Dog Lived (and So Will I) (3 page)

I continued to pet the dog, softly and slowly. My house wouldn’t be lonely anymore. My alphabet life was back on track. And this was a sweet, sweet dog. After a few minutes, Seamus moved his left front paw over my right leg and, looking up at me, leaning far into me, he claimed me as his own.

“You got a dog?” Chris sounded incredulous and mildly frightened in our nightly phone call.

“Yes. Another beagle. He’s soooooo cute. Wait till you meet him. You’ll love him.”

“Okay. Well, I guess I’m just surprised. You hadn’t really mentioned that.”

Was I supposed to? Had we crossed some threshold where I was now supposed to be getting his input on—or worse, his approval of—decisions I made? No! No, we certainly had not. “I wanted another dog. I’m sure I’d mentioned that much. Remember, my whole alphabet life? The ‘D’ part of it? That was for ‘dogs.’”

“Oh, I’m aware of it. I just…well, I guess I thought you’d wait awhile.”

Wait for what? “I didn’t exactly go looking, but the pet adoption center called and pretty much once they told me it was a beagle, I was a goner.”

He paused, weighing his words. “I’m not much of a dog person.”

Not a dog person? How had I missed that? I knew he was a Republican, and I overlooked that. I knew he was inappropriately young, and I was working on overlooking that. How did I miss that he was not a dog person? I looked down at Seamus, curled up on the pillow next to me. Seamus breathed in deeply and exhaled, his breath causing his jowls to flop noisily, as if to agree it was a ridiculous thought. Not a dog person?

“Wow. I did not know that,” I said.

“Is it a small dog?”

“He’s a beagle.”

“I heard that. But is it small?”

“He’s not an it. And beagles are beagle-sized.”

“That’s not helping. How big is he?”

He doesn’t know how big a beagle is? He really was not a dog person. Further proof this could not be a relationship. “He weighs about thirty pounds. Oh, and I named him Seamus.”

“I’m sure your cousin will be flattered. The good news is I’m mostly only afraid of big dogs. So we should be fine. I hope.”

Afraid of big dogs? If I had a yard, now that I lived on my own, I’d have a Doberman and probably a German shepherd and another half dozen beagles, all adopted from the pet adoption center. I’d be that middle-aged, divorced woman stereotype, only with dogs instead of cats. And I was dating someone who was afraid of big dogs? How does my life get away from me like that?

At least he was willing to meet Seamus. I hoped they’d get along, but I knew which one was staying if it came down to that. My week with Seamus had been challenging, but the little dog had kept me so entertained. My home was suddenly filled with energy. I’d almost forgotten how exuberant young dogs—and particularly beagles—can be. I walked Seamus in the mornings and again when I came home at night, but he’d still race around the house, throw his toys up in the air, and beg me to chase him around, which I did of course. I was rewarded with serious cuddling time as Seamus snuggled up against me. He was the first beagle I’d ever had that enjoyed being petted this much. Usually, a beagle lasts a couple of minutes of petting and then his nose and boundless excitement sends him bouncing off in another direction. But Seamus was as enthusiastic about cuddling as he was about his food. I knew Seamus was staying. I’d made a commitment to Seamus. But the truth was I didn’t want to have to choose Seamus over Chris.

When Friday night rolled around, I prepared for the introduction of the beagle to the boyfriend. I walked Seamus in the morning and again in the evening. I walked him for longer than normal and hoped I’d deplete a little of that beagle energy. Then I lit the fireplace, chilled the wine, and prepared some late-night snacks.

Usually, Chris waited out the Los Angeles traffic and didn’t leave his place until after eight at night, which meant he’d arrive between nine and ten. I’d always liked that schedule. I could still have dinner or drinks with a friend, attend any social or community functions I needed to, or just be home relaxing and reading before his arrival. This night, though, I was anxious for his arrival. I had not thought about the possibility of Chris and Seamus not getting along. I hadn’t thought about Chris at all when I decided to adopt Seamus. I hadn’t thought about much when I decided to adopt Seamus; that was becoming clear.

Seamus followed me around as I got the house ready and was particularly attentive when I was in the kitchen. He sat with perfect doggie posture, head tilted to the left, mouth slightly open, and eyes wide and focused, watching my every move from only a foot away. I spread crackers on a plate, did my best to artfully arrange the cheese selection, added some salami slices, and then prepared bruschetta, realizing too late that the garlic was not a good idea for a romantic evening. Still, the food was nicely displayed and about as close to domestic as I get.

I brought the two plates of seduction into the living room and set them on the coffee table. The fireplace gave a nice glow to the room, so I dimmed the light. Candles would be nice, I thought. I walked to the dining room, grabbed two of the three candles from the table, and headed back into the kitchen for matches. As I did, the phone rang. Caller ID told me it was Chris at the front gate of my complex.

I buzzed him in and turned to talk to Seamus. “You’ll like him. Just be nice, okay, buddy?”

But Seamus was no longer at my feet.

“Seamus?”

No answer. No jingling tags as the dog made his way to me.

“Seamus? Come here, buddy.”

No response.

I walked to the living room.

“Seamus!!”

Both plates of food were on the floor. Seamus was inhaling every bit of food no matter how large. With each step I took toward him, he gulped that much more quickly and in larger bites. The tomato-garlic topping had splashed onto the carpet and the couch. The cheese, or what few pieces remained, peeked out from under the now upside-down and broken Italian ceramic serving plate.

“Shit! Seamus!” I reached for his collar to pull him back from the mess, but he gulped and bolted away from me. I picked up the two pieces of ceramic, and as I rose up and turned to dispose of them, Seamus dashed in and gulped down two more pieces of cheese.

“Seamus, stop it!” I yelled, as though a beagle has ever been commanded away from food. I knew better, but I’d forgotten the rules of basic dog training. It had been a long time since I had a new dog. I decided I’d scoop up as much of the food as I could, placing it on the largest of the broken ceramic pieces while maneuvering my body between Seamus and the spilled food for as long as I could. When I stood, I could see that Chris had let himself in the front door.

“I knocked, but I don’t think you heard me,” he said.

Seamus, finally, stopped his vacuum cleaner imitation and turned to the noise at the door.

Before I could even say hello, Seamus growled. A low, slow growl that I had not heard in our week together.

“Seamus, no. It’s okay. It’s fine, buddy.” I tried to sound relaxed, in control.

Chris stepped back. “Is he going to bite me?”

“I don’t think…” I didn’t get to finish. Seamus howled loudly, looking from me to Chris and back again, increasing the volume and urgency of his howl. Chris stayed frozen at the front door, five stairs up from the sunken living room where Seamus and I were. When Seamus bolted in Chris’s direction, I dropped what I was holding—bruschetta and cheese remains once again crashing to the floor—and lunged for Seamus’s collar. I caught him at the third step. Chris had backed all the way up against the door. Seamus strained at his collar, howling up the stairs toward Chris.

“Sorry. This maybe wasn’t the best introduction,” I shouted above the raspy howl.

I pulled Seamus off the stairs, and hunched over, holding him by the collar, walked him back into the den where his bed and toys were located. I put him in his bed.

“Seamus, sit.” I pointed a finger in his face, which always means “I’m being serious.” Any dog knows this. Except a beagle.

Seamus looked away. He looked around me, watching for another appearance by Chris, but he did not leave his bed. I spread the fingers on my right hand, palm outward, in front of his face. “Stay.” He shrunk back and turned his glaring eyes away from me. “Stay,” I repeated, for good measure and to verbalize my hope.

“Okay, Chris, let’s try this again. Come on into the den.”

“You are kidding, right?” Chris said, remaining glued in the stairwell.

“He’s not going to attack you. He’s a beagle.”

“You keep saying that. But all I hear is ‘dog.’ He’s a dog.”

“It’s okay.” This was wishful thinking only. I had no idea.

Chris walked into the room, and while Seamus growled again, he did not come out of his bed and he stopped when I corrected him. When Chris and I sat on the couch, Seamus came over, quietly and a bit more calmly, sniffing Chris’s pants and paying no attention to me. Chris petted the dog’s head, and I noticed he looked about as comfortable as I did when people forced me to hold or coo over their babies. But, okay, there was no growling or fighting. And neither one looked like they’d be biting the other anytime soon.

“Isn’t he cute?” I ventured.

Chris widened his eyes at me. “You heard him growl at me, right?”

“Well, he didn’t know you, and you walked right into the house. I think it’s good that he growled.”

“Maybe, but it’s still going to take me a while to get past that to ‘cute.’”

“Well, you two get to know each other and I’ll get us some wine.” I stood up and went into the kitchen. Seamus followed me.

“He’s not that interested in getting to know me. Kinda rude, don’t you think?” Chris said.

I laughed. “Dog has no manners.” I opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, at which point the dog lost interest and roamed out of the kitchen.

I handed a glass to Chris and sat next to him on the couch. We clinked our glasses together. “To another great weekend of decadence,” I said.

“Indeed.”

We sipped and smiled and kissed. Our weekend had begun.

After a few minutes, Chris put his glass down. “I’m sufficiently emboldened now. Where’s this rascally dog?”

I looked about. And where was Seamus? He was always in the same room with me, except when…

“Seamus!” Much too late, I remembered the mess in the living room. I jumped from the couch and raced to the living room. Seamus was down on his belly, with his snout and one paw reaching underneath the couch. He was also lying in the tomato-garlic formerly bruschetta mix.

“Oh jeez. Seamus.” I clapped my hands. “Stop!” He stopped the pawing and sat upright, shifting his weight back and forth, right to left, whining and staring from me to under the couch, back to me, back to the couch.

I knelt down next to him. “Oh, right, and I’m supposed to get that for you?”

He howled his response and wagged his tail, spreading the tomatoes deeper into the rug.

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. He was so oblivious to any trouble, to any wrongdoing whatsoever. He was solely focused on his goal. I ran my hand under the sofa and brought out the slice of toasted baguette, with remains of bruschetta, delicately seasoned with dog hair. I handed it to Seamus.

“I cannot believe you just did that,” came Chris’s voice from behind me.

“Um…yeah. Well…” I waved my arm in the direction of the broken plate and tomato stains. “I’m pretty sure we won’t be eating it.”

“Still. The dog probably should not be rewarded.”

“Says the ‘not a dog person.’” He probably had a point, but it was not one I was going to concede. Not from my prone position on my wet, stained rug with shards of Italian ceramics and tomato smears surrounding me. No sirree. I had my dignity.

“It’s not like I’ve never been around a dog. My parents have a dog. And she does not get table scraps.”

I had the urge to mimic the “she does not get table scraps” in that child’s voice that usually says “neener neener” with the drawn-down, lemon-sucking face, which was probably further indication that I knew I had been caught doing something wrong. Naturally, I turned to my cohort in crime for support, which I’m sure Seamus would have given me had he not been so busy sucking the carpet.

“Okay, well, can you just hold the dog while I clean this up?” I said.

“Uh, no. You hold the dog. I’ll clean up this disaster.”

Oh. Well, okay. I’d much rather hold a dog than clean a house. There was an upside to his dog aversion.

Seamus stopped howling and growling at Chris after the mess was cleaned up and there was no food in sight. We joked that perhaps he just thought Chris was a food burglar and once there was no food at risk, his work was done. He slept.

Well, let me amend that—Seamus slept until Chris got up in the middle of the night and stepped on him on the way to the bathroom.

AR! AR! AR! AR! AR! AAAAAARRROOOOOOOOO!
This was easily translated from beagle-speak to
Asshole! You scared the shit out of me!
because Seamus leaped onto my bed, ran up next to my head, and turned to face Chris. Seamus may have been shaking, but he was still up to calling out the perpetrator in no uncertain terms.

I sat up, cradled the dog, and checked for broken limbs, despite the fact that the dog had just leaped up three feet onto the bed. “What happened?” I turned on the bedroom light.

Chris stood, naked, in the hallway, looking distraught and more frightened than the dog. “I didn’t see him on my way to the bathroom. The dog has a bed upstairs, another one downstairs, two couches, and a recliner he could sleep on, and he sleeps in the middle of the hallway?”

“You stepped on him?”

“No. I nearly fell on my face trying not to step on him.”

“He’s scared.” I wrapped both arms around Seamus, and he leaned into me, but he continued to look at Chris.

“He’s a hypochondriac.”

“The dog is a hypochondriac?”

“I did not hurt him.”

“I don’t think you did. He’ll be fine,” I said, rubbing Seamus’s now exposed belly as he flopped onto his back and stretched out across the side of the bed Chris had been sleeping on. “Go to the bathroom and come back to bed.”

When Chris returned to the bedside, Seamus did not acknowledge him and made no effort to relinquish any space.

“A little help here?” Chris said. “I can tell you’re laughing at this.”