The Heart of Dog

by Doranna Durgin

  "Thanks, hun," he said without looking at her.

  Tina took a deep breath. "I'm going to go into our room and relax for a while," she told him.

  "Did you order the pizza?" he asked.

  "I will," Tina said.

  "Great," he said, pulling his eyes away from the TV for just a second. "Have fun. I'll call you when the pizza guy gets here."

  "You do that," Tina said as she headed into the bedroom.

  Tina sat down on her bed and mediated for a few minutes. She had time to kill, so she figured clearing her mind was the way the go. She wanted to make sure she was doing the right thing. Even if it probably wasn't going to work, using magic on her man was a fairly drastic step. Jerry wasn't that bad. Was he? He wasn't so inattentive and self-absorbed that she needed to try to resort to magic. He couldn't be that bad. Could he?

  "Honey, have you ordered the pizza yet?" Jerry called from the living room. "I'm starved."

  Tina looked at the clock radio on her nightstand. It read 6:59. She took one big deep breath and stood up. The clock flipped to 7:00. Tina grabbed a book of matches from the nightstand and walked to the candles in the window. She lit a match and used it to the light the first candle, then the third. She blew out the match.

  She turned south then spun around once half-heartedly singing, "Totally devoted to me."

  She completed one turn, spun again, singing. "Totally devoted to me."

  She stopped spinning and turned back towards the candles. She blew out the first candle. She blew out the third candle. She lit another match and used it to light the middle candle. She paused for a moment. There was no flash of energy. No big poof. All in all it was a bit of let down. She blew out the match about second after it singed her finger.

  Tina shrugged. "That was a waste of time," she mumbled walking back into the living room.

  To her surprised Jerry wasn't sitting on the couch any longer.

  "Jerry?" Tina called.

  Tina heard a very distinct, "Woof!" She turned towards the woof. There standing anxiously at the door was a little poodle.

  "Jerry?" Tina called again.

  "Woof!" the dog responded again.

  Tina looked down at the fluffy brown poodle. "It can't be," she said to herself walking over the pooch. Was it her imagination or did the poodle's fur color perfectly match Jerry's hair color?

  Tina noticed the dog was wearing an ID tag. She bent over to check out whom the dog belonged to. The tag read: 'Jerry' and had Tina's address on it. Tina gulped. Jerry the poodle just tilted his head up at her with a look that could only be described as total devotion. He licked her hand. Tina shook her head. This wasn't quite what she had in mind.

  Tina scooped Jerry up under one arm, grabbed her car keys and headed out the door. She needed to make a personal trip to Madam Marla's. This was something email or IMing couldn't do justice to.

  As Tina raced to Madam's Marla's, Jerry happily sat in the passenger's seat, holding his nose out the window and the sniffing the air while somehow managing to also keep one eye locked on Tina. It might have been Tina's imagination but she swore she had never seen him so happy.

  Tina drove up to Marla's shop and pulled into a parking space right in front. Tina thought she was lucky Marla was still open. Of course luck is a relative thing when your boyfriend is a poodle. Tina got out of the car. She held the door open for Jerry to follow. He just stood there gazing at her with those devoted little puppy dog eyes.

  "Come on," Tina coaxed. "Be a good boy."

  Jerry leaped into her arms. She cradled him. She couldn't help but to give a little pat on the head as she went into the shop. Tina walked in to find Marla contently sitting at her table looking at her computer.

  "Phew, I'm glad to see you're still open," Tina said walking towards Marla.

  Marla looked up at her and smiled. "Magic knows no hours," she said. She shrugged. "Besides I have no life. Turn an ex-boy friend or two into newts and the word gets around."

  Tina pushed Jerry into Marla's face. "Look! Look what you did."

  Marla tickled Jerry under his curly little chin. "Cute, puppy," she said. She looked puzzled. "What do you mean, I did it?" She shook her head. "This doesn't look like my work. I'm partial to newts. You don't have to clean up after them. They don't chew your shoes. No need to…"

  "This is Jerry!" Tina interrupted.

  Marla took a step back. "You named your dog after your boyfriend? I don't know if that's weird or kinky?"

  Tina held Jerry up closer to Marla. "This is Jerry!" she shouted. "I cast your spell and this is what happened!" Tina took a deep breath. "I should sue you for malspell practice." Tina thought about what she had just said. She didn't know if there was such a thing as malpractice for Madam's but figured it sounded good.

  "You did the spell already?" Marla asked.

  "Duh!" Tina spat.

  Marla's eyes wandered down to the clock on her computer screen. She grinned. "Phew, so the problem isn't with my magic."

  "What are you talking about?" Tina screamed. "You said do the spell at 7. I did the spell at 7 and POOF my boy friend is a poodle..."

  Marla just smiled at her. "Well, Tina, nothing is more unconditionally devoted then a dog." Marla turned her computer around so Tina could see the screen. She pointed at a little digital clock in the upper right hand corner. The time read 7:54. "You weren't supposed to do the spell yet."

  "Your email said, do the spell at 7. I cast the spell at 7!" Tina pointed at the computer. "Look at the time!"

  Marla hit a button on her computer. An email message in a text window zoomed open. Marla touched the screen right over the text window. "If you read this carefully you'll see I did not mess up," she said.

  "How can you say that? You turned my boyfriend into a dog!" Tina shouted.

  "No need to yell," Marla said. "I'm younger than most madams. I still have excellent hearing. Besides, you turned your boyfriend into a dog." Marla gave Jerry a little pat on the hdead. "He is a cute one."

  "I was just following your directions!" Tina insisted.

  Marla shook her head. "Ah, no you didn't. If you were you would be doing the spell in about 5 minutes, more or less."

  "Are you crazy? You said 7 and it's now 7:55!"

  "I said, Eastern Standard Time. We're on Daylight Savings Time now. You did the spell an hour early. I guess the powers that be must have thought you were really anxious so they made Jerry really devoted."

  "Damn," Tina said. "I always get that mixed up."

  Marla patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you're not alone, it is really confusing."

  "Can you undo it?"

  "Daylight Savings Time?"

  "No, me turning Jerry in a dog."

  Marla shook her head. "You read the disclaimer, all magic is nonrefundable and irreversible. If it wasn't people would either be begging for their money back or trying to fix things and mucking them up more, all the time." Marla paused for a second. "My lawyer insisted I put that clause in. I'm sure glad I did."

  Tina looked at Jerry snuggled up in her arms. He was now contently sniffing her armpit. She had to give the powers that be credit. He certainly was devoted. She gave Jerry a gentle scratch behind the ears. He whimpered contently.

  Tina turned her attention back to Marla. "What am I suppose to do about Jerry?"

  "Get him a nice comfy pet bed, some yummy dog treats, and a sturdy leash. Oh, and hope your next boyfriend is a dog lover."

  ~~~~~~~~~~

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  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Heartsease

  By Fiona Patton

  I love dogs. All dogs, my dogs. The dog in Heartsease was based on my beloved chihuahua, Checkers, who probably did have psychic powers.

  ----------

  He had a change-flea. He could feel it. The sparkly place inside him was growing larger, growing stronger, every day and the change-flea that had tickled against his mind since ever he'd been born was growing stronger too. Soon he would ha
ve to decide whether to let it feed or whether to scratch it away and remain as he always had been: young, innocent, and blind. But not now. Now he dreamed.

  He was out on the water, moving up and down. The wind blew across his back, first warm and then cold, roaring with the same cadence as the rhythm of the waves. It was a strange dream. He'd never been near the water before, but he was warm and he was safe, so he drifted along until the wind changed pitch and timber, then he opened his eyes.

  Urge was snoring.

  For a moment the early morning sun dazzled him, then slowly, the tiny brown dog shook himself free of his nest of blankets and peered down at the man whose heavy breathing had been lifting him up and down through a patch of sunlight. His stomach growled and he absently growled back at it.

  He was hungry. He was hungry and he had to relieve himself so Urge must stop snoring, wake up, and feed him. Now.

  Standing, the little dog stretched as high as his four inch legs would take him, then carefully made his way up the chest of his most recent human companion. Staring down, he focused all his concentration on the man's face.

  Wake up, Urge.

  The man continued to snore, oblivious.

  WAKE UP, URGE.

  The rumbling beneath his feet deepened, the snoring ceased, and the man made to roll over, but the slightest pressure from one paw held him in place.

  "Inna minute, boy," he murmured sleepily.

  The dog gave a disbelieving snort. Balancing on three legs, he dug reflectively into one large, expressive ear. Urge wasn't easy to wake up, but he needed to wake up. Beneath his feet, the tiny dog could feel the slow pounding of Urge's heart. It was soft and uncertain. He didn't like that. Urge needed to wake up and move about so the soft and uncertain heartbeat could grow stronger. And he needed to go out! He peered down at Urge again. In the past two weeks, he'd spent each morning experimenting with various techniques. He'd found that a combination of two or three usually did the trick. Reaching out, he scratched at Urge's chin and was rewarded with a jerk from the man's head.

  "Comin', Lucky, good d...og."

  The little dog sneezed at the sound of his newest name. He'd had three in his short lifetime. His mother had called him Beloved Four. Roos, the old woman who'd carried him away from his mother, tucked inside a soft and woolly sweater that smelled of roses and lilacs, had named him Heartsease. Urge had named him Lucky Charm, but usually just called him Lucky. It lacked a good growly R, but he supposed a pup could no more be called Heartsease his whole life than Beloved Four.

  He scratched at Urge's chin again, and beneath his feet, he felt the man's heart strengthen as he came closer to waking up. Lucky's tail began to wag.

  He'd spent a lot of time listening to Roos' soft, uncertain heart beat. He hadn't been old enough to keep it strong no matter how many times he'd pressed himself against her woolly, perfumed sweater, willing all the sparkly power in his tiny heart to hers. They were together almost a full year until the morning he'd felt her own few sparkles fade, her heart stop beating, and the warmth leave her body.

  That wasn't going to happen with Urge.

  Taking a step forward, he leaned towards the man's bristly face. Urge spent most of his time poking at a small machine in the big eating room —or at least as much time as Lucky would allow him—and hadn't scraped his bristles off in nearly a week. He'd have to be sure to do that today. They were going to Rand's house today so Lucky could have a "play date" with the rest of the family and Urge needed to look his best so the family would be sure to know that Lucky was taking good care of him. Lucky's tail began to wag faster. He liked Urge's family. They all sparkled so brightly it made him feel like a puppy again.

  And he especially liked Rand. Rand had rescued him from Roos' nasty son the day her heart had stopped beating.

  Lucky had disliked Roos' son immediately. He'd never been to see Roos once in the whole year Lucky had been with her, but on the day she died he'd taken all her sweetly smelling things, including Lucky himself, away to sell. He hadn't even put on Lucky's nice plaid Macintosh when they'd left and he'd dragged him roughly down the sidewalk even after Lucky had very politely pointed out that they'd past his first and second marking spots. Then he'd actually tried to kick him. So when Lucky had sensed the three sparkly men coming along behind them, he'd sent out a call. That was all it took.

  Rand had scooped him up immediately and his litter-mate, Red, had knocked Roos' nasty son into the road. They'd both smelled of cigarette smoke and power and they'd punished Roos' son for trying to kick Lucky with the sight of a huge, smelly truck barreling down on him. He'd screamed in a very satisfying manner, but the truck hadn't really been there.

  Pressed smugly against Rand's shirt, Lucky had felt the sparkly power pulse in time with his strongly beating heart. It made the sparkles in his own heart dance. It felt safe and familiar, like a half forgotten dream from puppyhood, but even so he'd known Rand wasn't meant to be his. Neither was Red, but when they'd taken him into the nice, warm place to feed him lovely bits of meat and bread soaked in milk, he'd poked his tiny head out from Rand's jacket to see Urge watching them from across the table. He'd known right then.

  Urge needed him.

  Urge was a lot older than Rand and Red, big and a little bit fat, and rather than swirl through his eyes where anyone might see them, his sparkles were hidden deep down inside. His heartbeat was soft and uncertain—almost like Roos'—but Lucky was older now and knew he had the power to keep Urge's heart strong.

  As long as Urge woke up.

  Tired of waiting, Lucky gave himself a shake. This called for drastic measures. Balancing both front feet across Urge's collar bone, he began to wash the man's face; faster and faster, paying particular attention to the right nostril—there was no sense in having a tongue that fit perfectly up a person's nose if you didn't try to get it up there at least once a day. After just a few moments, Urge finally opened his eyes.

  ~~~

  George Prescott had never woken up quickly in his entire sixty-four years. All his life his mother and then his wife—ex-wife—and daughter had resorted to numerous tricks to get him out of bed and off to either school or work on time. Now retired and living alone he'd thought he was well past all that. And he had been, until he'd taken in a tiny, bossy, brown Chihuahua. Dog spit dribbling down his chin, he opened his eyes.

  A huge, wide-angle nose swam into his vision followed by an immense pair of mischievous, brown eyes.

  "Good morning, Lucky," he said in a resigned tone. "Do you want to go outside?"

  The little dog tore down the length of his body, spun about at the bottom of the bed, rear end up, tail wagging, front paws paddling the blankets. He gave George as large a doggie grin as would fit on his tiny face, then ran back up, then back down, then back up again, until George rose with a faint groan.

  "All right, all right, come here, then."

  At his words, Lucky turned so that George could lift him down with one, large hand and, as soon as his feet touched the floor, he was gone, toenails clicking a fast staccato beat on the hardwood hallway. George quickly fumbled for a sweatshirt and a pair of pants. Lucky would need to go out right away—he seemed to have the bladder the size of a hummingbird's—and no waiting was permitted.

  "And yet you can sleep on my chest all night long without so much as a twinge," he muttered. A bark was his only answer and, with a shake of his head, George followed the dog to the front door.

  ~~~

  Half an hour later they were back and ready for breakfast. Lucky had managed to sniff, and mark, and sniff again, every weed and rock from here to the next field and then had demanded to be carried home. He'd done the same thing without fail four times a day for the last two weeks. George had tried to get him to turn around halfway but Lucky was having none of that. He would go to the next field come hell or high water and George wasn't entirely certain either would have stopped him. He was the most determined little dog George had ever known.

  He made a b
owl of oatmeal—Lucky hadn't liked the cold cereal he usually made do with—then settled down to try and read the newspaper around the squirming little attention seeker. Half an hour later he heard a car pull up. Lucky rocketed off his lap, barking furiously, and George put down the paper with a sigh and followed him to the front door. He hadn't been able to finish the newspaper in two weeks either.

  ~~~

  The old Plymouth station wagon that bounced up the farmhouse driveway had seen better days. About ten years ago. George waited until it shuddered to a halt, dropping a dozen flakes of rust like autumn leaves, before opening the screen door. Lucky was out like a shot, tearing across the lawn, yipping and squeaking, as George's cousins, Brandon and Fred Geoffries emerged from the car. Brandon lit a cigarette before allowing the little dog to leap into his arms.

  "Heya, Menace," he said around the filter. "Hey, George."

  "Good morning."

  "You ready?"

  "Nearly. Come in for a moment, I just have to shave and grab my coat."

  The two younger men followed him inside. As George made for the bathroom off the kitchen, they wandered into the dining-room. Brandon set Lucky down and the little dog trotted over to set up guard by George's feet while Fred glanced over at the jumbled pile of toys, treats, and blankets next to his cousin's laptop.

  "What is all this shit?"

  George leaned past the door, then shrugged in embarrassment. "Well, dog supplies," he answered vaguely. "Lucky needed food dishes and shampoo and the like. Didn't you, boy?"

  Lucky gave a squeak as Brandon pulled a tiny burgundy sweater from the pile and held it up with a questioning expression.

  "It's October," George answered defensively.

  "It's a warm October."

  "It's going to get colder."

  Fred lit a cigarette, blithely ignoring Lucky's protesting bark. "You wouldn't see Jack wearing somethin' like that," he pointed out.

  "Jack is a ninety pound monstrosity, not a Chihuahua," George sniffed. "Chihuahuas feel the cold."