The Bright Side

I go downstairs to the kitchen. I have designs on finishing off all those chops. As I pass through the living room, I hear a low moaning.

“Dad?”

The moan again. He must be sitting in his easy chair, sunk down in the dimly lit room so I can’t see him.

“Dad? You feeling all right?”

“God no.”

“Indigestion?”

“Worse.”

“It can’t be all that bad.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you were an antelope.”

I rush around to the front of the chair.

“Come on, now. That’s ridiculous.”

But the words are barely out of my mouth before I see my father. There he sits; a slender, beautiful antelope. He looks very sad.

“Life is miserable.”

He reaches his hooves over to the end table, trying to grab his beer can between the two small things. It slips away from him and foams onto the floor. He leans his head back in the chair and groans again.

“I hope you’re not ashamed of me,” he says.

“Of course not.”

I pick up the beer can and pour what’s left into my palm. I proffer my hand toward my father. As though he can't control himself, he laps greedily at the beer. He politely wipes some foam from his fur with a shiny hoof.

“Better get some sleep,” I say and playfully shake one of his antlers.

In the kitchen, eating my chops, I hear him get out of the recliner.

“Hey!” he calls. “This isn’t so bad!”

I go into the living room.

“Look at this! I can walk on my hind legs!”

He’s drunk, I think. He obviously licked the remainder of the beer out of the carpet. I try not to think about him doing such a degrading thing. Now he’s heading for the stairs.

“You be careful with those stairs,” I caution.

“Oh, I think I can handle it,” he says and twitches his little tail as he shakily climbs the stairs.

I don't want to think about what he’ll do next.