A Question of Manhood (19 page)

“Oh, young man!” Mrs. Soper oozed as JJ brought Lulu back to her. “You've worked a miracle!”

JJ, with Lulu sitting patiently at his feet, said, “Not really. It's very simple, actually. Part of the trick here is to have the leash in a loop up as high on her neck as you can. See how it keeps her head held high?” He pulled the leash upward gently to demonstrate. “If you've ever been to a dog show, you'd see that they walk the dogs on leashes like this. It makes them look proud, and it keeps their head looking forward. It also gives you a lot of control in case she starts looking around at things she wants to bark at. All you have to do, at the very first sign of distraction, is jerk the leash gently sideways, and her attention will come forward again, where you want it to be.”

By now, I'd have thought it would have dawned on Dad that nothing was getting done in the store. Everyone was watching JJ and Lulu, even Alice at register two.

And JJ wasn't done. “You need to remember, though, that a loop like this—which is essentially like using a choke chain—shouldn't stay on her neck. You should use it like this only when you're in situations where you need a lot of control. And never leave anything like this on her neck.”

“Yes, yes. I see. Thank you so much!”

Dad and JJ stood watching Mrs. Soper's retreating back. She was already holding the leash wrong, and Lulu was back to her old tricks. Even so, Dad said, “JJ, that was remarkable. Where did you learn to do that?”

This really pissed me off. Here I'd done my best to try and keep things moving, to keep other customers from getting irritated and to keep up the cash flow, and it's JJ who gets praised. JJ, who not only hadn't hurried Mrs. Soper up any but who'd actually slowed everything down even more. Where was Dad's appreciation for what
I'd
done?

JJ smiled and said, “It just comes of thinking like a dog when you need to. I'll get back to the register now.”

So I stopped liking the guy again. The rest of our conversation was limited to business, even when there were no customers at our counter. During one lull, Dad came out of his office again.

“JJ, can you do that with other dogs?”

JJ shrugged. “Sure. The breed doesn't matter, except that some dogs are more powerful than others. The kind of behavior you want to correct can make a difference, like whether it's just distracted like Lulu or anxious and aggressive, and sometimes you have to be rougher with a dog. But once I get a dog to see me as the alpha, then—yes.”

“Could you come into my office for a minute? Paul can cover for you here.”

So all of a sudden I'm “covering” for JJ?
I watched the door shut, fuming. When it opened again, several minutes and three customers later, there was no customer at my register. JJ just walked back and waited for me to step aside so he could take his place again. No comment, no explanation.

I couldn't stand it. I wanted to think Dad had read him the riot act, but Dad had seemed more interested in dog training than customer service. Finally, leaning against the counter and as far from JJ as I could get, I asked, “What did he want?”

“Your father wants me to lead a dog behavioral clinic on Saturday mornings. We'll start this weekend.”

What am I supposed to say to that?
“Great. Do you wanna take over at the register while I take a piss?” I didn't wait for his reply. He wouldn't need me unless he had to void an entire order, or unless the receipt paper ran out. I almost hoped both of those things would happen while I stood in the bathroom, not really needing to do anything, watching the puny dribble leave my dick and fall into the water, half tempted to just lift a leg and let go. I'd just needed to get away from JJ. Away from my dad's approval of him.
I'll bet Dad doesn't know he's gay. Wonder if I should tell him.

That night at the dinner table, I had to listen to Dad rave on and on about JJ to Mom. “Irene, it was uncanny. It was like he had lifted all that little dog's worries right off her shoulders, and she had nothing else to yap about. She sat on the floor beside him, calm as you please, and waited for him to let her know what he wanted her to do. And when he walked her around, she trotted at his heel like she'd been raised just for that.”

Mom asked, “What happened when Mrs. Soper took her again?”

“Oh, she went back to bouncing and yapping.”

I couldn't help saying, “So he didn't cure Lulu. She's still a yappy little dog.”

Dad waved his fork absentmindedly, gazing at nothing. “True. But I'll bet if Mrs. Soper treated her like JJ did, things would change. He'd just need to teach her how to do that.”

Mom laughed. “So really, Andy, it isn't dog training. It's people training!”

Dad chuckled. “Maybe that's it.” He was pretty quiet through the rest of the meal, thank goodness; no more raving about JJ the wonder boy. The Wunderkind. But he was thinking about him. You could tell.

 

The rest of that week, JJ and I spoke when necessary and not otherwise. So much for all the questions he had warned me he would ask. When he did speak I listened carefully—no, obsessively—to his tone, for condescension or superiority in it, in vain. There was one awkward day when we were both having lunch a little late, and he was alone at one table when I got outside. I sat at another empty table, my back to him. I felt almost mean. I didn't enjoy my lunch very much, wishing he would go in, but when he left it wasn't any better.

When I got to work Saturday morning before the store opened, as Dad insisted on weekends, JJ—per usual—was already there. But he wasn't inside, he was in a far corner of the parking lot in front of the store, right near where I'd parked on December ninth, leaving my mom in the car while I went to tell Dad his favorite son was dead.

JJ had used bricks he must have found out behind the building to mark off a corner of the parking lot, away from the store and in whatever shade he could find. By the time I saw him he was running a rope from brick to brick, wrapping it around one and running it along the tarmac to the next, some distance away. I rode my bike behind the store, wheeled it into the stockroom, and went to find Dad to see what chore he had in mind for me. What I really didn't want him to do was tell me to help JJ. I'd sooner stack kitty litter.

But guess what he said? It had nothing to do with litter. Dad was in the stockroom, leaning over a worktable and writing on a large piece of yellow poster board, a much brighter shade than our sign on the storefront. L
ANDON'S
P
ET
S
UPPLY
, it said on the first line in huge black letters, and underneath that was, D
OG
B
EHAVIOR
C
LINIC
and then 10–
NOON SATURDAY MORNINGS
,
BARRING RAIN
. I nearly said,
What, no line that says, “JJ O'Neil, Dog Behaviorist”?
But I was afraid he'd put that on there, so I kept my mouth shut.

I didn't get out of the stockroom quick enough. “Paul,” Dad called to me just before I got to the door, “I want you to help JJ this morning. Get the area set up. I took out an ad in the paper, and I'm hoping for a big turnout. Here”—and he handed me the sign he'd made—“take this outside. I've left a metal easel there for it to go on. And watch JJ; maybe you'll learn something.”

The poster board almost ripped, I picked it up so roughly, but Dad didn't see. He was already on his way out of the room. As I carried the thing through the store I noticed Dad had already got two registers open, and he was explaining to Alice and Dave, this Korean War vet with a limp worse than Dad's from some war wound, that he was expecting lots of business. I'd never liked Dave. It seemed to me that he didn't pull his weight, that he was a real slacker. I was convinced that Dad hired him and kept him on just because Dad couldn't go to war, and this was some twisted way of compensating.

Carol was already on register one. And there were no customers in the store yet. It wouldn't even open for another ten minutes, for God's sake. What was all the fuss about?

Dad stopped me before I got outside. “Paul, I want you to come into the store from time to time and make sure everything's covered. Take a walk through, see if anything needs restocking, or if you need to open the last register. I'll be keeping an eye out, too, but it may take both of us.”

I couldn't bring myself to speak. Just nodded and went outside. The easel was already set up, facing toward incoming traffic. I set the sign there and surveyed what JJ had done. It wasn't just a roped-off square. Around the square was a larger square, so there was maybe four feet between the inner and outer borders. JJ had a pile of stuff in the far corner of the outside square. I went to see what was there, and I saw leashes and collars, four opened bags of dog treats, plastic water bottles, an assortment of dog toys and rawhide chews, and some peculiar contraption made of leash straps and nylon fabric.

When JJ saw me and noticed the sign, he nodded. He didn't smile at me, didn't speak, nothing. I did a mental shrug. After all, did I especially want him being friendly? Maybe Kevin had been able to keep Marty at bay on Monday, but I really didn't need Marty even
acting
like he thought I was like JJ. Queer. And you never knew when Marty would pop in, despite Dad's insistence that he stay away. Like I'd told Dad Thursday afternoon, when he'd caught Marty and Kevin playing with the cat toys, I wasn't Marty's boss. I couldn't tell him what to do. And if I tried, he didn't have to listen.

So we stood there on the pavement, freckles of sun coming through the leaves of the trees that grew beside the tarmac, and waited. Silently. It seemed like there was nothing else to do until someone showed up, so I finally told JJ I'd be back in a minute and went to do a run-through in the store. I was determined to find something that needed doing, and as it turned out, that was stacking cat litter. Dad caught me at it. I say “caught” because that's how he acted.

“Paul, will you use your brain? If we're expecting lots of business because of a dog clinic, wouldn't you think we'd run out of dog supplies before we'd run out of cat supplies?”

“Fine,” I retorted, wanting to accuse him of hating cats and not being quite stupid enough to do that, “I'll check on dog stuff.”

“I just did. It's nearly ten. You go outside as soon as you've finished this stack.” And he left me there.

Jesus Fucking Christ. Is there
any
thing he thinks I can do right?

By the time I got outside, not quite ten o'clock, there were already three people there, though there was only one dog. They must have just got there, though, 'cause I heard JJ saying, “While I'm working with Mrs. Thomas's beagle, there's bound to be some things that will apply to your dog as well. Where is your dog?”

The couple, evidently second in line, were the Carters, who used to bring their golden lab into the store before it got too old and had to be put to sleep. My dad had always liked them, because they rescued the lab when it was, like, ten. They'd rescued a few dogs other people wouldn't want. I once heard Mom say that she thought it was because Mrs. Carter had been adopted herself. That she'd been taken away from her real parents, who'd been really mean to her.

I stood next to JJ and said hi to them. Mr. Carter was telling JJ about this dog they had rescued.

“Oh, we can't let her out of the van yet. We've had her about a month, and she's still pretty cranky. Part shepherd, part collie, maybe four years old; we got her at a shelter. We were hoping to get here first so she wouldn't be tempted to attack other dogs.”

Ha! JJ's in over his head already. This is gonna be fun.
But he didn't look fazed. He just said, “That was very thoughtful of you. What's her name?”

“We're calling her Gypsy; we don't know if she had a name before or not.”

“Is she aggressive all the time? Will she be a problem here, do you think?”

“She's calmed down some since we got her, and she seems to have bonded with my wife. We just didn't think Gypsy would be patient and wait while you work with other dogs.”

Meanwhile the look on Mrs. Thomas's face had changed a little. She said, “Um, you know, I can go into the store with Mozart and do some shopping first.” She didn't wait for JJ to finish saying, “That's so considerate. Thank you.” Guess she didn't want Mozart to be around a cranky dog that might attack.

JJ turned to the Carters. “What can you tell me about Gypsy?”

They talked about how she'd been mistreated, neglected, how she didn't trust anyone yet except the Carters maybe a little. Finally JJ said, “Is she actually aggressive toward you, Mr. Carter?”

He paused for a second and then said, “Yes. You're right, I guess she is. It isn't just that she isn't bonding with me, it's that she seems not to like me.”

“It could be that most of her abuse in the past came from men. You'll need to work hard to earn her trust, which will mean you'll have to be painfully consistent with her. What do you want to accomplish today?”

“Nancy needs to be able to walk her when I'm at work. We walk her together at present, because she's so strong and aggressive. She just pulls Nancy everywhere and wants to attack other dogs, people, anything moving.”

JJ turned to Mrs. Carter. “Can you control her well enough to bring her over here without having her get too aggressive?”

Mrs. Carter sighed. “We'll do our best.”

I backed away from where I'd been standing, farther away from JJ, farther from where the dog would be brought. JJ must have thought I was still next to him, and he said, “She's not in her territory.” He turned, surprised to see I'd moved. He raised his voice a little. “That could mean either that she'll be timid and anxious or that she'll be mean.” He smiled at me, like he was patronizing my caution. “Why don't you stay where you are.”

Fuck you
,
too
.

But Gypsy was approaching calmly enough, looking scared, turning her head to see all around her. Mrs. Carter was behind her, holding the leash, trying to point her toward JJ with a tug here and there while the dog pulled in no specific direction.

I looked at JJ. He wasn't looking at the dog, he was gazing off to the side at nothing in particular, as far as I could tell. He said, “Keep hold of the leash, but let her approach me. She needs to sniff.”

He didn't acknowledge the dog in any way. He just stood there, hands at his sides, while she walked around him, nosing his shoes, his knees, his ass, his groin, his fingers. Then it seemed like she was done, and she sat down beside him.

Very quietly, JJ said, “Good girl, Gypsy. Good girl.” Then, to me, he said, “Paul, would you bring me the black leash from the pile in the corner, with the chain collar on it?”

Are you kidding me with this
?
What am I, your hired help?
I eyed the dog. Mrs. Carter had a good hold, but there was slack. If Gypsy lunged, things could get ugly. As if on cue, the dog looked at me and growled.

JJ turned to look at me. “Don't look at the dog. You need to relax; don't act so nervous.” He held out his hand for the leash. “Thanks.” I backed off slowly, and I gotta say it took a lot out of me not to watch that dog.

JJ held a hand toward Gypsy, palm open and facing up. She sniffed it, and he reached toward her ear. She pulled her head away sharply, almost but not quite getting up. He said, “Okay, she probably won't let me put this on her.” He handed the leash, choke chain in position, to Mrs. Carter. “Do you think she'd let you put this over her head while I hold the leash you have?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Make sure the chain is high on her head, behind the ears. That way it will be in the most sensitive spot, and it's where we can control her best.” Mrs. Carter had just done that, and JJ had taken the end of the leash, when he said, “Paul, would you ask those people to stay in their car with their dog until we're done, or go into the store? Move casually and speak in relaxed tones.”

I hadn't even noticed that there was another couple approaching with a medium-sized brown mutt. I kept JJ between me and Gypsy and did as he asked. The people took another look at Gypsy, saw how everyone was behaving, and they yanked their dog closer and headed for the store.

Too late; Gypsy had figured out the mutt was there, and she growled. I wheeled toward the training area and saw what I was afraid I would see. Gypsy was no longer sitting quietly on the ground. She was straining hard against the two leashes, JJ's and the one still attached to her collar that Mrs. Carter was hanging on to hard, and she was barking and trying to leap forward. JJ moved closer to her, which eased the tension on his leash. He yanked it sharply sideways, released and yanked again and then once more, each time with that low, sharp “Hey” I'd heard him use on Tuesday. And then Gypsy looked in his direction. One more “Hey” and another yank, and Gypsy stopped snarling, but she looked back toward the mutt.

To Mrs. Carter, JJ said, “Ease off. Tension now will just get her angry again.” There was now slack on both leads. JJ yanked once again, and then you could've knocked me down, I was that surprised. Gypsy sat. Everyone breathed easier.

Suddenly Dad was beside me. I hadn't seen him leave the store. “Paul, you can go in. I want to watch this. I should be out here, anyway.”

Sure. Just when it's getting interesting, I have to leave.
To Mrs. Carter, JJ was saying, “What I'm going to do is walk her around the inside part of the square. Can you unhook your leash from her collar?”

Once I was back in the store I looked around. A few customers were in the aisles, and some at the checkout, but there was no need for me to do anything. If I followed Dad's instructions from earlier I'd take a tour through, but I was pissed at him. So I went to the plate glass windows in the front where I could watch the show.

Obviously there had been some progress just in the time it took me to get inside and make up my mind to disobey Dad. JJ was walking Gypsy around inside the two lines of rope. Every so often JJ yanked a little on the lead he held, and in my mind I heard him say, “Hey.” Sharp. Quiet. Calm.

Standing outside the ropes, the Carters were talking quietly to Dad, watching JJ. I could imagine the praises they were heaping on him, getting Gypsy to behave so well. JJ held the leash with his hand really far down, closer to Gypsy's head than I'd ever want to get, but it wasn't tight. He looked relaxed, though his arm was a little stiff, and sometimes Gypsy would turn her head some. That's when he'd yank. At some point I became aware that Mrs. Thomas and Mozart were next to me, watching the scene as well.

JJ was walking Gypsy toward the edge of the tarmac, his back to the parking lot, when suddenly I noticed some other people headed toward them. There was a woman and a kid, probably her son, with a dog that was maybe a Weimaraner, soft gray with that anemic-looking nose. It started barking. Gypsy's head wheeled toward it and JJ gave a sharp yank, and another. The new people stopped moving and stayed where they were, trying to get their dog under control now. It was jumping up and down and making all kinds of noise, bits of foam spraying from its mouth.