Alpha Dog (8 page)

“Very good!” I exclaimed. His cheeks deflated with a small pop.

“William!”
the mom shrieked.

“Well . . . bye.” The boy turned and charged back toward the benches. Seamus strained harder than ever to follow him, but I held on tight and didn’t let go until I felt him relax.

“Come on, Seamus,” I said, tugging him in the direction of the sidewalk. “Let’s go, Seamus.” After the “William” episode, I was a little worried he might get confused about his name.

It required a lot of pulling and coaxing, but eventually I was able to restart our walk along the sidewalk. Just beyond the playground lay a grassy field, completely empty except for a chain-link backstop—and lots and lots of squirrels.

As soon as one of the bushy-tailed critters came within two feet of us, Seamus lunged with a force more powerful than I’d assumed he’d be capable of. I heard him start yapping loudly, felt the leash slip from my grasp, and saw a dark blur zooming off into the distance.

“Seamus! No!” I cried, running after him.

It was like one of those cheesy chase scenes in a vintage comedy. The only thing missing was the rollicking music. Even though the squirrel (and every squirrel within a hundred yards) had climbed to safety two seconds after my dog took off after it, Seamus still kept racing around the park, wired on freedom and the infinite space around him.

“Come here, Seamus!” I called out over and over, but he kept ignoring me.

Soon I realized he thought it was a game. He would stop long enough for me to get within range; then, as soon as I reached for him, he’d get this possessed gleam in his eyes and take off again.

After a while I stopped and rested my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. I was beginning to panic. What if I
never
caught him?

A lady pushing a stroller stopped along the sidewalk behind me. “Excuse me, but dogs are not supposed to be off their leash at this park,” she said in a snippy tone.

“He’s not off his leash,” I pointed out. I knew it was rude, but I was beyond caring. I was mad and embarrassed and tired as hell. Besides, the woman looked a lot like my mom.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You know what I mean. They aren’t supposed to run free!”

“Lady, if you want to try chasing him down for me, be my guest,” I snapped. “Right now I’m taking a breather.”

She glared at me for a few seconds and then resumed her walk, her stride now longer and faster. I watched as she headed into the crowd of mothers. Soon all of their heads were ducked together for a collective whisper.
What’s the big deal exactly?
I thought, my cheeks stinging with anger and humiliation.
It’s not as
if Seamus is hurting anyone.

Eventually my breathing steadied. I turned back around just in time to see Seamus running past the neighborhood pool. Thankfully, the fence surrounding it was still shut tight. A girl in a bright red maillot with the word
Lifeguard
across the chest was hosing down the area, pushing away bits of branches with the spray. All the runoff was coursing down the rough patio and pooling just beyond the chain-link fence.

Somehow I knew what would happen before it actually did.

“Seamus! No!” I watched helplessly as Seamus ran toward the puddle, his ears flapping in the breeze, tail wagging like an outboard motor. As soon as his paws hit the water, he began springing about gleefully, sending up small sprays of muddy rain. By the time I reached him he was on his back, rolling in the muck and snorting in joyous doggie rapture. He saw me and paused in mid-roll, his tail splashing in delight, as if to say, “Look how fun this is! Come on and give it a try!”

At least I can grab him now,
I grumbled inwardly. Gathering my nerve, I squatted down and scooped Seamus up out of the puddle. I tried to hold him out at arms’ length, away from my yellow tee, but ended up having to squish him up against me anyway since he wriggled so much. Meanwhile, giant clumps of brown sludge rained down off him onto the ground and all over my tennis shoes.

I tried not to look at the park bench crowd as we made our way back down the walkway, splattering bits of muck and leaving a dirty trail as Seamus’s filthy leash dragged behind us. My jaw clenched from both intense frustration and a fierce need to defend my dog against criticism.

“Yook! Goggie messy!” I heard Michael say.

“Eeeuw,”
said Alicia.

Still I refused to look. My cheeks were already on slow cook from just imagining those mothers’ scolding glares.

They didn’t understand. Seamus had only gotten out of the shelter that morning. He was just a little high on freedom. Once he calmed down, he’d behave better.

As soon as we turned the corner and moved out of sight of the park, I stopped and stared down into Seamus’s round brown eyes. “Bad boy,” I said, carefully enunciating each word as if he were an infant. Seamus cocked his head at me, his ears pricking slightly. “That’s right,” I went on. “Rolling in mud is bad. Very, very bad.”

He studied me for a moment, his expression droopy and sad. But just when I was starting to feel guilty, his nose was in my face and his pink tongue slurped against my mouth.

“No, no.
Bad
dog,” I repeated, wiping dirt clods off my lips. “I’m
mad
at you.”

It was no use. The more I scolded, the more he wiggled and panted excitedly.

“Oh, okay. I’ll let you off easy this time,” I said, scratching his neck. “Besides, you’ll do better from now on, right? No more problems.”

By the time we got back to the condo, the hot sun had begun to dry the layer of mud on Seamus so that it resembled a rich chocolate glaze, yet his underside was still soggy and dripping. I knew we would leave a messy trail leading all the way to our door if I took him up the stairs, so as soon as we entered the lobby, I swooped to the left toward the service elevator. It was already open.

I sucked in my breath to find myself face to face with a guy. A tall, lean guy with saggy gray-green eyes, pouty lips and a thatch of wavy hair that tumbled across his brow like a forelock. A
gorgeous
guy.

“H-hi,” I said, pausing in the doorway. I prayed that the loud panting sounds were coming from Seamus and not me.

“Hi,” the guy said back, rebalancing the television set in his arms. “Come on in. There’s room.” The tiny lift was crammed full of boxes, so the only place I could stand was right beside him.

“What floor?” he asked.

“Three.”

“Same as me. Button’s already pushed.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to say.

I took my place in the empty spot next to him. Unfortunately the configuration of the space required me to stand sideways. Assuming it would be both rude and weird to stand with my back to the guy, I sidled in facing him. Together we waited in silence, smiling and nodding at each other. Finally the metal doors creaked shut.

I couldn’t help staring at him, mainly because I had nowhere else to look. If I wanted to watch the floor display numbers, I had to crane my neck up and sideways— a movement both excruciating and extremely obvious. And staring down was not an option because it meant making eye contact with Seamus, who took it as an invitation to slobber on me.

So I stared at the way the guy’s hair waved around his ears and up over the back strap of his baseball cap. I stared at the smooth hollow just below his cheekbone. I stared at his arm muscles, which rippled as he shifted around the TV set. Eventually my gaze ventured up to his eyes . . . and found them staring at me.

Almost instantly my cheeks felt prickly, as if they were giving off showers of sparks. I was just about to break off my gaze when he smiled. It was an adorable, lopsided smile—simultaneously shy and mischievous. My mouth boinged upward automatically.
Wow!
I kept thinking. I hadn’t felt this woozy and gelatinous over a guy since Chuck first asked me out.

Seamus must have caught a whiff of my newly charged hormones because he suddenly squirmed around in my grasp, stretching out his snout to sniff the guy.

“Stop, Seamus,” I said. I pulled him back, but not before he’d licked the guy’s arm and left a grubby paw mark on his elbow.

“Sorry about that,” I said. I glanced back up at the guy, grinning apologetically, but he gave no notice of me. Instead he was staring intensely at Seamus. His mouth was pursed in a grim line and his brows had bunched together, lowering over his eyes like a canopy.

Oh no,
I thought.
He doesn’t like Seamus!
It felt as if the cable had snapped, and the elevator was plummeting toward the earth. This changed everything. If the guy didn’t like dogs, I had no chance—if I even had one to begin with.

For the rest of the ride there was total silence. Nothing but the squeaks and rattles of the old lift’s pulley system and the occasional plops of dirty water dripping off Seamus onto the rubber floor. I didn’t even try to meet the guy’s sleepy-eyed gaze again, focusing instead on Seamus’s mud-caked fur. And the guy didn’t say another word.

Cute or not, I had to ignore him. It was for the best.

Giving Seamus a bath ended up taking the rest of the afternoon. Seamus absolutely loved it. For the first time since I brought him home, he stayed calm, standing stock-still while I washed him. His fur was thick and tangled and somewhat resistant to water. Every couple of minutes or so, he would shake his entire body, spraying the whole bathroom (including me) with dirty droplets. But I didn’t mind too much. And he looked so cute while wet, like a skinny baby harp seal.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” I crooned as I poured warm water over his haunches with a giant plastic tumbler. “Dat’s right. Such a goo’ boy!” Normally I hated when people talked like that, and I was surprised to hear it coming out of my own mouth. But Seamus seemed to love it. He smiled back at me, standing tall and proud in the suds.

I wondered if maybe this was a turning point. Maybe Seamus had gotten all that restlessness out of his system and would finally calm down. I really hoped so. I was turning into a nervous wreck chasing after him all the time. Besides, classes were starting on Monday, just four days from now. If he didn’t settle down by then, I didn’t know what I would do.

Once Seamus was clean and I’d wiped up all the dirty splatters, I picked him up and swaddled him in one of my towels. “Goo’ boy,” I whispered again. He stared up at me, his chocolate brown eyes droopy and serious-looking, and I felt that same yanking sensation in my chest that I’d felt at the shelter—as if my heart had been lassoed and hog-tied. I was such a sucker.

I carried him into the living room and sank into the yellow armchair.

“
Phew.
He smells like wet dog,” Christine said from the couch, waving her hand in the air. Beside her, Robot wrinkled up his nose.

They were right. Even though he was clean, Seamus gave off a definite odor—sort of musty and mildewy, with only the barest hint of Pantene.

I stood back up. “Don’t worry. I’ll take him outside,” I said, somewhat morosely. It seemed like everywhere I went, I was an instant reject.

As soon as we stepped onto the balcony, Seamus started thrashing in the towel, eager to be set down. I untangled him and stooped to let him loose. Almost immediately Seamus shot out of my arms and began dashing around the perimeter, stopping occasionally to shake off any residual bathwater.

As I sat down against the outer wall and watched him, a brand-new dread brewed up inside me. It was clear Seamus was no less of a spaz than he was before the bath. I could almost see that familiar maniacal gleam return to his eyes, and if anything, he seemed to have a little extra speed in his step.

In the back of my mind a dark thought was taking shape. Slowly, steadily it gathered weight and form until I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
Was this why he
was abandoned? Did his previous owner find him too
much to handle?

I pictured Seamus racing around an asphalt parking lot, hungry and afraid. In my mind I saw him as slightly younger and smaller, just two sorrowful black eyes and a gaunt, undernourished frame.