by Dan Dillard
*****
I noticed things about that dog that seemed strange. He wouldn’t lick your face. What dog doesn’t slather affection on its owner? Especially on grateful children who don’t seem to mind he just finished cleaning his own nether regions with the same tongue. Dogs have quirks like people, but this one was strange.
We dabbed peanut butter on the little one’s cheek and Phillip declined as if he was stuffed from dinner. No, no. I couldn’t eat another bite, thanks.
Other habits were normal, stealing socks and underwear from the dirty clothes pile, chewing on shoes and trying his best to sneak food off of a snack plate while no one was looking were all spot-on. There was just something wrong about him.
“Does he give you a weird vibe?” I asked my wife.
“Who?”
“The dog?”
“Vibe? No. He stinks. You should bathe him, but no. No vibe.” She looked at me like I’d cracked, and then looked back at her magazine.
Sitting on the couch with my wife after the kids went to bed, our only alone time, became a struggle. The dog fought for position. He literally paced the floor whining if he couldn’t be between us and only truly relaxed when he was between the two of us. Bedtime was the same way, starting out slow. The dog shifted and wiggled until he was between our feet. Then it was our legs and often, when we woke in the morning, he was between our shoulders. For this reason, and because I liked Star Wars, we named him Wedge.
If one of us rolled in our sleep, the dog took advantage, always aiming for the middle. The more I became annoyed, the more my wife seemed to warm to the creature. It was a minor annoyance…none of this really bothered me until I woke to find him staring.
Dogs don’t stare, not like that. If you look a dog in the eye, it will normally turn away. Every one I’ve ever had did. This dog stared. That night, he sat between us and stared at me with a look like a frightened horse. I have no idea how long he’d been watching me, but when I woke, he didn’t stop. His pupils were huge, illuminated blue-green by the moonlight coming in through the window and I just made out the rim of bloodshot whites. It was creepy, like a madman about to lunge. But he didn’t lunge, he just sat there.
I sat up, stroked his head, and told him it was ok, told him to lie back down. He didn’t. I picked him up and set him gently at the foot of the bed and told him to stay. He did that once.
Wedge’s antics continued and his favor of my bride increased. Though she had begun getting somewhat annoyed by my accusations and complaints.
“You’re imagining things,” she said.
“I can’t sleep with him staring at me.”
“I didn’t waaant him,” she sang.
“Thanks.” I gave up on the argument. She obviously wasn’t going to be swayed into giving a crap.
The next morning she woke earlier than me and hopped in the shower. The dog moved up to the lay on her pillow. Positioned between me and the bathroom door, he took turns watching me and then her with his uncomfortable gaze.
