More entertainment for you

This is a story I wrote for creative writing class. It is not a true story, but it very well could be.

My gloveless,  frozen fingers reached out to push the garage door button. The door closed loudly as I walked inside my cozy house. I had been dreaming of this moment since I left the house before dawn this morning. The moment that Lucy, my Goldendoodle, would greet me at the door. She never fails to make me feel loved  upon my homecoming. Today, however, was a different story. There was no tail waving valiantly like a flag attached to a shaggy animal bounding toward me. There was no sticky, wet sensation of her warm tongue against my cold cheek. No. Only silence. A silence that let me to believe that something was terribly wrong. Before I turned on the light I noticed a peculiar smell was dominating my senses. I braced myself., closed my eyes tightly, and switched the light on. I opened my eyes one at a time. Oh no. Just before me on the floor was a large Pappa John’s pizza box that had been completely ripped to shreds. I looked on and saw the foil tin from a microwave lasagna dinner that I had crumpled up and thrown away was now in its original form and licked clean. Nearby, a used coffee filter lay. It looked innocent compared to slimy brown smears that now defaced my once flawless white kitchen tile. Chocolate pudding would make for a delightful finger painting project. Lucy’s paintings were not delightful, however, because a chocolate paw print is not cute when it is made of rotten pudding and coffee grounds. Now I needed to get across the kitchen without ruining a work of art. I began to tip-toe across the tile as if I expected to step on a land mine. One small step to avoid a banana peel, one giant leap to dodge the disturbed garbage can. From here I can see large, fudgy prints leading me to where I would find Lucy. Before I pursued her, I turned back to have another look at the damage. Where I used to see my glitteringly clean kitchen I now saw a disaster zone. “Deep breath” the angel on my shoulder tells me. “Kill her!” the devil on the opposite says. I follow the trail into my bedroom. I took the angel’s advise and breathed a sigh of relief. Lucy had not destroyed anything but the carpet. There on the floor she laid on her back, feet in the air, and sound asleep. Oblivious to the fact that I was present. I could have stomped toward her, picked her up by her fur and thrown her outside. But there was something about the way  she snored and wagged her tail as she dreamed that calmed the storm of anger inside of me. As I turned to go clean up her mess, I thought, “I’ll get the pizza crust out of her mouth later.”