Must Love Dogs: New Leash on Life

by Cook, Claire

  "As do you." He shut the chrome-framed mirror that hid one of the medicine cabinets we'd decided to search once the drawer in his bedside table turned out to be condom-less. He tried to pull me back into an embrace. I caught a glimpse of us in the mirror, stark naked except for my Ace bandage. I looked okay, I thought, maybe even better than Keli looked once you got her out from under all her cute clothes. I was glad I'd set her straight about John. I had to admit she was starting to grow on me. She was an odd choice for a friend, but I'd probably be a really good influence on her.

  I wiggled away and opened the other mirror. One of my favorite activities with my Bayberry students was to help them create a timeline of their short lives on a great big sheet of white paper, complete with photos and drawings and the dates of important milestones. If I were to create a birth control timeline of my own life, it would go like this: stealing condoms from my brother Johnny's room in high school just in case I ever needed one; going to health services for a prescription for birth control pills the very first week I arrived at college; actually filling the prescription two years later when I finally had a boyfriend; semi-regular check-ups and more pill prescriptions; switching to a diaphragm after two years of marriage, so that there wouldn't be a waiting period when Kevin finally decided he was ready to have kids; finding a series of holes shaped like the Big Dipper in my former marriage diaphragm when I eventually dusted it off for post-divorce use; switching back to condoms again.

  When John and I became a couple, I considered switching to a more hardcore form of birth control. But people weren't always who they appeared to be, and condoms protected you from worrying about STDs, too. They were smaller and more portable than diaphragms, another advantage, and you didn't have to remember to take them like the pill. Sure, the effectiveness rate was a bit lower, but my most fertile days were well behind me at this point anyway.

  But sometimes another truth would sneak up on me in the middle of the night after a Sunday spent with my nieces and nephews, or when I saw an older mom carrying a newborn in a baby seat looped over her arm like a bracelet. I want this, I'd think, as a yearning so deep it almost brought me to my knees came over me. I want a child of my own.

  Maybe the real truth was that, as a method of birth control, a condom seemed the least likely to succeed.

  I stood up on my tiptoes and tried to reach the top shelf. "If we were at my house and we ran out of condoms, the car would be in the driveway and CVS would be two minutes away. Just saying."

  "If we were at your house," John said, "your brother would be there and we wouldn't need a condom."

  It was a good point, but before I'd decided whether or not I wanted to acknowledge that, I touched a square packet with the tip of one finger.

  "Eureka," I yelled as the condom fell off the shelf.

  John caught it before it landed in one of the double sinks. "Hmm, I don't even remember buying this brand." He turned it over in his hand and squinted at it, perhaps looking for an expiration date.

  "As long as it's not the one you carried around in your wallet all through high school, I think we're good." I leaned in for a long kiss and we started working our way back to John's bedroom.

  "Hey, how did you know about my high school condom?" John asked later, after we'd finished making love. The late afternoon sun was peeking through the wooden slats of the blinds, and I felt like I could stay curled up here forever. Except that I had to pee and I was getting really hungry.

  "Brothers," I said. "All three of mine had wallet condoms. Carol and Christine and I used to sneak into their bedroom after Sunday dinner while they were out in the driveway playing basketball and go through their wallets just to see if they'd used them over the weekend."

  John laughed. He grabbed one of my feet and kissed a dog print-decaled toe. Then his eyes moved to the bedside clock. Horatio.

  I'd forgotten to buy sandwiches for us at the restaurant. By the time we got John's car out of his garage, found a decent restaurant, drove around until we found a parking place within walking distance, went inside and ordered and ate, I didn't even have to suggest going back to the condo for a riveting game of pinball before we picked up Horatio. We were late already.

  John decided it would be faster to drive to puppy play care. We battled traffic the whole way, and it turned out we probably could have walked the distance three times by the time we finally got there. Urban life was simply exhausting.

  Of course, we couldn't find a parking spot near Happytails, so I waited in the car, double-parked with the motor running, while John ran in to pick up Horatio.

  I rolled on some orange essence lip balm, checked my phone for messages just to kill some time. Not a one. Then I opened up my web browser and checked in on the private work chat the Gamiacs had set up for us. I'd scroll through the comments and formulate my next online assignment accordingly, using my extensive training and expertise to analyze their developmental progress and specific needs.

  Wood u care 2 dine with me this evening RavenSureSong? ObsidianDream had posted moments before at 4:58 PM.

  A post from RavenSureSong came in as I watched. Id b dlited.

  I closed my eyes and took a moment to appreciate this beautiful milestone. Maybe I could have them all make timelines on the final day of the session. We could scroll through the chat archives and find the exact day and time of their breakthrough moments. I'd order a big roll of paper like the kind we used at Bayberry. Or maybe we could make the timelines digitally. The Gamiacs would know what computer program would work best.

  When I opened my eyes, a new message had materialized. Now pick restaurant and time 2 meet and make sure u give yourselves time 2 shower & change first.

  Posted by PrincessKeli at 5:03 PM.

  My first thought was I couldn't believe she'd crashed our work chat. I mean, what part of private did she not understand? Then I switched into mentor mode. I was too young and vibrant to be a mother figure for her, so it would have to be more like an older sister figure. But, bottom line, what a great opportunity this was for Keli to learn from me. Who knew, if June got her own classroom one day, maybe Keli could even become my new assistant.

  I logged in to the chat room. Great job, everybody, I posted. Keep up the good work.

  John opened the back door on his side for Horatio. "Okay, buddy, hop right in. Guess who came to visit us? Sarah! And you know what that means. That means she's riding shotgun today!"

  Why did people have to sound like such idiots when they talked to their dogs? Even the parents of preschoolers had more dignity, at least most of the time.

  Horatio got in and immediately tried to jump the gear thingee between the two front seats of John's Acura.

  John gave his leash a tug. "Block the opening with your arm so he can't get through, but casually, as if you're simply claiming your turf."

  "Casually?" I said. "I only have one good arm left."

  John shut the back door and jumped into the driver's seat. I fought the urge to cut and run before he started up the car.

  Horatio sniffed the air, then let out a growl, low and mean, like he was gargling rocks.

  John turned the key in the ignition. I moved my hand to get a better grip on the back of his seat.

  Horatio lunged at my arm block and nipped me right above the elbow.

  "Ouch," I yelled.

  "Don't say ouch," John said. "And don't show any anxiety. Just grab the leash and make a correction. And keep your arm in block position."

  I couldn't believe it. Don't say ouch? Talk about giving Horatio a free pass to behave like a canine barbarian.

  "You're joking, right?" I finally said.

  "No, I'm not joking. I've been knee deep in research all week."

  I let out a puff of air. "How about if I just walk? I can meet you guys back at the condo." I crossed my fingers as I said the last part, since there was no way I was going back to John's condo if this was the kind of night I was in for.

  As soon as I got safely out of the car,
I'd call my brother Michael and see if I could still catch a ride home with him. Or if he'd already left, I'd jump on the train and make him pick me up at the Marshbury station. Assuming I could find the nearest subway and get to the train station from here.

  Horatio must have seen me cross my fingers because he lunged and snapped again, his teeth grazing my flesh and coming together with an ugly snap. I hoped he'd chipped a fang.

  John put the car into park and reached back and grabbed Horatio's leash. He gave it a quick yank and said, "Horatio, down." Calmly, as if we didn't have a four-legged psychopath in the backseat. Then he turned his Heath Bar eyes to me. "I know this is hard, Sarah, but you've got to trust me. It's important for us to get this right."

  I sighed. By the time we got back to John's condo, my arm was shaking, but Horatio was still in the backseat.

  "Round one goes to me, I'd say," I whispered to Horatio as John got out and opened the back door for him.

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  John picked up Horatio so that I could walk into the condo first. I tried not to notice that he held him like a baby. I distracted myself by rummaging in the depths of my shoulder bag for the Dog Biscuit in a Bag.

  Once I'd walked myself over the threshold, John carried Horatio over and put him down on the floor. He held on to Horatio's leash. I realized it was probably impractical for him to do this whenever I was in the condo, but perhaps we could discuss the possibility of installing brushed chrome hitches in every room so we could tie him up. That way Horatio could still hang out with us, but I'd be more likely to stay alive.

  "Okay," John said. "First, I want you to claim Horatio's favorite toys."

  "Excuse me?" I said.

  "When you claim his toys you'll essentially be claiming a higher rung on our pack ladder."

  I'd broken up enough knockdown drag-out preschooler fights over favorite toys to know that this was madness, pure and simple. I was glad I'd thought to shut my equipment bag in John's walk-in closet, because no matter what John said, reciprocity was off the table here. I had absolutely no intention of sharing my own favorite toys.

  "How about we make that our back-up plan?" I took a step toward the kitchen. It was time for me to channel my inner Suzy Homemaker and bake up some canine confections.

  John reached out and put a hand on my forearm. "Trust me."

  I sighed. I squatted down and reached a tentative hand toward the toy basket.

  Horatio snarled at me and leaped, heading straight for my carotid artery.

  John yanked the leash. "Horatio, sit," he said calmly.

  Horatio plopped his butt down on the hardwood floor and glared at me like I should offer to go get him a cushion.

  "Okay," I said in the perkiest voice I could muster, "I think he's got the message now. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. Ha, bet you never thought you'd hear those words come out of my mouth—"

  "Horatio, down," John said.

  Horatio slid his front paws forward until he was stretched out on the floor. He didn't fool me one bit. I could tell he was ready to pounce at any moment.

  John turned his attention to me. "Now pick up one of his toys and rub it all over yourself."

  "Eww." I said. "Like I want dog cooties."

  He didn't even smile.

  I reached into the basket and pulled out a Frisbee. It was glow-in-the-dark green and had actually been personalized with Horatio's name in big white block letters. And John wondered why he had territorial issues?

  Horatio made the rock-gargling sound again. I put the Frisbee on my head and twirled around, then pumped it up and down like a top hat. The growl got deeper. I rubbed the Frisbee up one arm, across my shoulders, then down the other arm. Horatio's whole body vibrated. I put the Frisbee on the ground and sat on it. Horatio let out a painful whine.

  "Good dog," I said with a smirk.

  "Now lean over him to show your dominance."

  I stood up and leaned over him. I might have enjoyed it more than I should have.

  Horatio went limp, like a furry rag doll.

  "There it is," John whispered. "He's submitting to you."

  "Great," I said. I lowered my voice to a whisper and leaned a little closer. "I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, pup."

  Horatio lunged for me. His teeth grazed my throat.

  I screamed.

  "Horatio, sit," John said calmly as he gave the leash a little love pull.

  "That's it?" I said. "What happened to Are you still alive, Sarah?"

  "Okay, now I want you to walk calmly into the kitchen, open the dishwasher, and take out his dish. We'll be right behind you."

  This was getting really old, but I did it anyway, just to get it over with. No matter what John said, once I finished feeding Horatio, I was drawing the line. And Horatio could forget about any barefoot baking of Dog Biscuits in a Bag tonight, too. I was going to settle in on the couch with a glass of wine. John could order takeout for dinner. The one big perk about being in the city was that restaurants actually delivered.

  I opened the dishwasher and took out Horatio's monogrammed stainless steel dog dish. It was freshly washed and sparkled not just with cleanliness, but with excess and indulgence. I had to admit it put my own dishes to shame.

  Horatio gargled some more rocks.

  "Okay," John said. "Now put the dish on the counter and open the refrigerator and take out a piece of that dark chocolate on the top shelf—"

  "Isn't chocolate supposed to make dogs really sick?" As soon as I said it, I wondered if I should have kept my mouth shut. Not that I wished food poisoning even on Horatio, but a small stomachache might be character building. And give him some time to think about the kind of dog he wanted to be.

  "There's a wedge of Stilton in the cheese drawer, too, if you'd rather."

  I opened John's fridge. "Not to tell you how to run your dog, but have you ever heard of dog food?"

  "It's chicken by-product-free, so it probably wouldn't hurt you, but I don't think we need to go that far."

  I shut the refrigerator door. Then I closed my eyes.

  One of my high school teachers used to say dawn breaks over marble head when the class finally got something. Because we were in Massachusetts, it was hard to tell whether he was saying marble head or referring to the town of Marblehead on the North Shore, so we were never completely sure whether or not we were being insulted.

  This time I knew. "You want me to eat from his freakin' dog dish?"

  "Just a few bites," John said.

  "Just a few bites?" I screamed. I took a step back. "What kind of sicko are you?"

  "It's clean," he said. "I ran it through the dishwasher. Twice."

  "You planned this?"

  "Of course I planned it. It's based on solid research. Eating from Horatio's food dish is the ultimate assertion of your superiority over him, the definitive claim on his turf."

  I looked at John Anderson, the man I'd just slept with, the man I thought I might even love.

  "Asking me to eat from his food dish," I said slowly and carefully, taking the time to enunciate each word, "is the definitive end to this relationship."

  I held my head high as I marched out of the kitchen to pick up my toys and go home. When I passed through the living room on the way to the hallway, I noticed the Peace, Love and Pinball poster had been replaced with a framed sheet of paper covered in brightly colored smudges and paw prints. Horatio's puppy masterpiece—ha. My preschoolers could have done a better job with one hand tied behind their backs.

  I locked myself in the master bedroom while I packed up my stuff.

  John knocked on the door.

  "Oh, go eat with your dog," I said.

  "Sarah," he said.

  "Leave me alone."

  "Sarah," he said again. This time it sounded sad and wistful. Like punctuation at the end of a relationship.

  People think it's the big things that cause break-ups. Cheating or sexual identity issues. Instability. Incompa
tibility. Politics or religion. But it can be smaller things, too. Things that you'd think would be totally resolvable, manageable, conquerable. Stupid little things.

  Like Horatio.

  I leaned my head against the door.

  "This is ridiculous," John said.

  "I agree," I said. "It's ridiculous and humiliating. And I can't handle it anymore."

  I felt John lean his head against the other side of the door. We were, what, an inch or two apart? And light years away from each other.

  "I think we need to walk through these next few moments very carefully," he said softly.

  "And I think you need to take your dog for a walk so I can get out of here in one piece."

  He didn't say anything.

  "Just give me ten minutes," I said. This didn't have to be high drama. We weren't living together. I didn't even have a change of clothes in his closet. As soon as John left I'd call a cab to get me to the nearest train station, so I didn't have to take a rubber chicken on the subway. Then I'd call Michael and get him to pick me up at the Marshbury train station. Tomorrow I'd call John's boss, tell him something came up, suggest that Keli take over with the Gamiacs.

  Happy ending all around. But my eyes teared up anyway.

  It was John's turn to talk, but he still hadn't said anything. Even Horatio was quiet. Of course he was. He'd won.

  We stood like this for a while, separated by a slab of white-painted hardwood, frozen like a bad game of statues. I was thinking about Kevin and the night he walked out for the last time. I wondered if John was thinking about his ex-wife. Maybe once you'd been through a divorce, it became the touchstone you always went back to when you were trying to gauge how bad something was.

  John cleared his throat. "You know why you're doing this, don't you?"

  Now it was my turn not to say anything. There was nothing to say.

  "Your brother needs you, the distance we live from each other, all of it. Think about it. Horatio is just one more excuse to push me away."