Dancing Dogs

by Jon Katz

  Back in her car, alone, she felt a flash of rage at Jamie. He’d been to Florida twice with his new girlfriend, gotten that new truck, a big flat-screen TV. And here she was living month to month, close to maxing out her credit card, looking for a part-time weekend job. He didn’t give a shit. She saw now that he never had.

  Maybe she would never have another relationship. Maybe she was destined to not have a family, never be a mother. Jamie wasn’t the only jerk she had encountered. Since they’d separated, there had been a whole string of them. One dumped her, and she dumped two. The one she liked had turned out to be gay. Sitting in the car, she resolved that she was over men, and a profound sense of loneliness swept over her.

  STACY LATER SAID an invisible hand had taken control of her.

  She found herself driving south on Route 9. Her job was in the opposite direction. So was her apartment. There was nothing in this direction but the new county prison and the Northern Ohio Animal Rescue League.

  Stacy speed-dialed her boss and left a message saying she was tied up at the doctor’s office and would be a half hour late.

  She walked into the main lobby of the shelter and signed in at the visitors’ desk. It was not the first time she’d been there. Several years earlier, she’d come by to get a puppy to surprise Jamie, but he wasn’t interested in taking care of a dog, he said, and claimed he was allergic to animals with fur. She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t think it was fair to the puppy to keep him, so she returned the dog. One other time, she’d come by just to look at the dogs and cats up for adoption, but she hadn’t even tried to bring one home.

  “I’m here to look at the dogs up for adoption,” she said, once inside the lobby, and the woman smiled and handed her a form to fill out. The county wasn’t as touchy or demanding as some of the private rescue groups. They had a lot of dogs coming through there, and they had to put a lot of them down. There weren’t any home inspections.

  Stacy was ushered into the back by a staffer named Judith and a volunteer named Marge and shown into the “Get Acquainted room” where people and dogs got to meet and check each other out. There were seven new dogs in the kennel. Two seemed to be lost pets—a black Lab and a poodle—and there would be a thirty-day hold on them in case their owners came looking for them, which was often the case with purebred, well-cared-for dogs. Another, a sad-eyed Boston terrier, was found in an apartment with his owner who had been dead for several days.

  A Rottweiler and a mixed-breed were still in quarantine until their health and temperament could be evaluated. The sixth was a terrier who had been injured—hit by a car or motorcyle, they thought, and brought in by the police. They weren’t sure he would make it.

  “And the seventh?” Stacy asked. Judith and Marge looked at each other.

  “That’s Dolly.” Marge paused. “She’s a big dog. A Rottweiler-pit mix, we think.”

  Stacy waited.

  Judith looked at her paperwork. “She’s a powerful dog and somewhat intimidating.”

  Stacy smiled. “That’s a good start,” she said. “What’s the downside?”

  Judith smiled. “Nothing that we’ve seen. She’s housebroken, easy with people, a real sweetie.”

  “Is she really housebroken?”

  “Yes,” said Marge, looking through her notes. “She’s well-trained, knows basic obedience commands, and is very healthy and strong.” She added: “We don’t want her to just go anyplace. Whoever adopts her has to understand the situation.”

  “Situation?”

  Marge explained that Dolly was first seen around the campus of Sandusky Community College, which was set on a one-hundred-acre estate on the edge of the town. She had clearly been abandoned, and was living outside, foraging through garbage and eating food that some of the students would leave for her on the edge of the parking lot.

  Dolly became a sort of mythical figure to the students at the college. One student, a volunteer at the shelter, was able to lure Dolly into a crate with a steak. She must have been very hungry because she went for it.

  A few minutes later, the three women went down the hallway and came to a heavy metal door plastered with warnings about entering, which Marge pushed open.

  Dolly was indeed a big dog, with a Rottweiler body and a pit-bull face. She had a wide, square face and broad, muscular shoulders. She was pretty fierce to look at.

  But Stacy thought she was gorgeous. She was the color of snow and had the most beautiful round blue eyes that Stacy had ever seen on an animal.

  “Pits are hard to place,” Marge said. “If Dolly doesn’t get a home, she’ll probably end up getting put down.”

  But for some reason, Stacy couldn’t do it. She thanked Judith and Marge. They said they understood; it was no good getting a dog if you didn’t want one. It wasn’t doing the dog any favor.

  Stacy walked outside, and drove to work. On the way, she thought, Screw Jamie. She was counting on that money to pay her credit card off and fix her car. Why did he always, always have to let her down?

  That night she had a dream. Dolly was in the shelter for days and days. A vet came in and pronounced her unfit for adoption. He took her into the procedure room to give her an injection that would kill her. Then the dog spoke: Why didn’t you save me?

  Stacy sat up in bed, sweating.

  In the morning, she drove to the shelter, sitting in the parking lot for fifteen minutes before she saw Marge pull in. She looked up as Stacy got out of her car.

  “Good morning,” Marge said, smiling.

  AN HOUR LATER, Stacy and Dolly pulled out of the shelter parking lot and headed home. Dolly sat quietly in the passenger seat, watching the buildings and cars slide by. Once in a while, she would turn to Stacy and eye her curiously.

  Stacy saw in Dolly’s face a reflection of her own need.

  Back at the apartment, Dolly was a pussycat. She preferred the floor to sofas. She ate almost anything. She would sit at Stacy’s feet like some Egyptian statue, off in her own world, silent, almost regal.

  The first time Stacy walked Dolly in the park, the dog bristled when a man came walking by. She let a couple of teenage girls pet her, but then she lunged after a jogger as he sped past. Some people—especially those with children—stayed back when they saw Dolly coming. She could definitely clear a sidewalk.

  One afternoon, Jamie came by—as usual, unannounced and uninvited—to ask if he could pick up the CDs he’d left in a box in the basement storage area. Dolly came right through the screen door at him and chased him down the walk. She attached herself to his foot as he jumped through the open window of his truck, and she came back with his Nike, offering it to Stacy with a wag of her tail. Then she ran back to the truck, scratching at the door and leaving slobber marks on the window as Jamie screamed inside.

  He called her on her cell. “Stacy, what’s wrong with you? You ought to get rid of that crazy dog before you get sued. It ate my fucking shoe!”

  Well, she said, she was sorry. She’d just deduct the cost of the sneaker from the $9,000 he should have paid her. Best to call ahead next time.

  A month later, Dolly had fully settled in, and the two ladies had a routine set. Stacy was feeling some of her confidence return and decided it was time get back out there on the dating scene.

  Her first date was with Carlos, an orderly from work who came by to take her to a staff party at the nursing home. Dolly kept him pinned in a corner by the door while Stacy got ready. When she came downstairs, he looked ashen. She was pleased to note that Dolly didn’t actually bite or attack him. Later, Carlos declined to accept her halfhearted invitation to come in for coffee.

  On the second date, Dolly simply growled at Jerry who did accept a halfhearted invitation for coffee, and foolishly invited himself over to the couch and put his arm around Stacy’s shoulder. Dolly then invited herself over and took his shoe in her mouth, fixing him with a deadly stare and growling. Jerry moved to another seat across the room, and left soon after, Dolly’s growls following him al
l the way.

  Okay, so Dolly didn’t like men. At first, this was upsetting. But then Stacy decided she couldn’t really blame her. She wasn’t all that crazy about them either.

  One morning, Stacy’s supervisor, Sally, was walking down the hall with a handsome young man Stacy had never seen before. Sally stopped and introduced her to Mark, who was a social worker, the facility’s new ombudsman. Stacy felt a vaguely familiar flutter in her chest.

  Later that day in the cafeteria, Mark asked if he could join her for lunch. He didn’t talk much about himself, which was a new experience for Stacy. Trying to make small talk, she asked him if he was a Cubs or Indians fan, which was usually a conversation-starter with the men she had known, and he said he wasn’t into sports that much. But he loved dogs.

  Stacy told him about Dolly, and he seemed fascinated. When Stacy told him how Dolly had eaten Jamie’s sneaker, he said the dog was a “keeper,” for sure.

  The next day, Mark was back again for lunch. And the next day also. Stacy was off that weekend, but first thing Saturday morning, Mark called her at home. Would she like to take a walk along the lake? It was a beautiful morning.

  Two hours later, Mark, Stacy, and Dolly were walking along the water near Cedar Point Amusement Park. The giant roller coasters hovered over them. Mark had insisted that she bring Dolly. Stacy had been wary, and Dolly was clearly not impressed. She fixed him with a deathly stare and growled when Mark even looked at her.

  But Stacy noted that he handled the dog’s response differently from the other men. He simply ignored Dolly. On the walk, if he came too close to Stacy, Dolly would move in and show her teeth. After a few minutes, Stacy saw Mark reach into his pocket and toss something on the ground. Dolly veered ahead and scarfed it up.

  “Do you always keep meat in your pocket?” she asked him, laughing.

  “I like to make a good impression,” he said with a smile.

  At the end of the path, they sat down and talked. Mark told her about school and his decision to go into health care and social work rather than law. He wanted to do something meaningful with his life, not just make money. He asked her about her marriage, her work, her life. He seemed to listen, a different and unsettling experience for Stacy. She didn’t quite believe it was for real.

  Mark was gentle and quiet, and that took some getting used to. She thought she detected a stubborn streak, but she wasn’t sure. She reminded herself to be cautious. First impressions were just first impressions, but the truth was she liked being around him.

  Dolly, however, remained vigilant, growling every now and then, though not as intensely.

  Every once in a while, Mark would reach into his pocket and toss some beef jerky down onto the ground. Dolly would scarf it up. He never looked at Dolly or spoke to her.

  After a while, Stacy saw that Dolly was paying a lot of attention to Mark, especially to his hands and pockets.

  They stopped for coffee at a local diner, and when they came back out, Dolly growled and lunged toward Mark, who started and backed off. Stacy held her leash tightly and told her to be quiet. God, she thought, I finally meet a nice guy and I have a dog that will chew him up or keep him away.

  She told Mark she had enjoyed the walk.

  He called the next morning and asked if he could stop by on his way to work. She was puzzled—it was early—but she said yes. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. Dolly barked and rushed to the door. When she opened it, Mark stood there with a Ziploc bag filled with a dozen hot-dog bits—cooked and pungent. Dolly growled and huffed but was intrigued by the bag. Mark tossed her a piece of hot dog, and she caught it on the fly, then looked for another. She got one more, than another, until all the bits were gone. And then Mark left.

  He hadn’t talked to Stacy that much. It was almost as if he was coming just to see Dolly. It was a little weird. But the next morning, Stacy let him come over again before heading to work. Once again, he threw bits of hot dog to Dolly. He never spoke to her or looked her in the eye. The following Sunday, he came by and sat on the porch with Dolly and Stacy. While they talked, Mark tossed beef jerky to the dog.

  Over the following weeks, Mark and Stacy went to the movies a couple of times, and then out to dinner. One evening at Stacy’s place, he reached over to pet Dolly, but she growled and he pulled his hand back.

  Every time he came to the apartment, he brought treats for Dolly. Stacy was amazed by how consistent he was. She was also a bit perplexed. He still seemed more interested in Dolly than in her. He never tried to sit on the couch with Stacy, never tried to touch or kiss her.

  She told Mark she was getting a little confused about this strange trio. Was he dating her? Or Dolly? Or both?

  “I just enjoy dogs,” he said. “But I don’t want to be making any trouble. I don’t want to upset you.”

  After that, he disappeared for several weeks. He avoided her at the nursing home and didn’t call. She missed him. And she thought Dolly missed him too. She seemed to be watching for him in the mornings.

  Then one day, without explanation, he called up and asked if he could come by.

  She said yes.

  The three slipped quietly back into their old routine. It was, Stacy had to admit, a lovely friendship.

  Mark started bring her small things when he visited. Romance novels. Judy Collins CDs. Asian pears. Chocolate. She wondered how he knew what she liked, and then she remembered. He had asked. They were always little things, inexpensive things. Nothing too showy, nothing that made her too uncomfortable. She told him not to bother, that he didn’t need to give her things, but he always smiled, and said that if he had to, he wouldn’t have.

  She realized Jamie wouldn’t have known to get her any of those things, not even after twelve years.

  Dolly continued to challenge and intimidate men. As for Mark, she kept an eye on him, kept her distance, but she had softened. She growled and grumped when he came in, but she also was eager for the rain of treats and didn’t seem to see his arrival as a dangerous intrusion.

  After several months of beef-jerky and hot-dog visits, Mark showed up with a barbecued steak. He asked Stacy if he could borrow a knife, and he chopped it up into chunks, put it back in the plastic bag he’d brought it in, and went out onto the porch.

  Dolly did not growl at him. She followed him out and sat next to him, as alert and focused as a Westminster show dog.

  Mark just walked around with the steak in a plastic bag. Dolly got more and more focused on him. He tossed a couple of pieces. By now, it had become a kind of game, this tossing and catching of food, and Dolly liked it. She loved it.

  On the previous visit, she had lain down in front of Mark and gone to sleep, the first time Stacy had ever seen her do that. And since he never touched Stacy or came near her or tried to sit next to her on the couch, Dolly’s protective instincts began to soften. No threat.

  This day, on the porch, Mark looked Dolly in the eye. “Sit,” he said, firmly but clearly. Dolly sat. “Lie down,” he said. She lay down.

  He leaned forward—he had a piece of steak in his hand—and patted her head. She wagged her tail.

  He told her to “come,” and to “lie down” again. She did.

  He gave her two more chunks of steak. Then he asked Stacy if he could take Dolly for a walk alone, and she hesitated for a second—it seemed to hit her that there was more going on than a walk—but she said yes. The two were gone for an hour.

  When they came back, Mark said they had gone to the park. Dolly had chased balls and played tug-of-war with a rubber toy he had bought. Dolly, sated and exhausted, came into the house and crawled into her dog bed and collapsed. Soon, her snoring filled the room. She paid no attention to where Mark was or wasn’t.

  Stacy’s eyes teared suddenly. Dolly looked very tired, but also very happy. She had never thought to do those things with her, even though she loved her very much. It made her happy to see it. She thought Mark was so sweet to do it. He had to have a big heart. You couldn’t fool
a dog. She remembered how Dolly had run Jamie right out of her driveway and her life.

  Dolly’s snores deepened. Stacy was on her own. The dog who kept men away was not.

  Mark asked if he could come over to the couch and sit with her, and Stacy said yes.

  Barn Cat

  SHE HEARD THE CRICKETS START UP—THE SIGNAL FOR HER TO begin work—and she crawled out from behind the coop, sashayed past the rooster, who was watching her, and then headed out into the night. She soaked up the late-summer smells and sounds of the forest, moving freely back and forth from the woods and meadows, then into the cavernous barn with its machines, animals, and towers of stacked hay.

  Evening was her favorite hunting and stalking time. The birds were still awake and making noise. There was little light, and breezes carried the scents of the land. She moved through the pastures and woods like a shadow, slowly and carefully, creeping through the tall grass, through the bushes and reeds.

  She was in her element—watching, listening, waiting, stalking, catching things. Sometimes she ate them and sometimes she played with them, tortured them, or even let them go. There were mice everywhere, but every now and then she came across something different—a snake, a baby rabbit, a wounded bird. Wherever she went, she left a trail of dead and dismembered creatures, methodically pursued, joyfully killed.

  The cat always knew just where she was and what was around her. She stayed away from roads and clear paths. She was not heard or seen. Few of the animals out in the meadow or the woods could see the way she could, or be as still for so long. Her patience and focus were extraordinary. She could feel movement even before she heard or saw it. She sat, her body stiff, eyes widened, ears straight up and pointed forward. She waited.

  Unlike most other animals, she spent her life alone but did not understand the concept of loneliness.