And Mama Makes Twelve

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Arnie Whitehall vigorously kicked the door of the townhouse he shared with his partner, Jason Feldman.

“Jason! Jason! Damnit…Jason! I need your help!”

From inside, Arnie could hear Jason grumbling over the sound of the television. “For f**k sake, Arn, just open the damn door!”

Arnie kicked once more, harder this time. “Jason!”

The door swung open. Jason stood there for a moment, glowering at Arnie. Then his jaw dropped.

“Move!” Arnie commanded as he struggled to get past Jason with the load he was carrying.

Jason stepped aside. “What the f**k is that?”

“What does it look like? It’s a dog, genius! Help me get it inside and then get some towels. It’s soaking wet and freezing from this snowstorm.”

“Number one, our lease says no pets and two, I’m watching a Knicks’ game. Three, you know how I feel about…”

“Shut up! Get the damn towels.”

Arnie laid the dog down on the rug before the gas fireplace in which orange flames were gayly dancing. He turned the fire up a notch.

Arnie took off his coat, flung it over the dog, and knelt beside the shivering pooch. He gently patted its head.

“It’s gonna be okay, you’re safe now. Arnie’s gonna take good care of you,” Arnie said, soothingly.

The dog responded by licking his hand.

Jason stood with his hands on his hips, scowling at them.

“Jason! The towels!”

Jason snorted, and, grousing some more, he left the room.

When he didn’t immediately return, Arnie called out to him again.

“Patience is a virtue,” Jason said sarcastically as he re-entered the room with a pile of towels which he dumped next to Arnie, who immediately grabbed one and started to rub the dog dry.

“Are you going to help?” he asked.

“No!”

“Then go get the leftover meatloaf from the fridge. It’s probably starving.”

“The fridge isn’t starving,” Jason said in a mocking voice.

Arnie shot him a look. “You know what I meant! Now go!”

“I was gonna have that for lunch tomorrow! Look how fat the dog is. Doesn’t look like it’s starving to me.”

“Jason!”

“Okay, okay! But it’s outta here tomorrow!” Jason left the room again.

Arnie continued to massage the dog. “Don’t pay any attention to him. I’ll make sure you’re okay. Arnie’s gonna take good care of you, don’t you worry.”

The dog whined, reached out a paw, and laid it on Arnie’s leg.

“That’s right, I won’t let big, bad Jason toss you out!”

Jason returned carrying a bowl filled with the food. “Didn’t know if it’d prefer catsup or A-1 with its repast, so I brought both.”

“What?” Arnie stopped his massaging and looked up at Jason.

“Never mind. Where should I put this?”

“Give it to me.”

Arnie laid the towel he’d been using to dry the dog aside and took the bowl. The dog rolled onto its stomach and raised its head, eyes bright with anticipation.

“Looks like you’re ready for a good meal,” Arnie said and put the bowl on the floor between its front legs.

Without getting up, the dog dove into the food.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you not to eat so fast? What are you, a common cur? Where are your manners?” Jason asked the dog derisively.

Arnie shot him another look.

Jason shrugged. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Arnie checked. “A girl.”

“What kind?”

“I dunno. With those ears and that long, silky coat, she looks like a golden. But goldens are a solid color. This little gal is red and white. My guess is she’s mixed.”

“What do you mean little? I bet she weighs sixty pounds at least. Does she have a collar and tags? We can call her owner to come pick her up.”

Arnie pushed back the thick hair from her neck. “Nope, no collar.”

“Of course she don’t,” Jason said with a sneer.

When the dog had finished eating, she got up and sat next to Arnie, leaning against him.

“What should we name her?” Arnie asked, putting an arm around her and pulling her close to him.

“Oh, no you don’t! No name! You name ‘em and then you won’t want to get rid of ‘em. No, no name. Tomorrow she goes to the pound!” Jason said with finality.

“But…”

“No buts. No, she goes in the morning!”

The argument between Jason and Arnie continued the rest of the evening—Jason standing firm on his position that the dog had to go, Arnie begging for just a few days to make sure she was okay.

With no resolution, no name dog was taken out onto the snow-covered patch of grass behind the men’s patio to do her business. Then she was bedded, much to Jason’s displeasure, on the floor on a warm comforter at the end of their bed. Finally, after more bickering about the dog’s fate, both Jason and Arnie drifted off to sleep, backs turned to one another.