Stay (11 page)

I stared into the car window. The dog lay across the backseat with his head up like a sphinx, watching me.

Don’t show fear, I thought. That’s what people always say about dogs and bullfighting and bees. It’s important not to show fear. I took deep breaths, but the cold air was stinging my lungs. I cheated and took shallow breaths, and before I knew it I was hyperventilating. I leaned up against the car at the driver’s side and put my head down, breathing into my armpit to try to catch warm air.

The car rocked. I looked up, and the dog was in the front seat, staring at me through the window. I leaned in closer. His eyes were warm and brown. He cocked his head to the side and I felt better. I slowed my breathing back to normal.

“Okay, you have to get in the backseat,” I said. He tipped his head to the other side. “Backseat,” I said louder. “Backseat.” I tapped on the back window. The dog jumped into the backseat and sat down.

I opened the car door and got in. He leaned forward, nudged my arm, and rested his head on the console. I reached over and patted his head. My hand shook. His fur was softer than I thought it would be.

I wiped the condensation off the windshield with my fist, and started the car.

The dog was quiet for the whole car ride. He sat in the backseat and looked out the window. I watched him in the mirror and wondered if the view from the car looked different to him here.

W
hen we got to the house, the dog circled upstairs and downstairs, in and out of every room. He repeated the cycle, in the same order, several times. I followed him, hoping I hadn’t left anything out in my dog proofing. He kept his nose to the ground the whole time. Finally, he got back to the kitchen, walked over to me, and sat down. The condo passed his inspection.

“Water? Do you want water?”

He stared at me.

I walked over to the water bowl, and pointed to it. He didn’t budge. I kicked the bowl with my foot and the water lapped against the sides. He came over, sniffed it, and started drinking. He drank until the bowl was empty. Then he sat in front of me again and stared. I wasn’t scared, but I felt uneasy, like he was expecting me to do a song-and-dance number for him or something.

I still had my coat on. I remembered the envelope. The packing tape on the envelope stuck to the inside of my pocket and collected red fuzz. On the front of the envelope
Regalhaus vom Stoffelgrund
was spelled out in funny little squared-off letters.

“Is that you?” I asked, pointing to the paper like he could read it. “Regalhaus?” He stood up and walked closer to me, sat down, and pressed his head against my leg. “Regalhaus vom Stoffelgrund? You have a last name?” I scratched his head. “You don’t look like a Regalhaus. What should we call you?” The hair behind his ears was soft and wispy like duck down.

“Bill?” I said. He pulled his head away from my leg and looked at me. “Bill?” I said, again. He cocked his head to the side. “Carl?” He tipped his head to the other side. I got the giggles. As much as I’d always wanted a dog, I hadn’t been around them much. It was weird the way he hung on my every word like he was waiting for one that applied to him. “Denny? Eric?” I asked, going through the alphabet. He looked me straight in the eyes, and his head tipped from one side to the other with every name, like he was considering it. My giggles turned to hiccups. “Fritz? George? Harold?” He yawned. “Yeah, you don’t look like a Harold. Ichabod? How about Joe?” I hiccupped loudly. He pawed at my leg. “Joe?” I put my hand out and he slapped his big fat paw into my palm. “Nice to meet you, Joe.” I gave his paw a good shake, and crouched down next to him. He nuzzled his head under my chin, and it was like the good strong hug I’d needed for such a long time. Joe rested his head on my shoulder and I wrapped my arms around him and hugged back.

I pushed his head aside so I could open the envelope. Inside were what looked like medical forms and a piece of yellow paper with blue-ruled lines. The yellow paper was filled with more squared- off lettering in pencil. The first line of the page read
Befehl
with
Command
written next to it.

The rest of the page had words written without English translation.

I read the first one.

“L’ahni.”

Joe hit the ground, pressing his chin to the floor.

“Sadni.”

Joe sat up at attention.

“K Nohe.”

Joe circled me and sat down at my left side.

“Are you serious, Joe? There’s a command for that?”

I said it again. “K Nohe.” Joe circled around again and sat.

“Good boy, buddy.”

I read the next one. “Štekat’.”

Joe let out a bark that made my eardrums itch.

“What?”

He looked at me.

“Štekat’.”

Joe barked again, even louder this time. I stepped back.

“Okay, Joe. Should we stop with this until I know what they mean?” We went to the garage to get his crate out of the car. I untied the panty hose and pulled the crate pieces out of the trunk. Joe ran ahead of me while I dragged it all up to my bedroom. He sat next to me, watching intently while I put it together. Even with warm fingers it took me a long time to get all the dials turned.

Joe’s eyelids closed into little slits and his head drooped.

“Here, buddy.” I walked over to the bed and patted the mattress. He jumped up. “Lie down.” Joe looked at me blankly. “L’ahni.” He plunked down on the bed. I rubbed his head lightly, and he closed his eyes. By the time I finished putting his crate together, he was passed out with his head on my pillow, snoring.

I changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt and turned off the light. Joe was asleep on the side of the bed I usually slept on, so I climbed in next to him. The bed was already warm. Joe rolled over and pressed his nose up against my forearm, and he sighed like he was letting go of the weight of the world. Something about that sigh and the breath whistling out of his nose made me feel safe. I tried to reach for the remote, but I couldn’t get it without taking my arm away from him, so I just lay there, listening to him breathe until I fell asleep, and for the first time since the wedding, I didn’t dream of Peter, sunsets, or Greek gods for Janie.

J
oe woke me up around eleven thirty by whimpering and pawing at me. “Do you have to go out?”

Joe cocked his head to the side.

“Out? Outside?”

He whined.

“Okay, just give me a minute.” I got up and went to the bathroom to pee and run a brush through my hair. Joe followed me and waited at the door, whining. I pulled some wrinkled jeans and an old sweatshirt out of the clothes hamper. Joe scratched at the bathroom door. “One sec!” I pulled my hair into a ponytail, and opened the door to the most awful stench. Joe’s ears were flat against his head, and his eyes looked big and sad. At the end of the hallway, by my bedroom door, was an enormous pile of poop, right there on the beige carpet.

“Oh, God!” I yelled. “What did you do?”

Joe whimpered and got as low to the floor as possible, like he was trying to be invisible. It was like he was completely humiliated, which was understandable. In the same situation, I’d be humiliated too. I should have taken him out before we went to bed.

I covered my nose with my sleeve and ran down to the kitchen to grab some spray cleaner. I scrambled through the kitchen, looking for something to use to scoop up the poop, but all I could find was a paper plate. I ran back upstairs, held my breath, and used the plate to scrape the pile off the carpet, but as I was doing that, Joe came over and gave the arm I was leaning on a good nudge with his nose. I lost my balance and slid into the pile, smearing the poop into the carpet with my sleeve.

“Fuck!” I yelled. Joe was completely unfazed. He sat down so close to me that his side was touching my leg, like nothing much had happened, and we were just being chummy in the hallway. My blood was boiling. I was covered in shit from my hand to my elbow. Actual shit. It was the grossest thing that had ever happened to me. I wanted to open the door and let him go. He could go poop on somebody else’s shirt. But when I looked over at him, he cocked his head, and looked up at me with his big, sweet brown eyes, like I was the greatest being in the entire universe.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I told him.

I took my shirt off, trying not to get the poop all over myself, and washed my hands, soaping up and rinsing three times. I scooped up the poop on the carpet with the paper plate and dumped it in the toilet. When I flushed, Joe came over. He watched the water in the toilet swirl around, wagging his tail like we were having a grand old time. I threw the paper plate and my shirt away in the bathroom garbage and tied up the liner. There was no way I was ever going to be able to wear that shirt again without thinking it smelled like poop, no matter how many times I washed it. I sprayed some carpet cleaner on the stain and left it to do its thing.

“Too bad we can’t just teach you how to use the potty like a big boy,” I told him as I ran into the bedroom to get a clean shirt. He gave me a solemn look and started whining again. He hadn’t peed since we were in the airport parking lot, and I realized he probably had to go desperately.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s go,” I said, running for the door. Joe followed. I threw on my jacket, buttoning it all the way so no one could tell I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I looped the leash around Joe’s neck and held on to the tiny puppy collar. He whined and wagged his tail. As soon as I got the front door open, he pulled so hard that he almost ripped my arm off. Fresh air never smelled so good. But Joe wasn’t going to let me stop to enjoy it.

“Slow down!” I yelled, but Joe strained against the leash like he would rather choke himself than stay still, so I picked up the pace. When I walked faster to try to get some slack on the leash, he walked faster too. But when I tried to slow down, he kept speeding along. The cold air stung my lungs and I was getting a stitch in my side. I wondered if somewhere on the yellow paper Joe came with there was a command for
stop being a jerk and walk like a normal dog
.

I was out of breath and exhausted before we’d even made it a quarter of the way around the block. Just when it seemed like Joe was starting to walk at a reasonable pace, a cat ran across the street about fifteen feet ahead of us, and Joe took off, pulling me along with him. He sprinted up the street.

“Joe! Stop! Stop! K Nohe! L’ahni!” I yelled, because they were the only commands I could remember. He didn’t even hear me. He was practically dragging me down the street and I was running faster than I had since I was a kid playing tag on the playground.

Suddenly we hit a patch of ice, and my legs flew out in front of me. I fell on my ass right in the middle of the street, dropping his leash. As soon as I hit the ground, I could picture the big purple bruise I was going to get. Joe chased the cat until she ran up a tree, and then he came running back to me, tail wagging, like it was a job well done.

When I tried to get up, Joe put his big muddy paws on my shoulders and licked my face until I was covered with slime. “Damnit, Joe! Get off me!” I pushed him off and wiped my face with my sleeve. I got up and tried to brush the mud off my ass, but I only made it worse. I could tell I was going to be sporting a major bruise, and I was ready to go back to the condo.

I reached for Joe’s leash but he ran, pulling it just out of range. He stood still and looked at me. I walked toward him and reached for the leash. Again he ran a few steps ahead. I stumbled, but kept going, trying to grab the leash. Every time I almost had it, he’d run. I felt like Charlie Brown trying to kick Lucy’s football.

Joe grabbed the end of the leash in his mouth and shook his head violently like he was killing prey. Then he pranced around in the grass, mocking me.

“Stop being such a dick!” I said to him, feeling utterly ridiculous as soon as I said it. Joe raced ahead, the leash still in his mouth. He slowed down and walked a few paces in front of me, looking back every few steps to see where I was going. When he got the idea that I was going to make a turn, he turned too. He was following me, except he was in front of me.

When we got closer to the condo, he ran ahead, over to the mailboxes, lifted his leg, and peed on the Crosbys’ mailbox post. And of course, at that very moment, Gail Crosby came out to get her mail. In the two years I’d lived in my condo, I had never seen Gail do anything other than get the mail and go for power walks. Her husband, Mitch, brought groceries home with him, and I had a hunch that he was the one cooking, and doing the dishes too. Mail was Gail’s grand event. She curled and glossed and picked out a sweat suit that went well with the weather, and then she’d walk down the driveway like a runway model, sauntering back with her signature butt wiggle. The velour sweat suit of the day was flamingo pink. Joe finished his business and ran over to her, smelling the leg of her pants.

Gail tipped back her head and screamed.

“Oh, God, oh my God!” She hopped around and shook her hands. “He’s attacking me!”

Joe ran around Gail, wagging his tail.

“I’m calling animal control,” Gail yelled, scrambling for the door.

“Wait,” I yelled, running to catch up with Joe. “He’s my dog.”

She was still moving frantically. It didn’t even look like her feet were touching the ground, like when you’re a kid and you’re scared of monsters getting you at night so you don’t want to touch the floor.

“That’s not a dog.” She pointed her finger at him. Her hand shook. “That’s a wolf.”

“No. He’s not a wolf. He’s my dog. This is Joe. See? Watch.” I stepped in front of Joe, took a deep breath, and prayed he’d listen to me. “K Nohe!” He ran behind me and sat at my left side. “L’ahni!” His belly hit the pavement.

“Look, I’m sorry he scared you,” I said. “He’s a nice dog.”