The Leash of Discord
“Daniel, get up and take Max for a walk—I’m not a robot!” Andrew Carter slammed his hand on the kitchen table, rattling mugs of half-drunk coffee. The room smelled of burnt toast, freshly brewed espresso, and the faint scent of dog. Outside, April sunlight flooded the cul-de-sac where kids were already tearing around the playground. Max, a scruffy golden retriever with a frayed chew toy in his mouth, lay by the door, staring mournfully at the leash hanging from the hook. His brown eyes pleaded, but the family was too busy arguing.
Daniel, fifteen, was glued to his phone, where a racing game screeched with tire squeals. His wireless headphones dangled around his neck, and his black hoodie—emblazoned with “Game Over”—was dusted with crumbs from last night’s crisps.
“Dad, I walked him yesterday!” he grumbled, not looking up. “Let Emma do it—she always skips out!”
Emma, nineteen and a university student, sat at the table, hunched over her laptop. Her dark hair was piled into a messy bun, shadows under her eyes from all-night revision for her sociology exam. She wore an oversized uni hoodie.
“Me?” She scoffed, barely glancing up. “Daniel, you’re the one who begged for Max—you walk him! I’ve got an assignment due tomorrow!”
Helen, their mum, walked in, wiping her hands on a daisy-patterned apron. Her blonde hair was mussed from cleaning, and her voice trembled with exhaustion.
“Enough shouting!” She slapped a frying pan onto the hob, oil sizzling. “Andrew, you promised to walk Max this morning! And you two—you wanted a dog, but I’m the one stuck with him!”
Andrew, a forty-five-year-old engineer, set down the local paper, where he’d been reading about factory strikes. His stubble glinted in the morning light as he frowned.
“Me? Helen, I leave for work at six! Daniel’s the one who begged for Max—let him handle it!”
Max whimpered, dropping his chewed-up rubber duck. His tail gave a half-hearted wag, but the kitchen had become a battlefield, and the dog was just a casualty of the chaos.
By evening, the fight flared again. Helen cooked dinner—sizzling sausages, bubbling mash—while Max lay by the door, his sad eyes fixed on the untouched leash. Daniel yelled at his console in the living room, drowning out the telly where Andrew watched football highlights. Emma typed furiously in her room, energy drink cans littering her desk.
“Daniel, did you walk Max?” Helen called, stirring the mash.
Daniel didn’t look up. “Nope. Emma can do it. I’m busy.”
Emma stormed in, yanking off her headphones. “Busy? You’ve been gaming all day! Dad, tell him!”
Andrew sighed, rubbing his temples. “Daniel, walk the dog. He’s your responsibility.”
Daniel threw his controller onto the sofa, cheeks flushing. “My responsibility? You all promised to help! Now it’s just me? Fine—let’s give Max away if no one cares!”
Helen spun around, her wooden spoon clattering against the pot. “Give him away? You cried for weeks to get him! Now you’d abandon him? Typical—I’m the one cleaning, cooking, walking him while you lot argue!”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Mum, don’t start. I’ve got exams! Dad, when’s the last time you walked Max?”
Andrew stood, voice booming over the telly. “Emma, enough! I’m at the factory till nine—my back’s killing me! All you do is complain!”
Max, fed up, nudged the door—left ajar after Emma’s pizza delivery—and bolted into the hallway. The family froze at the sound of his paws skittering down the stairs.
“Max!” Helen dropped the spoon. “Daniel, did you leave the door open?”
Daniel paled. “Me? Emma went out for pizza!”
Emma smacked the table. “You’re always blaming me, you brat!”
Andrew grabbed the leash. “Enough! Everyone, outside—now!”
They spilled into the estate. Kids shrieked on the playground; cars honked in the lot. Helen, still in slippers, called for Max, her voice cracking. Daniel sprinted toward the garages, phone flashlight bobbing. Emma dialled neighbours, hands shaking. Andrew trudged through puddles, jaw set.
“Damn it, Helen—I told you a dog was a commitment!”
Helen whirled under a streetlamp. “Commitment? You’re never here! I’m managing everything alone!”
Emma snapped, “Stop fighting! Max is missing because we’re too busy blaming each other!”
They searched till midnight. No Max. Back home, Helen twisted her apron, eyes red. Andrew sipped tea from a chipped mug. Emma scrolled neighbourhood chats. Daniel curled on the sofa, silent.
“We’ll put up posters,” Helen whispered.
Emma nodded. “But Daniel’s to blame. He neglected Max.”
Daniel shot up. “Me? You’re always locked in your room! I—I tried!”
Andrew set down his mug. “Tried? You’ve done nothing but game!”
Helen shook her head. “We’re all at fault. But Max is family. We’ll find him.”
The next morning, Emma dug through the attic for boxes. Amid old Christmas decorations, she found Daniel’s tattered journal—blue cover, “MAX” scrawled in marker. Inside, pages brimmed with entries: “Max slept on my bed—he’s warm like a blanket.” “Taught Max to shake. He’s so clever.” “Love Max. He’s my best friend. Doesn’t yell like everyone else.”
She brought it to the kitchen. Daniel, red-eyed, took it and read aloud, voice breaking:
“‘Max is my best friend. When everyone shouts, he’s just there. I want him to be happy.’” He wiped his sleeve across his face. “I didn’t mean for him to run.”
Helen’s grip on the bread knife loosened. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Andrew cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, son. I thought work came first. But you’re right—we’ve all been too busy.”
Emma hugged Daniel. “We’ll find him. Together.”
That afternoon, Andrew’s co-worker, graying mechanic Dave, noticed his gloom. “Dog still missing? Find him, mate. And talk to your family—they’re not robots.”
By evening, Mrs. Thompson from number 12 called: Max had been spotted near the park pond. They raced over. The park smelled of rain and blooming lilacs. Max sat by the water, mud-caked but unharmed, leash tangled in brambles.
Daniel reached him first, burying his face in Max’s fur. “You idiot—where’d you go?”
Helen hugged Andrew. “We found him. And almost lost each other.”
Emma grinned, unhooking the leash. “Daniel’s on walk duty now. Deal?”
Daniel nodded. “Deal. Just… stop shouting. Max hates it.”
A month later, Max trotted through the estate, fur gleaming, new collar gleaming. Daniel walked him mornings; Emma took evenings. Andrew handled weekends. Helen still managed meals—but Andrew now grilled sausages.
One night, over tea and Emma’s biscuits, Helen smiled. “Max saved us. Without him, we’d still be shouting.”
Daniel scratched Max’s ears. “He’s my best friend. And yours too.”
Emma smirked. “Just walk him. No journal can fix neglect.”
Andrew laughed. “Agreed. But Helen, you’re off apron duty.”
Max barked. The kitchen filled with warmth. He wasn’t the problem anymore—he’d reminded them that family means trying, even when you forget.
