Motherthing

by Ainslie Hogarth

On Sunday mornings Ralph’s mother would sniff around the alley for discarded centerpieces and flower arrangements, accompanied from time to time by Irena from next door, and Irena’s dog, Cud, a fourteen-year-old Pomeranian, which hung from her hip like a colostomy bag and always had a look on his face like you’d forgotten to wish him a happy birthday.

What a sentence!