t stop bawling. Her view of the stoplight was like the blurry view from behind a water-sheeted windshield at the carwash. A utility truck drove up beside her and the driver stared openly at her as she sobbed.
It had been a week since the day George bit her, and her arm was infected. It hurt like hell. She was on antibiotics, which she couldn’t afford, and her waitress job was now in jeopardy. She hadn’t really loved George, but she knew he hadn’t meant to bite her. It wasn’t the bite that made her give him up. She had just faced that she wasn’t taking good care of him, and that he deserved a better home. She put a B-52s CD in the player, and drove forward when the light turned green.
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