The Christmas Curse

The following day the dog joined him on his walk home, again from Piccadilly, and Jared was surprisingly pleased by the company. It trotted alongside him until he arrived at his house and fished in his pocket for the key. The dog sat patiently by his side as he did so, and then leaned heavily on his leg and looked up at him. “Are you venturing a hint?” he asked the dog as he pulled the key out of his pocket. The dog leaned even more. “You may be acting friendly now, but I assure you if I pet you, you will be growling at me in no time at all.” The dog dipped its head and rubbed against him. “Oh, come now. Doing it a bit brown?” Jared risked a cautious pat to the head. The dog leaned into the caress, and then licked his gloved hand. Jared petted it again, and tried not to notice the beast was shivering in the frigid December air. “You should go home now. Get warm.” He gave him one last caress, and then went into the house confident that the dog looked robust, well fed and cared for, meaning he did have an owner somewhere and would most assuredly not be spending the night in the cold. A week later, the dog was still meeting him on Piccadilly and escorting him home. The weather had warmed, unexpectedly for December, no doubt as a prelude to snow, so he took off his glove to deliver his now customary petting once at his door. He was amazed at how soft the dog’s fur was. Deep, thick, and endlessly inviting waves of dark brown and tan. The dog whined softly, and pressed against his hand. Jared smiled and scratched his ears and again, he was sure the dog smiled. “You like that.” The dog cautiously licked his bare hand. It was warm and wet and Jared was reluctant to say goodbye. Eventually, he closed the door and then went to watch him trot away.