Doby Meets His End

My sister used to babysit for the people who lived here. Amanda and Ted were their kids. Around the time I knew them, Ted was roughly four and Amanda was roughly nine. I don't recall the names of their parents. I may not ever have met them. Ted was one of those children who was incredibly muscular due to his frequent rage blackouts that would often result in him sitting in the corner huffing and clenching his fists along with every other muscle in his tiny body. We called him Ted-a-monster. Ted adored my sister, I fancy he saw her as some kind of refuge, based on the particular light in his eyes when he saw her and how fiercely protective he was of her affections. Amanda was a know-it-all snot. She constantly pointed out her own feats, never hesitating to ask for your approval, actually, demand your approval is more like it. Once they had an adorable miniature doberman pincher puppy named Doby. I remember one day the children coming over to our house in sobs, because Doby had fallen down the stairs and broken its neck. The largest flight of stairs in their house was carpeted and only eight steps or so long. I heard my parents talking that night while I eve's dropped in the hallway because I was afraid to be in my room alone at night. My mother mentioned to my father about Ted and Amanda's father's temper. They agreed that Doby most likely didn't fall down the steps. They were right. Three weeks later they got themselves a divorce and their kids a new puppy.