But by the Grace of Dog

Chapter 3: The Dog-1

Chapter 3: The Dog

In one hand Thom carried the cage and the bag of strawberries, and in the other, a taut leash. Both cage and leash were filthy, but the real problem was they were awkward to the point of being impossible to hold on to. The cage had to be held far enough away from his body that the rusty metal didn’t snag his clothes or his skin, and at the end of the leash was a small, excited powerhouse that seemed intent on yanking Thom’s arm out of the socket.

For what had to be the twelfth time since Thom had freed him from the cage, the dog raced forward the two metres the leash allowed and barrel-rolled over his own paws when the leash stopped him short. Then, as he had done every time, the dog shook himself and looked back at Thom with a wounded expression that was an unquestionable, but why? As if Thom were the one who snapped the leash and the dog wasn’t doing it to his damned self.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the dog had the amount of strength one would assume the creature should have, but for reasons outside of reason, the dog seemed to be the canine version of Mighty Mouse. They had barely left the market and Thom’s right bicep was already aching from the strain. His left forearm, struggling to balance the cage, was doing no better. At least everyone around them had given them a very wide path. Having the dog lunging this way, that way, and back again, was kind of like Moses parting the seas in front of them.

Thom wasn’t exactly counting his blessings, though. Instead, his mind raced with admonishment and questions. This had been a stupid idea; he hadn’t considered everything that was going to come with the dog. What had even got into his mind? He was going to need to get food, and dishes, and a cage he would consider bringing into his house because he most certainly could not bring in this one. Did dogs sleep in their cages? Or on beds? Should he keep the dog inside or out? And what was he going to do with a dog on Monday when he had to go back to work? How did he know what the right food would be? Good freaking gods, was he was going to have to ask someone? That would be the very worst part of it all! Maybe he should try and find a no-kill shelter and turn the little guy in. Surely someone would take it…

He was barely watching where he was going, let alone paying attention to his footfalls. He didn’t really have to—even on the sidewalk the dog was doing an excellent job of keeping their side of the street clear of other pedestrians—but when he stepped down and squished something underfoot, Thom instantly recoiled. “Ugh!”

The red blob under his foot looked like a tiny crime scene, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what that blob had once been. He looked at the bag in his hand and watched another strawberry fall through a large, ragged hole. “Oh, shit.”

Thom juggled the cage, trying vainly to catch the berry without letting go. Instead of saving it, two more followed it to the sidewalk. “Oh no, you don’t!”

Suddenly the cage was worthless to him, and the only thing Thom cared about was the free-running strawberries. He let go of the cage; it fell to the sidewalk with a jangle, but rather than helping Thom get a better hold on the situation, dropping the cage made everything worse. The plastic had been tangled around the handle, and as gravity pulled it to the ground, the side of the bag ripped. The whole lot of berries fell like rubber balls, not just plopping but actually bouncing, rolling, and scattering.

The dog coughed a delighted, hoarse sound and grabbed the one closest to him. If Thom had to bet on it, he’d have sworn that the dog didn’t even bother chewing before swallowing. A wave of panicked nausea hit him. Could dogs eat berries? Had he just poisoned the poor thing?

He dragged on the leash, trying to yank back the dog. “No! Those are not for you, damn it!”

Thom lurched forward to snatch at the closest bunch of berries, but the dog felt the slack on his leash, and the game was on. Thom barely had time to find his balance before the dog was after the next berry, then the next, dragging Thom with him. His snout hit the one after that, either by mistake or on purpose, causing it to bounce farther down the sidewalk. In a tangle of flailing legs and lolling tongue, the dog sprinted after it.

“Stop!”

Thom dragged back on the leash, trying to pull back the dog and not trample every single strawberry around him. He’d already procured instant death to at least half a dozen, and the dog was making quick work of the rest. “You’re going to make yourself sick,” Thom grumbled, trying to find a balance between strangling the dog with its own collar and getting it to respond. “I said, ‘stop!’”

The dog continued as if Thom hadn’t said a word.

“Dog, stop!”

It was as if the dog didn’t get that Thom was calling him. Surely that had to be the case and the dog wasn’t being spiteful. Dogs weren’t spiteful animals, were they?

He tried again, “Buddy. Sam. Max. Spot!”

There was no way he was calling the dog Ugly. That was a mean name and it wasn’t even true. Mostly not true, anyway. The dog would never grace the cover of Dogs Annual, no, but it wasn’t ugly.

The dog nosed another strawberry, and as if it were truly running from a predator, the fruit bounced off the curb and into the street. The dog bunched its hind end to leap towards it, and as if it was all happening in slow motion, Thom saw a pickup truck crest the hill just up the roadway. His heart sank into his guts.

“Ugly, no!”

The demand could have been a tranquilizer. The dog sat on the sidewalk and looked up at Thom, its tongue hanging out of a wide smile. Squashed strawberry coloured the ends of the long, straggled hair around his nose.

The pickup truck coasted past. The driver didn’t even look out his side window at them.

“Jesus,” Thom whispered. He looked at the few strawberries littering the sidewalk and kicked them into the grass. This time, the dog made no attempt to run after them. He just sat there waiting and watching. Grinning.

“Yeah, you smirk,” Thom told him. “You just go right ahead and grin like a monster, mister. As if you have no idea how close you came to being squashed like a…like a…” He blew a breath and flourished at the ground. “Like a damn strawberry!”

The dog coughed in apparent agreement.

“And that’s not even a bark,” Thom scolded.

Another cough.

Thom eyed the dog. “Well, it’s not. And that’s not a name. I don’t care if you’re used to it, or if you respond to it, I’m not calling you Ugly.”

In one fluid movement, the dog stood, jumped against Thom’s shins, and waved his crooked tail so hard it made whip sounds in the air.

“See?” Thom said, kneeling. “That’s not ugly at all. That’s damn cute.”

The dog began to soak Thom’s entire face with disgusting kisses.

“All right, all right.” He pat-patted the dog on its head, trying to calm him and push him to the ground at the same time. “You like me. I will try to like you, too. But you’re going to have to figure out a way to respond to something other than Ugly. Name calling is bad for the soul, and I refuse to call you a name every time I need you.”

The dog sat back on his haunches. He stared.

“So, you’re just going to have to get used to like…Buddy, or Bob, or Barry, or something.” He nodded at the dog. But we can figure that out, I guess.” For now, Dog would have to do. Until Thom could find something that would work, anyway. That would come with time.

He looked down the street and clicked his tongue. There was a strip mall just down the street. It was only slightly out of his way; he could circle around the block and be back on his way home with less than a fifteen-minute delay. Without being aware of it, Thom lifted his hand to his chest and rubbed his left pectoral. His heart was already skipping beats, but he didn’t really have a choice as to whether his anxiety would let him or not. If he didn’t make a stop at the pet store, Dog wouldn’t be eating tonight.

He eyed the parking lot, considering. Even from where he stood, Thom could see it looked busy. There would be kids using the pet store as a free zoo now that school had let out, and being Friday, it would be jammed with the nine-to-fivers picking up things on their way home so they wouldn’t have to worry about it over the weekend. There would be folks walking along the walkways and through the parking lot on their way to the laundromat, the Subway, the dollar store, the pharmacy, and the grocery store, all housed in the same plaza.

Thom sighed and ran a hand over his eyes, scrubbing them for a good long three-count. As he watched, two different customers with their dogs in tow walked into the store. So, at least it was one of those places where they let their furry customers walk around with their human customers. Maybe Dog could keep the aisles as free as he was keeping the sidewalk.

When he dropped his hand, Dog was still staring at him. “This is all your fault.”

Dog whined pitifully and set a paw on the toe of Thom’s shoe.

“I see. It’s my turn to get some conciliatory patting, is it?”

He couldn’t help but smile when Dog’s tongue rolled out and the expression of concern became a loopy doggy smile again. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with Dog there with him. If nothing else, the “had to” part of things superseded everything else. He gripped Dog’s leash and picked up the cage. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”