A Life of Certain Uncertainty

A flash fiction story about a good boy.

Ozzy died on a road trip to spend a long Labor Day weekend with my in-laws. He hadn’t been in the greatest of health for a few months, suffering the occasional seizure, but he’d lost none of his personality. He was still endlessly spastic and excitable. Cluelessly and joyfully bounding through life with what I liked to call “certain uncertainty.”

The only thing Ozzy was ever certain about was that everything was uncertain. He kept everyone on a hair trigger with his scatterbrained screeching and yipping anytime anything that he wasn’t prepared for happened.

Still, he endeavored to perform his duty as the family dog as best he could, and we loved him for it. For all his quirks, that dog sure did travel well. He never whined, never complained. Just curled up on the floor, or in someone’s lap, and passed the hours in the car in comfortable slumber.

We’d let him out at a rest stop to run around, get some fresh air, and re-hydrate. Next thing I know, he’s having the most intense seizure yet, his tongue lolling out of his tiny mouth. I picked him up and comforted him in those final moments as best as I knew how.

And then he was gone. Just a tiny, lifeless lump of fur in my arms. Leave it to Ozzy to go out in the most dramatic way possible.

He even crapped on me one last time in the process.

My wife and kids were devastated. Everyone cried for awhile after that. Even now, my youngest occasionally pipes up in his little toddler voice with, “I wish Auzy was here.”

As for me? Well, I was sad, and I didn’t think he would go quite so soon, but it’s kind of my way to just accept things as they are. Ozzy was alive one moment, then he wasn’t. Everyone dies eventually. That’s just how it is.

We buried him out behind my in-laws’ house on ten acres in Northern Virginia.

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It’s been almost two years. We haven’t gotten any new pets since. The wife and kids want a cat, and I’m not opposed to the idea, but I have enjoyed not having an animal in the house. Makes life simpler.

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I awake in the dead of night, wondering if I’m imagining things. Nope, there it is again: an obnoxious and screechy yelping sounding off in the backyard. I curse as I roll out of bed, thinking it has to be one of the neighbor’s pets. People in our neighborhood have a penchant for turning a blind eye and letting their animals run wild.

“What’s going on?” my wife slurs drowsily.

“Someone’s damn dog in the backyard.”

I deposit my phone into my shorts, grab my gun from the safe…just in case…then hobble down the stairs. My body’s still half asleep and unwilling to function properly. I stumble out the backdoor and into a balmy South Carolina midsummer night. The majestic live oaks and pines behind our house are swaying in the gentle breeze.

The animal making the racket hovers in the dark, just outside the reach of the backyard floodlight. I slowly approach, pull out my phone, and flick on the flashlight.

There stands Ozzy: as awkward, goggle-eyed, and gangly as ever. His fur is the lustrous black of a newborn puppy. No gray hairs. No signs of age or decay.

“What the Hell?” I say to no one in particular. Behind me, I hear my wife gasp in astonishment.

“Ozzy!” she shouts with joy. She kneels down and he leaps into her arms, smothering her with sloppy, adoring kisses.

“What…the…Hell…?” I repeat, more slowly. As if that will somehow make everything make sense. It’s then that I notice the piles of dirt. I point my flashlight and find a hole in the earth about two feet around. On hands and knees, I stick my phone down into the opening and see a small tunnel.

Dug from the north.

Amazed, I turn back toward my wife and reborn dog. “Ozzy, even when you die, everything certain is really uncertain.”

He waddles over to me, wagging his whole body in enthusiastic fervor.

“No one will ever believe this,” I marvel.

“Oh yes they will,” my wife states unequivocally as she posts the video she’s been filming to her Instagram story.

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If you enjoyed reading my Thoughts, consider showing your appreciation by helping to make my dream of quitting my day job a reality.

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Author’s Note: This flash fiction story was inspired by the June prompt from Fictionistas, as well as the passing of the real life Ozzy in September of 2021.