The Mad and the MacAbre by Jeff Strand

Gary was allergic to dogs but
owned goldfish, which he flushed and replaced on a regular basis so
as not to disturb his daughter, who tended to overfeed them.
Jessica desperately wanted a puppy, something that would stay
small, but her apartment complex didn't allow pets. And Alicia had
three cats, Wilson, Puffs, and Jagged Edge, each named by one of
her children. Charlie hadn't known that she had children.
    Three kids. Wow. Charlie had never expected
to love a dog, but the idea of having a girlfriend with three kids
was almost inconceivable. He was really glad that she'd declined
his offer for coffee. He smiled to himself, thinking that this had
been a productive social outing after all.
    They stayed for another hour, with Charlie
successfully carrying his fifth of the conversational load. Gary
was the first to excuse himself, and everybody else simultaneously
agreed that it was time to head home.
    "Did you enjoy yourself?" Alicia asked, as
they walked out of the restaurant and headed for their
vehicles.
    "Yeah," said Charlie, surprised that he
didn't have to lie.
    "Join us next week?"
    "I might."
    She didn't give him a kiss or a hug or any
of the things that Charlie would've originally considered the only
possible benefit from going out with the group--just a friendly pat
on the arm. And Charlie was fine with that.
    * * *
    He picked out three Frisbees: a light blue
one, a dark blue one, and a glow-in-the-dark green one. That way
he'd have extras if any of them got lost or Kutter chewed them up
to the point where it impacted their aerodynamics. When he got
home, he let Kutter out of the basement, put on his leash, and ran
with him to the park, at least for the first couple of blocks,
after which Charlie walked fast while Kutter tugged on his leash
and stopped occasionally to smell things.
    The glow-in-the-dark Frisbee didn't glow
worth crap, but Kutter was still able to catch it. Charlie tried to
keep track of how many times he threw the Frisbees, until he lost
count around twenty-eight and decided that it didn't really matter.
This time, Charlie was amused to find that Kutter ran out of energy
before him, although to be fair, Kutter was doing the vast majority
of the running.
    * * *
    As Charlie lay in bed, with Kutter asleep at
his feet, he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten to worry about
the police returning based on new evidence against him. Odds were,
he'd gotten away with his impulse kill. Though he never planned to
do anything even remotely that reckless again, it was kind of nice
to know that even when he had a huge lapse in his better judgment,
he could evade arrest.
    He got a great night's sleep, and dreamt
about working in a dog biscuit factory.
    * * *
    The next evening, it was finally time for
their steak dinner celebration. Charlie dragged his rarely used
grill out into his backyard, applied a generous helping of lighter
fluid because he enjoyed the whoosh of the fireball, and tossed a
match onto the pile of charcoal. When the coals were ready, he
brought out two thick New York strip steaks and tossed them on the
grill. He liked his steaks medium rare. In the cartoons, dogs
always ate raw steaks, but Charlie didn't want to risk Kutter
getting worms, so he cooked the dog's steak medium rare as
well.
    Kutter whined and twitched and licked his
chops over and over as Charlie cut his steak into small pieces.
"Chill out," Charlie told him. "I don't want you to choke."
    The dog, clearly unconcerned with the
potential choking hazard, let out an impatient bark.
    Charlie set Kutter's bowl on the floor,
watching as the dog proceeded to gobble the steak down so quickly
that it might as well have been a bowl of Alpo, considering how
little time the food spent in contact with Kutter's tongue. Charlie
elected to savor his own meal in a much more leisurely manner, and
also enjoyed a side dish of a fully loaded baked potato. Because he
was in a really good mood, and it was a celebration dinner, Charlie
gave Kutter the last