The Blue Carrier

Chapter 1: Life

Every Thursday morning, Rufus sat inside the old blue pet carrier as if he were waiting for a train.

The carrier stayed beside the coat rack in Lena’s small apartment. Its plastic door no longer closed properly, and one corner had been repaired with silver tape. A faded veterinary sticker clung to the side, the ink washed pale by time.

Rufus did not need the carrier anymore. His appointments had become less frequent, and when he did visit the clinic, Lena carried him in a newer one with soft sides and a clean fleece lining.

Still, every Thursday, he climbed into the old carrier.

He circled twice, folded his orange paws beneath his chest, and watched the front door.

Gravy, the elderly brown dog who shared the apartment with him, usually slept nearby. His cloudy eyes opened whenever footsteps passed in the hallway, but he rarely lifted his head. He had learned that most sounds did not belong to them.

Lena had learned the same thing.

Their apartment was above a laundromat on a street lined with maple trees. In summer, the open windows let in the smell of detergent and hot pavement. In winter, the pipes knocked inside the walls, and Gravy slept beneath two blankets because his joints bothered him.

It was not the home Lena had once imagined.

When she was younger, she had pictured a white kitchen, a long wooden table, and someone humming while coffee brewed. She had saved pictures of sunny houses in a folder on her phone. There would be a fenced yard, she used to think. Perhaps a porch with hanging plants.