The Leash of Discord
“Daniel, get up and take Duke for a walk—I’m not a machine!” Andrew Bennett slapped his palm against the kitchen table, making the half-empty mugs rattle. The room smelled of burnt toast, freshly brewed coffee, and the faint musk of a dog. Outside, April sunlight flooded the council estate, where children already raced around the playground. Duke, a scruffy golden retriever with a mangled toy in his mouth, lay by the door, his sad brown eyes fixed on the leash hanging from the hook. His tail gave a half-hearted thump, but the family was too wrapped up in their quarrel to notice.
Daniel, their fifteen-year-old son, was hunched over his phone, absorbed in a noisy racing game. His wireless earbuds dangled around his neck, and his black hoodie—emblazoned with “Game Over”—was speckled with crumbs from last night’s crisps.
“Dad, I walked him yesterday!” he muttered, not looking up. “Let Sophie do it—she always ducks out!”
Sophie, their nineteen-year-old university student, barely glanced up from her laptop. Her dark hair was tied in a messy bun, shadows under her eyes from an all-night study session for her sociology exam. She wore an oversized uni hoodie.
“Me?” she scoffed. “Daniel, you’re the one who wanted Duke—you walk him! I’ve got an essay due, I can’t be dragging that dog out every five minutes!”
Louise, their mother, strode into the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron embroidered with daisies. Her fair hair was mussed from cleaning, and her voice trembled with exhaustion.
“Enough shouting!” she snapped, slamming a frying pan onto the stove where oil hissed. “Andrew, you promised to take Duke out this morning! And you two—you begged for a dog and now I’m stuck with him!”
Andrew, a forty-five-year-old engineer, set aside the local paper, where he’d been reading about strikes at the factory. His stubble glinted in the morning light as he scowled.
“Me? Louise, I leave for work at six! Daniel’s the one who wanted Duke—let him handle it!”
Duke whimpered, dropping his battered rubber duck as if sensing the storm. His tail gave a feeble wag, but the kitchen had become a battlefield—a dog no longer just a pet, but a symbol of the family’s chaos.
By evening, the argument reignited. Louise cooked dinner—sizzling sausages, bubbling mash—while Duke lay by the door, his mournful gaze locked on the untouched leash. Daniel battled virtual cars in the living room, game screams drowning out the telly where Andrew watched football highlights. Sophie typed furiously in her room, energy drink cans littering her desk.
“Daniel, did you walk Duke?” Louise called, stirring the mash with a wooden spoon.
Daniel didn’t look up as his virtual car crashed. “Nope. Sophie’s turn—I’m busy.”
Sophie stormed in, ripping off her headphones. “Busy? You’ve been gaming all day! Dad, tell him!”
Andrew sighed, rubbing his temples. “Daniel, take the dog out. He’s your responsibility.”
Daniel hurled his controller onto the sofa, cheeks flushed. “My responsibility? You all promised to help! Fine, let’s just give Duke away if no one cares!”
Louise whirled around, her spoon clattering against the pot. “Give him away? You cried for months to get him! Now you’d throw him out? Typical—I do everything while you lot shout!”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Mum, don’t start. Dad, when was the last time you walked him?”
Andrew stood, voice booming over the telly. “Sophie, enough! I’m home at nine with my back killing me while you lot bicker!”
Duke, sick of the noise, nudged the door open—left ajar after Sophie’s pizza delivery—and bolted into the hallway. The family froze at the sound of his paws skittering down the stairs.
“Duke!” Louise gasped, dropping the spoon. “Daniel, did you leave the door open?”
Daniel paled. “Me? Sophie went out for pizza!”
Sophie slammed her hands on the table. “You blame everyone, you little brat!”
Andrew snatched the leash. “Enough! Everyone out—now!”
They spilled into the estate, searching frantically. Kids shrieked on the swings, cars honked, and stray dogs barked in the distance. Louise, in slippers and apron, ducked behind bins, voice cracking. “Duke! Where are you, boy?”
Daniel sprinted toward the garages, phone torch flickering. “Duke, come!” His throat tightened—he remembered finding the shivering pup in a soggy box a year ago, begging his parents to keep him, swearing he’d do everything right.
Sophie phoned neighbours, hands shaking. “Auntie Liz, have you seen Duke? No? Okay, thanks…”
Andrew trudged through puddles, scowling. “Told you a dog meant work. Now where is he?”
Louise spun under a streetlamp. “Work? You’re never here! I manage everything!”
Andrew’s voice dropped. “And I’m killing myself at the factory! You’re never happy!”
Sophie shoved between them. “Stop! Focus on Duke! Daniel, where next?”
Daniel emerged, sweating. “He’s gone! This is your fault!”
Louise grabbed his shoulder. “Yours! You neglected him!”
By midnight, they returned empty-handed. Louise twisted her apron, eyes red. Andrew sipped tea from a cracked mug. Sophie scrolled neighbourhood chats for sightings. Daniel curled on the sofa, clutching an empty crisp bag.
Louise whispered, “We’ll make posters tomorrow.”
Sophie nodded. “But Daniel’s to blame.”
Daniel shot up. “Me? You’re never here!”
Andrew slammed his mug. “You game all day while Duke suffers!”
Louise shook. “I’m exhausted doing everything!”
Sophie stood. “Mum, you guilt-trip us! I’ve got exams!”
Andrew rubbed his greying temples. “We’re all at fault. But we find Duke.”
The next morning, Sophie rummaged in the cellar for storage boxes. Among old Christmas decorations, she found Daniel’s tattered blue diary. Inside, clumsy hearts framed the name “Duke,” followed by entries: “Duke slept on my bed—warm like a blanket.” “Taught him to shake—he’s clever.” “Love Duke. He listens when everyone shouts.”
Back in the kitchen, she handed it to Daniel. His hands trembled as he read aloud: “‘Duke’s my best friend. When everyone’s angry, he’s just there. I want him happy.’” He wiped his eyes. “I didn’t mean for him to run.”
Louise softened. “Why didn’t you say you were struggling?”
Andrew cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, son. Work’s no excuse.”
Sophie hugged Daniel. “We find Duke. Together.”
Louise nodded. “He’s family. We start over.”
At the factory, Andrew’s mate, old Tom, noticed his grimace. “Dog ran off?”
Andrew nodded. “Family’s falling apart.”
Tom lit a fag. “Dogs glue families. Find him. Talk to your kids—they’re not unbreakable.”
That evening, Auntie Liz called—Duke was spotted by the pond in Victoria Park. They found him tangled in brambles, dirty but unharmed. Daniel hugged him, tears soaking his fur. “You idiot, where’d you go?”
Louise clung to Andrew. “We almost lost each other.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll do better. With Duke. With you.”
Sophie unhooked the leash. “Daniel’s in charge of walks. Deal?”
Daniel grinned. “Deal. Just… stop shouting. Duke hates it.”
Louise laughed. “We’ll try. But share your diary. It helps.”
A month later, Duke trotted happily on walks, his new collar gleaming. Daniel handled mornings, Sophie evenings; Andrew took weekends. Louise still managed meals, but they talked more—yelled less. Sometimes, Daniel read them his diary entries, even the ones about family.
One night, as they sat in the kitchen—sausages, tea, and dog shampoo in the air—Louise smiled. “Duke saved us. Without him, we’d still be screaming.”
Daniel scratched Duke’s ears. “He’s my friend. Yours too.”
Sophie bit a biscuit. “Just walk him. Diaries won’t save you next time.”
Andrew chuckled. “I’ll cook more. Louise’s apron needs a rest.”
Duke barked, and the family laughed, the kitchen warm again. The dog wasn’t their problem anymore—he’d given them a chance to remember: family means trying, even when they forget.
