The puppy seemed happy. The robot made a little mechanical whirring noise as it bent over to pick up the ball. It stood up again. Then its arm cranked back, and with a mechanical thump sound, it launched the ball across the yard. The puppy barked happily and ran at his awkward stumbling pace to fetch it.
It got to the ball, snatched it up in its mouth and scampered back to the robot, dropping it on the ground in front of the mechanical boy with its dead, unblinking eyes to do it all over again.
The puppy ran. I watched. Its leg seemed to be healing. It seemed happy.
The robot boy looked nothing like me. Its skin looked rubbery. It's hair was obviously a wig. Its eyes were balls of glass that never blinked, never looked left or right, just stared straight ahead. It had this weird smile that almost looked painted on. I guess its all my mom and dad could afford, after all the funeral expenses.
The robot may be kind of ugly, but at least it had somehow taught the dog to play fetch. That's more than I could do. I threw that ball so many times, my arm was aching, and all the puppy would do was bite at my pants, and run around in circles. I was frustrated.
Then when Jake Hoffman and his buddies rode by on their hover bikes and started teasing me, it made me feel even worse. "You suck, Miller! That dog is smarter than you are! Give up, loser!" Then they all laughed.
I didn't say anything. I just picked up the ball and threw it again. The puppy bit my leg this time, instead of my pants. I gasped, and they all started laughing.
"What a fag! He screams like a little girl just over a dog bite! Wait til we tell everyone at school!"
Then they rode off.
Stupid dog! Stupid fucking dog! This time I threw the ball as hard as I could. It went right over our side fence, over the neighbour's front fence and bounced into the street. And you know what happened? This time the stupid puppy ran for it. He bolted before I could even catch him. He chased it right into the street.
I heard the squeal of tires, and a horrible scream of pain. I ran, and there was the little guy, dragging himself across the pavement, still trying to go after that stupid ball. I'll never forget the sad howling crying sound it was making. The woman in the car started screaming at me, too.
"You fucking idiot! Why don't you watch your damn fucking dog! I nearly hit a parked car! Fucking moron! Asshole!"
And then she got back in her car and drove off. I picked up the puppy and hurried into the house calling for my mom.
Well, there was over ten thousand dollars in vet bills. It set us back quite a bit. We nearly lost the house. Mom and dad wouldn't even talk to me for days. I heard them arguing about it, too. "I never even wanted that fucking dog! It was him who wanted it!"
Well, I didn't want it any more. I was sorry I'd gotten the stupid thing.
I got beat up at school, too. People said I probably broke the dog's legs myself. And then the rumours started circling, around and around, that yes, it was true. I beat the hell out of a puppy and broke both its legs. It didn't matter that that's not what happened at all. People just like to hate.
Even the teachers gave me dirty looks. Everybody loves dogs. And they didn't bother to find out of the rumours were even true.
Then one day my dad confronted me. "It wasn't really a car, was it? Just be honest." I tried to explain to him again about the woman in the car, driving off. I told him exactly what she said, what she looked like. He told me he'd asked around the neighbourhood. Nobody had seen anything.
"Well fine, then! I did it! I kicked the dog and broke both it's legs! I kicked it as hard as a speeding car! I might as well just admit it since nobody believes me anyway!"
"Uh huh," Dad said. And he walked away.
I died on October 17, 2084. I left a note saying, "I don't care if anyone believes me. It was a woman in a car. She was blonde. She drove away. But I don't even care anymore. You can all go to hell."
The puppy is doing well, now. It's got a weird little stumbling limp. But it's doing well. He's gotten so big, too. I come back to check on it now and then. I'm glad it finally learned to fetch, even from the ugly-looking robot they got to replace me.
Jake Hoffman and his buddies rode by again on their bikes like they usually do. They threw rocks at the robot like they usually do, only this time, the robot tipped right over and hit the ground with a clang. It couldn't get back up. I think they broke it. They laughed and rode away.
Dad fast-forwarded through hours of footage the robot had recorded, hours of the robot simply throwing the ball to the dog. Over and over and over again, never getting bored, never getting frustrated. Fast forward. Fast forward. I watched him. He seemed angry. He wanted to find out who was throwing rocks at the robo-boy.
He stopped on footage of a blonde woman stepping into our yard. She got out of her car and walked over to the dog. She looked down at it, and then stooped down to pet it. "I'm glad you made it," she said. "Damn, stupid kid should watch where he's throwing his ball."
Then she noticed the robot standing there and jumped a bit, startled. She hurried back to her car and drove off.
Dad cried for a long time. He hugged the robot and said sorry over and over and over again. The robot just stared at me with that weird, painted-on smile. But I wasn't even mad. I guess things are gonna be okay now. Robots don't lie.
