Sometimes the Best Presents Can’t Be Wrapped

by B. G. Thomas

  He barked again, even though he knew it was stupid to do so as soon as he did it. But what was done, was done.

  “Yeah!” came her almost nasal accent. “That is a dog! I didn’t know Mr. Bawding had a dog!”

  “He doesn’t” Ned heard Lillian say, even though he could tell she didn’t have the phone in her hand, against her mouth. “He doesn’t like them.”

  “Who doesn’t like dogs?” Yvonne asked.

  “Let me have the phone,” Lillian said.

  Then: “Ned, are you there? Please. Make a noise. Anything!”

  He could tell she was upset. Could hear it in Dolby surround sound. Why, he could almost smell her distress!

  Ned barked. Tried hard to make words. At least her name. “Raah-errrr-eh!-awwwwwn!”

  “I’m going to call Cliff,” Lillian said.

  And then the line went dead.

  2

  THE SMELLS drove Ned to distraction. In some ways they were amazing. Wonderful. Wondrous. He could walk around, face to the floor, sniff hard, sniff again to drive the scented air in deep, and then it was like a library of information unfolding in his brain. He could smell spilled wine in the dark carpet in the dining room—knew it was a merlot and thought he could almost smell the sun on the grapes, but that was silly (right?). And there by the fireplace, more wine. Because of Lillian’s husband. That carpet wasn’t dark. Thank God it had been a pink moscato. And oh, it was so sweet! It tickled his nose, and he almost sneezed again.

  He didn’t think much of the piss spots Cliff’s mother’s yippity-yappity little Chihuahua left around the place!

  He could smell all kinds of food around the dining room table—beef and chicken and gravy and so much more.

  He could smell Cliff everywhere, and that wasn’t good. He kept thinking Cliff was actually there because the scent of him was that strong, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t! He was at the lake house. And Ned suspected he was with someone.

  He could smell a plethora of foods in the kitchen despite the strict cleaning instructions he’d given to Gabriela. Peroxide and Clorox on everything—especially countertops. Mr. Clean multipurpose antibacterial cleaner on the floors. She obviously hadn’t done what she was told to do. Maybe she didn’t need the job as much as she claimed.

  This sense of smell was unbelievable… but also maddening. Normally he stopped smelling things after a while. The cologne he put on in the mornings, 1 Million by Paco Rabanne. But these! They wouldn’t go away.

  The phone rang. The landline. He tore off in that direction, his feet almost sliding out from under him on the kitchen linoleum.

  He raced to the phone on the floor but… no! He could no more answer it now that it was off its cradle than when his cell phone had rung. Why, if his human fingers were damp, he couldn’t swipe the blinking button on the phone’s screen. Now that all he had was rough, popcorn-smelling dog feet? It was impossible. And look!

  Cliff, Cliff, Cliff blinked at him.

  And he couldn’t do anything!

  A second later the answering machine picked up. “We’re sorry, but no one can answer the phone right now. If you leave a name and message, we promise to return your call as soon as possible.” Cliff’s voice. Still. Even though he wasn’t here anymore and they were no longer a “we.” Ned’s stomach clenched at the thought.

  Then Cliff’s voice answered Cliff’s voice. “Ned. This is Cliff.”

  Yes, of course it was. Who else could it be? Why did people state the obvious?

  “Lillian called me—”

  Yes, of course she did!

  “—and she’s worried. I guess maybe I am too, at least a little. She said you didn’t come to work this morning, and I told her that you could be a million places. Maybe with what’s going on, you didn’t want anyone to see you….”

  See me? Why would he care about that?

  Well, except right now he was a fucking dog!

  “But I know that’s not true. You don’t care what people think, do you? And you have to be at work despite all of this, and….” His voice trailed off. “Except you’re not at work and you aren’t answering your phone. And Lil said—”

  Lil? How dare you call her that!

  “—she thought she heard a dog. She said Yvonne heard it too. I told her that was crazy, that you would never have a dirty dog in the house. Not with its hair that could get on your furniture or your suits, and it might pee somewhere and ruin something….”

  And God! He suddenly had to pee. Bad. Had to pee something fierce.

  Cliff sighed. “Ned, if you won’t answer and you’re mad at the world, would you at least text her so she doesn’t worry. She’s likely to call the cavalry, you know—”

  Good! Yes! He barked it, found himself running in a little circle in excitement, and made himself stop. Have her call the cavalry! The police! The National Guard. Or for Christ’s sake have her come over herself. She had a key.

  “—and you’re going to be embarrassed if you are passed out from drinking too much of your Cognac and you’re naked or something.”

  I am naked. But certainly not in the way Cliff was thinking. And then Ned thought about Lillian showing up and his privates hanging right out there for her to see. What did he do about that?

  “Dammit, Ned. Please be okay.”

  Like you care.

  “I do c—” And then the machine cut him off.

  3

  THE AROMA of the pizza was the worst. Ned had left it out. Something he never did. He was finally driven to the kitchen to get to it. After first relieving himself in the toilet, which must have looked hilarious. Standing with his hands—his front paws!—on the tank, he had no real way to aim. But he hadn’t made too much of a mess, thankfully, and he even managed, with several tries, to flush. It had been horrible. He had to press his face against the handle. Disgusting, but he did it. It was better than the alternative. As for where he missed? Why, there was nothing he could do about that.

  Ned was able to get the pizza. Front feet up against the edge of the kitchen island, where he’d left it, and reaching as far as he could, he managed to snag the edge of the box with his mouth. His mouth! How was he going to ever get used to this?

  Because I won’t have to. Someone will come, and hopefully I’m not naked. And they will see me acting crazy and take me to a hospital, and someone there will be able to snap me back to reality.

  He pulled on the box, and before he could catch himself, he slipped on the floor and fell, and the box fell on top of him and flipped open, sending the few pieces left flying out onto the floor. He scarfed up a piece without even thinking about what he was doing (he was most assuredly not a believer in the five-second rule). The food was down the hatch so fast he didn’t even think about it. He shouldn’t have been able to taste it, he ate it so fast. But God! Oh, taste it he did! The flavors exploded over his tongue, better and wilder and crazier and fuller than food tasted when he used to get high with Cliff and eat—because food tasted so damned good when you were high. Of course, he hadn’t been high since he took over the business. For insurance purposes.

  He took more time on the second piece, chewing away openmouthed, something he would have been appalled at before. But what could he do? His mouth wasn’t made to chew while it was closed.

  Ned was starting on the third and final piece—damn, he’d eaten a lot of pizza last night—when he heard the key in the door.

  He ran.

  This time his feet did go scrabbling out from under him, and he landed hard with a whoof! and then somehow got back to his feet and went hell-for-leather to the front door.

  Ned was there when it slowly opened and he heard Lillian’s “Ned, honey? Are you there?” just as he saw her sweet round face peeking in.

  Her eyes went wide, and she jerked upright and said, “Oh my!” when they looked into each other’s faces.

  She froze for a moment, and when she didn’t move, he barked. That’s not what he meant to do, of course. He meant to shout, “Lill
ian! For God’s sake get me some help. It’s me. Ned.”

  But what came out was a cacophony of startlingly loud barks.

  She drew back, clearly afraid, and started to close the door, so he did the only thing he could think to do. In fact, he acted almost without thinking. He lowered himself to the ground, looked at her with pleading eyes, and wagged his tail.

  And found it felt good.

  He wagged it faster, couldn’t help it, gave a little “Yip!” and a “Ruff!” and then covered his face with his paws in total embarrassment.

  Paws!

  Lillian hesitated, then stepped the tiniest bit forward and reopened the door. “Why look at you…. I’ll be damned. He got a dog. He by damned got a dog!”

  Ned was on his feet again with that, in great excitement, barking his fool head off, and thankfully she didn’t run. She let herself in and held out a hand—for him to sniff it, he supposed, but he could smell her already. Smell her perfume—Michelle Obama—and her toothpaste and her mouthwash and her Burger King egg-and-sausage croissant and coffee with lots of nasty nondairy creamer. He could smell something else too. Something he didn’t like. Something not… not right.

  But he couldn’t worry about that now, could he?

  He barked again, trying in every way he could, trying to make her see that he was speaking. This wasn’t bow-wow he was saying. This was “Help me, Lillian. Help me, and—”

  Ned froze. Then fell back onto his ass in a sitting position, threw back his head, and howled. Howled in despair.

  Because Lillian wasn’t seeing a man, naked or otherwise, there on the floor.

  She was seeing a dog.

  She backed away from him then, afraid again, looked at the door, and then pulled her phone from her cleavage and made a call.

  “Cliff! Yes. I’m here.”

  “Oh thank God” came Cliff’s voice. Ned could hear him.

  He could hear more too. Another man’s voice. “Did she find Ned?”

  Cliff was with someone.

  “Is he there?” Cliff asked.

  “I’m going to look. Hold on. Oh. And there is a dog here.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I think it’s a Lab. A brown one.”

  Ned heard a gasp. “Really? I… I don’t believe it.”

  Lillian put the phone to her breast. “You’re not going to bite me if I turn my back on you, are you, doggie?”

  Ned barked, then shook his head.

  She gave a little surprised “Oh!” and put a hand to her mouth.

  “What?” came a cry from the phone.

  “Nothing,” she said and giggled. “He just shook his head after I asked him if he would bite me, and I swear he was answering.”

  Ned leapt and began nodding, as best as he could.

  “And now he’s nodding!”

  “What?” Cliff said again. And that other voice said, “She didn’t find him dead or something, did she?” And Cliff’s “Mike, don’t even think that!”

  Mike? Mike?

  Ned growled. Deep and rumbling. Then started barking again. Furiously.

  Lillian’s eyes went wide once more, and there was fear on her face, which only upset Ned more. He redoubled his barking, and she gave a little cry and ran for the door. She was out before he could stop her. Because what was he supposed to do? Bite her in the butt?

  4

  THE NEXT time someone came to the door, with Lillian talking somewhere in the rear, it was two police officers and an animal control officer. Ned knew that because the dark shirt said Animal Control right across the front of it. And the man wore heavy gloves and carried a long pole with a leather loop at the end!

  Ned’s eyes went wide, and he started barking again, found—good God—he was growling. Snarling! Then faster than he thought possible, the man leapt forward and the loop was over his head and drawn tight around his neck.

  No! How dare they treat him like this!

  He redoubled his efforts, using his hind feet desperately to try to back away, digging his nails into the plush carpet, thrashing his head back and forth, doing anything to get away. But damn, the big man was even stronger than he looked. Despite Lillian’s cries to “Please be careful! He might be Ned’s dog!” the man was dragging and pulling him, then pushing him out in front and outside and—No! No! No!—to a van with the ominous lettering on the side. Animal Control.

  I’m being taken to the fucking dog pound!

  Then without thinking about what he was doing, he barked and growled and howled all the more, digging his feet into the grass of his front yard and then scrabbling at the sidewalk and now the vinca vine that Cliff had worked so hard to get to fill the greenway between the sidewalk and street, and now the blacktop—it was hot on the soles of his paws—and, No!, to the back of the van, its doors wide open.

  Got to get away! Run! Run run run! Get someplace where someone can help me.

  But instead, the man was now next to him and grabbing the leather loop around his neck and grappling him up into the van—Stop! No. Don’t do this.—and he was horrified at what was inside.

  The smells assaulted him—dog and piss and shit—and worse, the cages. Kennels. He couldn’t, just couldn’t go in one of those! And when the man tried to climb in after him, he turned as best as he could—which wasn’t much—and tried to bite him. To. Bite. Him!

  “Oh no!” the man shouted. “Fuck you, you mongrel. In! Get in there.”

  And Ned was shoved back, terrified now, panicking, back into one of the plastic kennels and then—fuck, the man was so fast!—the loop came loose and was off his neck, and before he could do anything, the door slammed and locked into place.

  Ned howled! He snapped at the man, who drew his hand back with a “Shit!” Ned didn’t get him, not with those heavy gloves, and….

  He threw back his head to howl again and slammed it into the roof of the kennel, hard, and he cried out and then flung himself down on his chest and howled again. This time it petered out at the end, and he simply cried. Defeated more than he ever thought possible—he was a dog, and he had just been thrust backward into a foul-smelling cage—he collapsed and cried. Cried and cried and cried.

  The man, who had looked furious, stood back.

  Then something funny happened.

  The expression of outrage on his face, it seemed to melt.

  “Jesus Patootie, doggie….” He shook his head. He sighed. Ran a gloved hand over his sweaty forehead. Ned could smell the sweat. And something else. God…. Was it fear? Could you smell fear? And anger? Could you smell emotions?

  And he came to see it then, even in his near-morbid defeat and terror, that he could. He. Could. Smell. Emotions.

  “What happened to you, doggie?”

  Ned cried. Long and long and long. As much as he could with this dog’s body and vocal cords. What was going to happen to him now? What would this man do to him? Especially since he’d tried to frigging bite him!

  The man sighed again and his shoulders slumped and he whispered—but oh, Ned could hear him—“Last chance, pooch.” He held out his hand. Just like Lillian had. Back of the hand leading.

  Just like you would if you were a dog.

  Ned didn’t try to sniff the hand. Why?

  He barely looked up.

  Just whined.

  Like a defeated dog.

  The man sighed again. “Okay,” he whispered. “You pass. You’re lucky. I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m going to try and help you. Just don’t tell anyone you tried to bite me, okay? Because we put biting dogs down. And if you try and bite someone else….”

  Ned lifted his head slightly and shook it slowly side to side. Whined quietly in a way he hoped would say, “No. Thank you. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

  The man’s left eyebrow raised. “I’ll be,” he said. “I swear you understood me.”

  Ned didn’t bother to try to nod this time.

  The man looked either way and then, seeming to be satisfied, pulled out a cel
l phone. Ned could hear the ringing. Hear a man answer. “Four-Footed Friends. How may I help you?”

  “That you, H.D.?” the man asked.

  “Yeah. That you, Hank?” And it was then that Ned finally saw the little badge on the man’s chest that said “Hank.”

  “It’s me.” He sighed again.

  “Oh God, Hank. You don’t have another troubled dog for me, do you?”

  “I do.”

  “Hank! We’re full up. My volunteers are full up. My fosterers are full up. I can’t—”

  “If you don’t, this one will have to be put down.”

  There was silence then. And finally “Jesus, Hank.” A long sigh.

  Hank explained. Explained the story as best as he could, not knowing the truth of what was really going on. But ending with “He tried to bite me. If you’ll take him, I won’t even report I picked him up. But if you can’t, I’ll have to tell my bosses he tried to bite me. For the safety of—”

  “Dammit” came that voice. “All right. Bring him over.”

  5

  SOMEHOW NED knew the pretty young man with the long blond dreadlocks was a good man. He could… yes, smell it.

  “You gonna try and bite me?” he asked at the door to the kennel.

  No…. No, he wasn’t. Actually, he didn’t have it in him. Ned sighed. Shook his head.

  “See? What did I tell you?”

  The pretty man gave a half laugh. “It did look like he was answering no, didn’t it?”

  “And you can talk to animals anyway,” Hank said.

  Pretty Man grinned. Shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

  “I do,” Hank said.

  Pretty Man shrugged again and said, “Well, so can you, Hank. Anyone can.”

  “But they answer you!” Hank nodded.

  Pretty Man laughed. “Why don’t we see if we can get him out of there without him biting my hand off.” He turned to the kennel. “You going to try and bite my hand, ol’ boy?”

  Ned didn’t try. With a soft cry, he let the blond man reach in and rub his head. It was what you did with a dog, right? And that was what he was, wasn’t it?