---
title: "My Precious"
date: 2024-02-05
tags:
- shorts
- psychological
- featured
---

**Summary:** Max tries to save his dog, but it's not enough.

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**A/N: we take some creative liberties re: symptoms of cancer / its rate of progression!**

The day you got your dog was the happiest day of your life. Your dog didn't yell at you whenever you delivered a pizza five minutes late. Your dog never complained when you didn't add enough sugar to her coffee. No matter how you complained over and over again how you weren't getting enough sleep, Susie was always there at the end of the day to greet you, a welcome bark and an expectant gaze ready for treats and a run. For every high and every low, your little bundle of joy was right by your side.

The day your dog became sick was the saddest day of your life.

The first signs were small: she didn't eat as much, and you noticed that she shed more fur than usual. But she was still the same playful golden retriever you knew.

Out of an abundance of caution, you decided to get her checked out at your local vet.

"There's a cancerous tumour at the base of her right lung." The vet shakes her head, her tone grave. You cast a worried glance at Susie's sleeping form on the examination table. "I'm sorry, Mr. Haltmann. You're lucky you caught it this early, but it's growing fast. My diagnosis is that it'll become terminal in a few months."

Your mouth dries. "What can I do?"

The vet taps her clipboard. "She'll need surgery. I can direct you to a place, but the cost can be upwards of five thousand dollars."

"Anything for Susie," you say, shaking your head. You're already crunching the numbers, but at the very least, you'll have to scrimp and save and start working a third job to save her. But it's worth it.

All of this is for Susie, the beloved dog who kept you company for the last four years.

---

"I suppose that that's settled, Mr. Haltmann. Welcome to Hotel Trivago. You'll be starting Monday."

"Thank you!" Your cheeks hurt from the grin you're restraining from spreading across your face, but you keep it professional long enough to shake your interviewer's hand. As you leave the building, there's a bounce in your step and you're humming that pop song you heard over the radio in your eleventh-hand car.

You trip over a bag of dog food and end up skidding to a stop before Susie's lethargic figure. "I promised you, Susie," you whisper in her ear. "I got a job. And that means that we're on our way there." You squeeze her paws. Susie lifts her head and tilts it at you, before she sets it down again, closing her eyes.

"Hang on just a little longer, please."

The hotel housekeeping work pays you $500, after which you'll be one-tenth of the way there. You haven't fallen over yet, although juggling four part-time jobs at once is still a struggle.

All of this is for Susie, your life and joy that kept you going for so long. You can't wait until the day you can play fetch with her once again.

---

It's not enough, you realise. You need more. You read online that taking care of yourself was most important, no matter what you might be going through, but you can't take your mind off of Susie. It's with a heavy heart that you make sure to feed yourself a nutritious meal every day while you know how much she's suffering.

A customer at the coffee shop you work at mentioned that tech is the place to be for veterans and newcomers alike, with plenty of jobs at many different skill levels. It'll be a time investment. Time that you might not have, but it's your best shot.

After you come home from your cashier gig at Walmart every evening, you go straight to the library and learn web development until closing time.

All of this is for Susie, your lovely little cat that needs a new leg. You can't wait to see her climbing up everywhere and gleefully shredding furniture with her claws once again.

---

"Already?" your manager says, her brow furrowed as she squints at your resignation papers. "You've only been working here for a year. You've been doing good work, too. Bradley hardly ever complains about your code."

"Sorry, Joyce. I got an offer from Google. They're paying me triple what you guys do, and I need the money." Even though you didn't get along too well with your colleagues, you feel a twinge of regret in your gut. These guys treated you well, and you learned so much. You almost feel ready for the big step.

She sighs, setting down the documents. "I understand. Software engineers," she muses. "They all come and go like the wind. Always chasing the rainbow. We're going to need you to document your work these last two weeks. Bradley'll take point for the knowledge transfer."

"I appreciate it, Joyce." Internally, you let out a sigh of relief. She took it better than you'd expected. You thought the crabby woman would have tried to hold you back. Hope blossoms in your chest for the future as you make your way up in the world.

All of this is for Susie, your estranged daughter who left you until you could fix your life. You can't wait to see her expression when she sees who you've become.

---

She doesn't move. You stare ever more intently at her still form, waiting. It's all out of your hands now. If your calculations were correct, then…

"Mr. Haltmann, sir! Mr. Haltmann! I have urgent news!" Your office door clatters open. The glass walls around you let the midday sun shine into the hallway, illuminating a young man waving a sheaf of documents.

You chuckle. "Mr. Borparner, all news is urgent to the right ears. But do go on. What is it?"

"Their board of directors agreed! They're willing to sell you NVIDIA at market valuation, sir — I can't believe it!"

You lace your fingers together, resting them on the mahogany desk before you. "Excellent. Prepare a press release right away. I want the deal finalised before the day ends."

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!"

The door slams shuts behind Borparner. You return to the chessboard sitting on your desk in front of you. The opposing queen wobbles, then falls over, knocking over the king in the process. "I suppose that that's over, then."

All of this is for Susie Inc, your heart and soul. You can't wait to see how her stock will jump once the trade opens tomorrow morning.

---

It's midday when you return to your empty house. You should buy a new house. Move somewhere nicer. This one holds a lot of sentimental value to you, but you can afford better now. You deserve better now. It holds a lot of sentimental value to you, but you can only fiddle with the keyhole so many times before you replace it. Day after day, the wasted time adds up.

A voice from the lawn next door calls out to you. "Max! Heya, neighbour. I heard you were raising money for your dog. How's she doing?"

You stare at her blankly. "What dog?"

The key finally clicks, letting you inside. Absently, you kick a persistently heavy towel away. It's starting to smell, too. How long has it been since you last did laundry? You tell your new servants to clean it up.