Alpha Dog (6 page)

“Christine! It’s the sodding crack of dawn!” he whined.

“It’s almost nine-thirty!”

“But I’m totally knackered, love. You know we had a late gig.”

“Don’t be such a wanker! I was up late too, you know!”

“But you weren’t on stage.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine! I’ll get someone else.”

I knew what would happen even before she swiveled around to face me, her eyes as big and round as beer coasters.

“Katie,” she began in her syrupy sweet voice.

“But I really need to take a shower,” I said, gesturing to my matted hair and stubbly legs.

“You can do that when we get back.
Please?
If I take too long, someone else will beat me to him!”

Do I look as if I care?
I grumbled inwardly, still mad at her for laughing at me. But even as I thought this, I could feel my posture wilting in defeat. Christine noticed too. A triumphant grin began wriggling across her face. “Oh, okay,” I heard myself say. But Christine had already grabbed my arm and was pulling me toward my bedroom.

“Hurry and get dressed,” she ordered. “I’ll meet you at the door in five minutes.”

So there I was on my first morning of freedom. Instead of sipping coffee on the balcony after a record-long hot shower, I was caffeine-free and yanking on old sweats so I could accompany Christine to an animal shelter.

The last thing I saw before heading out of the apartment with Christine was steam snaking around the bathroom door. Robot’s voice, singing a classic Green Day tune, echoed from within.

“Crap! You are freaking kidding me! How can he be gone already?”

Christine had transformed again. Two minutes before, she had been all schoolgirl charm and impeccable manners. Now an angry, messy-haired banshee stood in her place, yelling at a bespectacled woman at the reception counter.

“I’m sorry. The dog left just half an hour ago with someone else. They called yesterday evening right after we posted the e-mail.”

“But that’s not fair! I just got the message this morning! I can’t help it if I had plans last night. I have a life!”

The woman smiled without curling up the sides of her mouth, making it look as if she were baring her teeth at Christine. “If you like, I can do a search of other nearby shelters to see if any dachshunds have been brought in recently. Sometimes they don’t get on the rescue league’s network.”

“Yes. Do that.”

“It might take a while,” she said. I could tell she was hoping Christine might worry it would take up too much of her “life.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Christine said. She looked over at me. “That’s not a problem, is it, Katie?”

Yes. I’m hungry and in dire need of shampoo and a
cup of coffee.
“No. No problem. I’ll just have a look around.”

The irritated woman led Christine into a glass-walled office and shut the door. I felt like a dweeb on display just standing there with nothing to do, so I wandered down the corridor where the dogs were kept. With each step the soundscape of barks, grunts and whimpers grew louder, and the combined smell of kibble and animal dander became nearly overwhelming.

A middle-aged man holding a clipboard stood near the far end of the corridor. He nodded at me. “If you see one that interests you, let me know.”

“Thanks but . . .” I paused, unsure how to say that I really wasn’t interested in adopting a homeless pet, that I was just killing time while my roommate had me trapped there. After all, the guy probably put years of his life into saving these animals and probably wouldn’t take kindly to window-shoppers like me. “I’m sort of in a temporary living situation right now. So I’m looking around to just, you know, get a feel of what sort of dog I want to adopt when I head home this fall.”

He gave a perfunctory nod and turned back toward his clipboard, clearly sorry he’d even spoken to me.

No need to tell him your life story, you spaz!

I slowly ambled down the corridor, peering into the Plexiglas stalls at all the different animals. For some reason I’d expected the kennels to resemble a bleak dungeon—like the scene in
The Lady and the Tramp.
But this place wasn’t that bad at all. The dogs all looked healthy and well-cared for. They had mats and blankets and big bowls of food and water. And yet, it still made me sad. There were so many of them. Row after row, stall after stall, dogs of all shapes, sizes and colors. My eyes blurred trying to look at them all.

Just as the depression was starting to set in, I caught sight of a little face out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw a dog sitting quietly at the front of his stall, studying me as if I were the one on display.

He was medium-sized with longish black, white and brown fur. His ears were raised, the left one flopping forward at the tip as if it were too heavy. His fur parted down the length of his snout and hung down like a giant mustache beneath his round, black-button nose. But what struck me the most were his eyes. Big and round and dark, with two streaks of light brown fur hanging over each one like eyebrows. He cocked his head and stared at me intently, looking sad or worried.
Worried about me?

I’d never seen a dog like him before. And yet, there was something jarringly familiar about him—something that made my mind wheel backward. . . . Big brown eyes . . . messy, floppy hair . . . a kindly look of concern . . .

“Seamus,” I said softly.

Suddenly the dog rose up on his haunches and placed his front paws against the glass, his tail a wagging blur. It seemed to me that his mouth curled into a smile.

“Seamus?” I said again. I knew it wasn’t Seamus— not my Seamus. But for whatever reason, this dog responded to the name. I stared into his dark, soulful eyes, and he kept on gazing back as if terribly concerned for me.

A warm, snuggly feeling swept through me. I wanted so badly to hold him, to take him home and feed him and take care of him forever and ever. But I knew I couldn’t. Mom would flip out if I got a dog. A decision this big required her input at every step. Hell, she’d probably want to pick it out herself. She’d insist I forget about this guy and instead talk me into some perfect, fluffy poser dog. Or something more practical like a gi-normous watchdog that would attack any guy who came near me—except Aaron, of course. Not that it mattered. She’d never allow me to have a dog to begin with.

As I turned to walk away, the dog started whining. I spun back around and looked at him.

Then again . . . there was no reason why we couldn’t have a dog. No one in my family was allergic, and we had a big backyard. And why shouldn’t I be able to pick out the one I wanted? I’d be the one taking care of him. It wasn’t like I would be bringing home a camel, or a great white shark or a guy like Robot. It was just a little dog. What was the big deal anyway?

I was tired of consulting Mom on every little thing. Robot and Christine were right. I was practically an adult and I was still letting my mom run my life!

No more. I was going to make this decision myself. And if Mom didn’t like it, tough! It would serve her right for not trusting me.

“I’d like to reserve this one,” I heard myself call out to the man, who was still flipping pages and taking down notes.

He glanced over, somewhat taken aback after having written me off as a browser. Sticking the clipboard under his arm, he walked over and studied the tag on Seamus’s kennel.

“Sorry,” he said. “You’d have to take him now. This guy won’t be available in a couple of months.”

“Why?” Oh no. Just my luck. Someone else already asked for him! But he was
mine
! They had to understand.

The man looked into my eyes, his expression a little sad. “This one is scheduled to be euthanized in two days if he isn’t adopted.”

“Euthanized? You mean . . .” It felt as if I’d been poured over ice.
“. . . killed?”

“I’m sorry,” the man said again, and he truly did look very sorry. “We get so many dogs here, and we have to accept them all. We simply don’t have the space or resources to keep them indefinitely.”

I stared back into the little dog’s eyes. His head was tilting from side to side as if he were pondering me as well. A fluttery feeling filled my chest. Somehow I just knew, beyond any doubt or hesitation: This little guy was meant to be with me. No way could I let him die.

I could do this. In fact, this way might even be better. After all, Mom couldn’t argue that I wasn’t responsible enough for a dog if I’d been taking care of one all summer. Right?

“Then I’ll take him now,” I said firmly. “Today.”

Two minutes later we were in a different glass-walled office and I was looking over the information on “Tex,” as they called Seamus. According to their records, he was approximately ten months old and had been found abandoned in a strip center parking lot. He weighed eighteen pounds and was twenty-one inches long. In the box marked Breed, they had written, “Mixed,” but the man said he would guess Black Russian terrier mixed with something else. Schnauzer maybe, or Lhasa. “Something more hyper,” as he put it.

“Do you have anything with your current address?” he asked as he filled out a form with lots of tiny print on it.

“Yes. My student ID card,” I said, pulling the orange-bordered card from my wallet. “I’m starting classes there Monday,” I added, hoping it made me sound older.
Yup,
that’s me. A responsible, mature UT student. A worthy
caregiver for a homeless dog.

He stopped writing and glanced up at me. “You rent?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “A nice, big condo. Plenty of space.”

“Do you have a note from the owner clearing you to have an animal there?”

“Uh . . . not really,” I replied, my voice puny with sudden panic.

The man sighed and set down his pen, his features sagging with disappointment.

A heavy, tingly feeling trilled through my limbs. They wouldn’t let him die just because of a piece of paper, would they?

“But my roommate has a note!” I added hastily. “Christine Hobbes. H-o-b-b-e-s. We live in the exact same condo. She has a letter from our landlady allowing her to have a pet.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll need one made out for you.”

“But my landlady is out of town until next week! You said yourself, by then it will be too late.” For some reason, I was really losing it—lips quivering, eyes tearing up, voice like a cartoon mouse.

The man shifted in his vinyl office chair and muttered a series of single-syllable nothing words. “Uh . . . well . . . um . . . hmmm.” He eyed the door behind me longingly.

I leaned forward and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Please,” I croaked. “Just let me take him. Let me save his life.”

“Well
that
was a major waste of time,” Christine said as she stalked out of the patient lady’s office. “Come on, Katie. Let’s get out of here and go find a Starbucks.”

“Um . . . maybe we should go home first?”

She looked down at Seamus, who was dancing around my feet, and came to a halt. “What’s that?”

“A dog.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “Why is it
with
you?”

“I sort of . . . adopted him.”