Dancing Dogs

by Jon Katz

  Minnie heard a familiar barking and squealing, and she turned to see Luther running up to her, wagging his tail. He shook, licked her hand, looked into her eyes. Her own eyes filled with tears as she sat down on the ground next to him. Audrey beamed. Minnie put her arms around Luther’s ugly little head and kissed him on the nose.

  He was clearly pleased to see her. But she also thought that he was somewhat restrained, not as demonstrative as she remembered him. Or as she expected him to be.

  “Luther, Luther, my boy, my love!” she cried out, and kept on hugging her dog. Luther wagged his tail, and then backed up a bit. He came forward and sniffed her hand, licked it, then he moved away and out toward a path that led out of the field.

  “He wants to take you for a walk. He’s excited to see you and wants to show you off to the other dogs. Just follow the path.”

  Minnie was a bit disconcerted. Something about Luther was definitely different. Audrey sensed this.

  “He’s been waiting for you, but he doesn’t have to perform for you now. The obedience and control thing is different. You know, the way dogs down there get you to do things for them. He doesn’t have to do that up here, he can do what he wants. He can just love you in the dog way.”

  Audrey said she would be waiting when Minnie was done visiting and ready to go back to People Heaven. Minnie turned to follow Luther toward the dirt path to take a closer look at his new home.

  “One last thing,” Audrey said. “Humans are not allowed off the path. There are all kinds of spikes, rocks, wire, and other obstacles that will sting and scrape you if you step off of the path. You’re not allowed to go where you want. When people do go off the path, they misbehave. They get out of control. They clean up the rotten food, shovel the dog poo, and fill in the mud holes. They just mess the place up. They can’t be trusted, really, to be on their own here.”

  Minnie followed Luther to the edge of the path, and he hopped off but walked alongside her.

  Off to the right, Minnie saw countless dogs together, mating, She was startled at the sight. Most of those she knew had, like Luther, been “fixed.” Minnie turned away out of decency. It was, she thought, a bit disgusting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Luther climbing onto the back of a hefty yellow Lab. She called out to him. “Luther! Come! Get off her!” But Luther ignored her, so she looked away and waited. After a few minutes, Luther appeared alongside the path next to her.

  “You’re a bad dog!” she said.

  Luther cocked his head and looked at her curiously. Then he turned around and continued walking alongside the path. Minnie had never walked with him off a leash. This was strange.

  Off in the distance, Minnie heard a disturbing racket, as if hundreds of dogs were fighting. She wondered what all the noise was about. Then she saw. Everywhere she looked, dogs were chasing one another, rolling and wrestling, nipping at ears, huffing themselves up, growling and barking. The din was unnerving, and she was frightened at the sight of so many dog teeth, the slashing and biting. It was awful to see.

  Still, she saw no blood, just a lot of posturing and noise. Fifty yards off the path, Luther was rolling around with a Rottweiler. His teeth were bared, and he was nipping at the bigger dog. Had he lost his mind?

  “Luther, get out of there! None of that!” she yelled. The two dogs squared off, shoulder to shoulder, and then Luther tore around and nipped at the other dog’s tail. The larger dog gnawed on Luther’s shoulder, which bled a bit. Minnie, confused and alarmed, started to run off of the path to save her dog, but she saw two strands of barbed wire and a pile of broken glass right in front of her, and she remembered Audrey’s caution. She also saw that the blood had vanished, the wound healed.

  “Luther, come right now!”

  Luther ignored her, and disappeared into the melee.

  About five minutes later, he showed up on the other side of the path. Not only was he not injured—there was some slobber on his coat—but he looked fit and happy, more relaxed than she remembered. She recalled that Luther had been something of an anxious dog, a barker. All kinds of sounds used to make him nervous—the vacuum cleaner, buses, sirens, airplanes. And he had always shied away from larger dogs.

  But nothing seemed to bug him up here. In fact, Luther was out of control. He wasn’t the sweet, deferential, and quiet little guy Father Matthews had brought over to the house anymore.

  And Minnie realized that she’d been shouting at him ever since she saw him, and that wasn’t the kind of reunion she’d been dreaming about.

  “I have to say this isn’t what I expected,” she said, mostly to herself but in the general direction of Luther, who was walking ahead of her toward an area that seemed to be covered with garbage. The smell, like decaying meat in the summer heat, was awful.

  Luther darted off again. Looking back for her every now and then, he raced to one of the piles. It looked like some kind of dead animal, and Minnie could smell it all the way from the path. Luther started rolling in the thing—it might have been a dead deer—scattering the flies and bugs and maggots.

  “Get out of that right now!”

  Luther moved over to a pile of garbage and started chewing on something. Minnie didn’t even want to think about what it was. There were hundreds—thousands—of dogs in the vast garbage heap, rolling, eating, some even vomiting.

  Minnie nearly choked at the sight. She suspected there were quite a few rabbits, chipmunks, and squirrels in the pile. She could see flies, worms, all kinds of vultures circling overhead.

  So that’s what they eat up here, Minnie thought. Garbage. She remembered reading somewhere that for most of their history, that’s what dogs ate. Dog food wasn’t even invented until the early 1960s. It didn’t seem to be hurting them, at least not here.

  Luther left off the garbage and hopped back up on the path. Minnie followed. Maybe now, she thought, he would just walk with her, like he used to do. Maybe he would listen to her. She saw that they were coming to another area. And the smell was different. She smelled flowers, rich soil, earth. This was better.

  Minnie had been a passionate gardener down on Earth. She had never had the space for a large garden, but had done the best with what she had. And now, she was dazzled by the colorful gardens in front of her, which seemed to go on for miles. She recognized black-eyed Susans, foxglove, irises, bleeding hearts, coral bells, daffodils, pansies, petunias, marigolds, tulips, and verbena.

  But as she got closer, she was horrified to see that the gardens had almost all been ravaged. Stakes were pulled out of the ground and chewed, and there were mud holes all over the place that looked as if the dogs were using them to lie in. Hundreds of bulbs had been pulled out of the ground and strewn about. There were dog droppings everywhere, and some of the flowers looked as if they’d been peed on.

  Minnie had never let Luther near a garden. Back on Earth, people put up fences and warning signs. They would sometimes even call the police. She had fenced off her own garden too.

  Now she didn’t call Luther back or stop him, although she saw that he’d gotten into a tall stand of lilacs and was pulling them out of the ground and tossing them into the air. It almost seemed as if he were digging the garden up for her.

  After a few minutes, he trotted back over to her. She leaned down to pet him, but he was pretty disgusting. His fur was matted—caked with feces, garbage, and putrid meat.

  “What’s gotten into you?” she asked, as he sat, wagging his tail. He was looking at her with affection, even some pleading, she thought. “What happened to my good little boy? My sweetie pie?”

  Luther shook himself off, dust and detritus falling over the path, and Minnie stepped back. He walked ahead of her on the path, and they came to yet another area. This one was even stranger than the others. It looked like a series of rooms—kitchens, living rooms, dining rooms, and bedrooms—all furnished, connected to one another as far as the eye could see, stuffed with furniture. There was a sea of carpets and cushions, many of them torn, ripped, and
scattered all over the floors.

  Minnie gasped.

  There were urine stains and dog poop on the carpet. The sofas were chewed up, pillows shredded, backs scratched and clawed. There were slobber marks on all of the windows and scratch marks on the doors. Sheets were torn into pieces and table legs strewn around. Kitchen appliances and plates and napkins were in shards everywhere.

  Wow, thought Minnie, who was known for having floors you could eat off. I would have killed Luther if he’d done this. As she looked up, she saw that Luther was doing this. He was standing up on a kitchen counter, pulling open a loaf of bread and gnawing on it, scattering some of it onto the floor for some other dogs that were barking right below him.

  Luther jumped off the counter and ran into a living room. He jumped up onto a sofa and tore open a cushion. Fluffy fabric flew all over the floor.

  “Luther!”

  But he wasn’t listening to her. It seemed she couldn’t command him up here, and while he was paying attention to her, and to where she was, he wasn’t obeying her. He simply did as he pleased. He didn’t seem to be her dog anymore. She wondered why she was even there.

  Just then, Audrey appeared on the path in front of her. She was beaming. “Isn’t this nice?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Minnie said.

  Audrey looked a little disturbed. “This is one of their favorite places. They just never tire of it. It’s a good place to nap too.” Minnie saw a poodle lying on her back, snoring amidst a bunch of mattress springs and shredded down pillows.

  Audrey said she would be back shortly, and flew off again.

  Minnie took a deep breath, trying to orient herself. This wasn’t the cozy, idyllic reunion she had fantasized about for years. Yet there was Luther, her dog, and he sure looked happy. It occurred to her that she may not have known Luther as well as she thought. Here he was, doing things that she didn’t like, and never would have allowed. But he was also doing things that he liked, and she had frankly never thought much about that.

  Luther seemed to come and go, almost invisibly. But he returned regularly to sniff at her feet, and she would bend over and gingerly scratch his ears. He wagged his tail, seeming very pleased to be taking her for a walk.

  “Luther, I love you. I’ve missed you terribly and waited for this day for years. I hope we can be together again.”

  Luther looked into her eyes, and then he was off again.

  She yelled his name, but he didn’t appear. She almost wanted to cry, she was so disappointed. Her heart rose in her chest. I loved that dog so much, she thought. And this love came flooding back. Their time together, their cuddles on the couch, their walks in the neighborhood. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she walked into the house, and Luther had been there to greet her. The times he had helped her get through the tough days. The loneliness he had eased. The way he got her out of the house, moving, meeting and talking with people. She suddenly felt overwhelmed with memories.

  She wanted to go back, and just like that, Audrey appeared. “You ready?” she asked, and Minnie nodded. Luther was mounting a beagle in the distance. She didn’t want to look.

  When she got back, Jacob was sitting on the bench, smiling. Minnie was glad to sit down. She was hungry. Audrey had been right. It had been different. But now, Audrey told her all she had to do was call out her name whenever she wanted to see Luther again.

  Minnie thanked her, gave her a hug.

  “I have just one question,” she said, as Audrey flapped her wings to prepare to leave. “That was Dog Heaven, right?”

  “Right,” said Audrey.

  “Is there a Dog Hell?”

  Audrey paused, then nodded. “For the dogs who hurt people and other dogs.”

  “What is it like?” Minnie asked.

  “It’s a sad place. Dogs can’t run free. They’re castrated or fixed. They can’t have sex. They aren’t allowed to squabble and they can’t eat any of the things they love. In Hell, they aren’t allowed to dig holes, pee where they want, or eat flowers. They can’t jump on furniture or scratch at doors and windows. I’ve never been there, but I gather they can’t even go out of doors without being tethered.” She shook her head. “Creepy.”

  And off she went, leaving a trickle of dog hairs to fall in the fading sunlight.

  A FEW DAYS LATER, Minnie went for a walk in the flower garden near the bench where she usually met Jacob. She was reminded of her visit with Luther, how different it was.

  Then she called out Audrey’s name, and the angel appeared instantly.

  “You want to go back?” Audrey asked. “Some people don’t.”

  Minnie nodded. “I do.”

  In a few minutes, they were in Dog Heaven again. Minnie started out on the path, and Luther appeared alongside of her, wagging his tail.

  He did not rush up to her or squeal with delight. He did not lick her hand or jump up or beg for treats. She did not call out to him or yell “sweetie pie” or wait for him to walk alongside her.

  Luther was different from the first visit. He trotted alongside the path, and she walked steadily forward. She did not tell him to stay or come. She did not try to stop him from mounting other dogs, eating garbage, squabbling, or destroying the endless mounds of furniture. She just told herself to be quiet, and stuck to it.

  This time, he stayed much closer to her. He walked with his head up, his tail straight, his chest puffed out. Once again, she could feel the love between them. But she had to concede it was different. She wasn’t taking him for a walk. They were walking together.

  “I love you, Luther,” she said, as he ran off to eat some squalid garbage. And she waved, her eyes filling with tears. “Go be a dog.”

  Day in the Life of Pearl and Joan

  JOAN SNIFFED THE AIR, TAKING IN THE INVITING AROMAS COMING from the grocery bags in the rear of the Subaru as the car pulled into the driveway. She savored the satisfying brew that filled the car—apples, oranges, beef, bananas, potatoes, bread, and coffee. It was so nice to have all the food you needed. She looked over at Pearl, sitting across from her in the front seat. Pearl, she saw, was doing the same thing.

  Joan settled into the seat for a second, sighed, and was content. They were home. And for the first time in several hours, her joints didn’t hurt.

  They shopped at the same time every week: Friday, four P.M. Somehow, Pearl always knew when it was time to shop. Joan had no idea whether it was the light, or some movement or gesture of hers, but Pearl always knew when to go over to the leash hanging by the back door.

  Joan was tired. She was glad shopping was over, even though it was perhaps her favorite activity, along with sitting on the sofa with Pearl. She got to meet people, see what was going on, get out of the house. She loved the ride to the market along the beautiful River Drive, past parks, dogs, a pond, bikers. She loved the smell of the breeze that drifted across Lake Michigan.

  As usual, Pearl had come along and that made shopping even better. Pearl was easy company, cheerful, lovable, quiet. There wasn’t much the two of them didn’t enjoy doing together, and in the six years that they had been companions, there was no longer much they didn’t do together. Joan brought Pearl along wherever and whenever she could. She had socialized her relentlessly in malls, parks, school playgrounds, along the river, in dog playgroups. Joan was pleased at how many people Pearl connected with. And Joan loved people as much or more. Pearl never met a dog she didn’t like either, although some of them didn’t always reciprocate.

  Joan thought about the food in the car and about dinner, and a number of delicious images swirled through her head—chicken, potatoes, rice, gravy, soup. She got out of the car and waited for Pearl to follow. It was chilly. Joan shivered, but Pearl never seemed to mind the cold.

  It took about fifteen minutes to haul the bags from the car—Joan and Pearl trekking back and forth together. Then everything had to be put in its proper place. There was much crinkling of paper, shifting of bags, opening and closing of cabinet doo
rs, the soft thwump of the refrigerator opening and closing—Pearl sometimes stuck her head in and sniffed.

  When the unpacking was done, Pearl came over to Joan for a cuddle and a kiss.

  Joan loved so many things about Pearl, but if there was a single thing, it was the special love that existed between people and dogs, the powerful emotion each evoked in the other. They knew each other so well, accepted each other so completely.

  Unlike the love of some people and even of some dogs, Pearl’s was absolutely unconditional. Other creatures could be fickle, cruel, unpredictable. Joan never could say for sure what was going on in Pearl’s alien mind, but the love in her eyes, the acceptance, the dependability, and affection were profound. It was a tonic for Joan, which helped her forget the arthritis in her legs, and Harry’s death two years earlier.

  Joan had found Harry lying on the floor in the hallway. She still remembered the awful scene—the shock, the fear; paramedics storming in, trying to revive him, taking him out; the painful days that followed. She had experienced death before—the loss of her parents, others—but Harry’s death was a more profound and painful wrench than she had imagined, or was in any way prepared for. Her world turned upside down. Her days were filled with fear, and an aching sense of loneliness and loss.

  Joan had been with Harry for much of her life, loved him, cared for him, and it was as if the structure and rhythms of her life simply collapsed, leaving a bottomless black hole. She nearly fell apart at first. She didn’t eat, sleep, or feel at peace. She didn’t want to go out or see anyone.

  It was better now, so much better. She was eating, walking several times a day, going out, seeing friends, even having some fun. She felt hope again, looked forward to things. Much of the healing came in the small rituals of life that she and Pearl did together—the walks, shopping, resting, driving. Joan didn’t know if she would have survived without Pearl’s steadfast presence. The gratitude she felt for Pearl was beyond her ability to describe, or to convey to others.