Alpha Dog (7 page)

“
What?
Are you on dope? Why would you do that?”

“Why not? I thought you loved dogs.”

“Well, yeah. Of course I do.” Her voice grew defensive. “But that one seems like a real spaz.”

By now Seamus was whirling around my legs, requiring me to step over his leash every few seconds to avoid being tripped. “No,” I protested. “He’s just excited. He’ll be fine. Seamus, this is Christine,” I called down toward my feet.

“Shame, huh?” she asked.

“Seamus. It’s Irish.”

“Yeah, great.” She shook her head mournfully. “I can’t believe you actually adopted a dog!”

I shrugged lamely and jumped over the leash again. “I know. Me either. But I had to. They were going to put him down.”

She made a huffy noise and cocked one elbow while placing her weight on one of her scrawny, splayed legs, making her look like a giant letter R.

“I don’t think it’s fair that you didn’t even consult me about this.”

My heart started thrashing as I suddenly realized how much this depended on Christine. What if she told the shelter people I wasn’t allowed? Or complained to Mrs. Krantz? Or—even worse—to Mom?

“You didn’t tell me you were getting a dog until yesterday,” I pointed out, my voice wobbly from all the cardiac activity. “You never asked me either.”

Christine’s eyes met mine. I couldn’t tell if she was furious or just shocked.

“Think about it,” I added quickly. “This could be good for your dog too. He’d have a friend to hang out with when we’re in class.”

She stared back down at Seamus, who was now jumping up onto my legs, his toenails making tiny holes in my blue workout pants.

“Whatever,” she muttered finally. “Let’s just get out of here.” Veering wide around me and Seamus, she shouldered her leather messenger and stalked out of the building.

I stood in a daze, listening to the sound of traffic grow suddenly loud and then diminish as she headed out the door. My senses reeled with both relief and disbelief. Somehow I’d done it. I’d gotten my way.

“Come on, boy,” I said, giving Seamus’s lead a gentle tug. He looked up at me and wagged his tail, smiling that doggie smile of his. A warm, gooshy feeling spread through me and I reveled in the sweetness of the moment. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he turned and raced toward the exit, sending me sprawling sideways on the vinyl floor.

4

“W
hat the hell is that?” Robot was stretched across the couch when we got back, surrounded by a colorful mosaic of food wrappers—snacks
I
had bought the day before at the corner Fresh Mart. He picked up the remote and turned down the volume on a Bugs Bunny marathon. “That doesn’t look like a wiener dog.”

“It’s not mine. It’s Katie’s,” Christine snapped. She threw her car keys onto the coffee table and flopped down beside Robot.

She hadn’t spoken much on the drive home— except for the times when she shrieked at Seamus to quit scratching the dashboard or slobbering on the window. He was acting a little nuts, but I could tell he was just overjoyed to be out of that shelter. It made me feel more than ever that I’d done the right thing.

I shuffled behind her to the sofa, cradling Seamus with one arm and lugging a bag of pet supplies with the other. After we hit the Starbucks drive-through, Christine had been nice enough to stop at one of those giant pet department stores on the way home—although I thought she was going to leave us stranded when Seamus accidentally knocked over a display of elderly-dog diapers.

So far, owning a pet was turning out to be expensive. Along with the ninety-five dollars I spent to adopt him, I also had to cough up an additional one hundred and fourteen dollars for kibble, a dog dish, a collar and leash, a special flea comb, a brush, some breath-freshening snacks, vitamins, and a chew toy fashioned like a miniature beach ball. There were tons of other things there I’d considered buying, but I’d already dipped heavily into my summer savings. Besides, I figured I could always go back later.

I sat down in the striped chair, still cradling Seamus as best I could. By now my face was glistening with dog saliva and my arms had red crisscross marks from his toenails. Now that I had Seamus safely back in the condo, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do. I felt like there should be some formality associated with his homecoming, but I had no idea what it should be.

“I didn’t know you were getting a dog too,” Robot remarked.

“Yeah, well . . . I’ve always loved dogs. I’ve been searching for one for a while,” I lied. Actually, the only pet I’d ever had was a gerbil named Farley who escaped after three weeks and somehow got into the dishwasher. I was pretty traumatized when I discovered his boiled little corpse, and we never did get a replacement.

I stroked Seamus’s back as he wriggled around on my lap.

“Why’d you choose that dog?” Christine asked. I could tell she didn’t feel any kind of pull toward Seamus.

I shrugged feebly. “You know how it is. He just spoke to me.”

Judging by their blank stares, they did
not
know how it was.

“What sort of breed is it?” Christine asked.

I pursed my lips. Why did she keep referring to him as “it”? “He’s mixed,” I explained. “Terrier and something else.”

“Brillo pad?” Robot joked. Christine chuckled appreciatively. I bit the inside of my cheek.

I looked down into Seamus’s dark, round, sea-otter eyes. He cocked his head at me and then licked my cheek, as if trying to say, “It’s okay. Don’t listen to them. You did the right thing.”

Figuring he seemed calm enough, I bent over and carefully set him on the carpet. “Here you go. Welcome to your new—” But he was already racing away. Down the corridor and back again. Into the kitchen and back. Round and round the sofa.

“Speedy little nutter, isn’t he?” Robot remarked. “You sure he’s all right? He’s got a look in his eye like he’s mental.”

“He’s just excited,” I said. It had become my slogan for the day. Seamus was just incredibly happy to be out of the shelter. He knew I’d saved his life and taken him away from that cramped, dingy little cage. Now he was simply showing me how much he appreciated what I’d done.

Right then Seamus came charging out of the bathroom with one of Christine’s bras in his mouth. He was growling and shaking his head back and forth, as if fearlessly attacking a lacy black snake.

Christine screamed and Robot burst out laughing. I jumped up and ran after Seamus with my arms stretched out, trying to grab him. Seamus, however, assumed it was a game and accelerated, making sure he was always several steps ahead of me. Occasionally he would stop and hunker down, sticking his heinie way up high and wagging his tail furiously.

Eventually he started barking, causing the bra to fall to the floor. I picked it up and handed it, slightly damp but otherwise intact, to Christine.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

She snatched it from me with an angry grunt and stalked toward the bathroom.

Meanwhile Robot was still laughing. “You sure he’s not mental?” he asked, gesturing toward Seamus, who was still barking and whirling in a circle, begging me to chase him again.

“He’s just excited,” I repeated, somewhat lamely.

In addition to Christine’s bra, here are all the things Seamus chewed within the first two hours of coming home:

An empty Doritos bag

The striped chair cushion

The lamp cord

My messenger bag

The sleeve of Robot’s motorcycle jacket

My sock (while it was on my foot)

Christine’s car keys

The May issue of
Vogue

This is what he did not chew: the chew toy.

Every time I’d toss it toward him, Seamus would stop to watch it plop to the ground with a lackluster squeak, and then he’d continue on his merry way.

He also tried several times to chew one of the stuffed wiener dogs, only to be reprimanded with a high-pitched shriek from Christine.

In addition to all the gnawing, Seamus knocked over the soda can Robot was using as an ashtray, completely twisted up the vertical blinds, and took a bite out of my Pop-Tart when I was watching Bugs Bunny take on the giant red monster in tennis shoes.

“Are you sure you didn’t adopt a psycho dog?” Christine snapped when she caught him tugging on her leopard-spotted shoelaces.

I could tell her stress was building and was afraid she’d pressure me to take him back to the shelter. I swore up and down that I would never let him roam the condo unless I was there supervising him closely. Luckily, that seemed to make her feel better.

After a while I noticed Seamus’s gait had slowed to a trot. He wandered about the living room, sniffing all the furniture.
Good,
I thought
.
He’s calming down.
He took a few sniffs of the big potted palm in the corner, turned around and lifted his left leg.

“No!” I cried, causing Robot to choke on his Red Bull. I jumped to my feet and ran toward Seamus, who took off in the other direction, dancing and barking in another game of chase.

“What’s he doing now?” Christine groaned.

“Nothing,” I said, thankful she’d missed his near-watering of the potted palm. “I’m going to take him for a walk.”

“Thank God,” I heard her mumble as we walked out the door with the leash.

It was an absolutely beautiful day—not too warm yet, and with an intermittent light breeze. It looked as if someone had swept a few dust-bunny-looking clouds off toward the western horizon and then colored everything with a turquoise crayon.
Ah yes. This is much better,
I thought.
The ideal way for both of us to chill out.
I took a deep breath, gave the leash a tug, and together we headed down the sidewalk.

And there I was: a girl walking her dog. It felt so right, as if Seamus completed me somehow. The perfect accessory for a perfect outfit.

Of course, if I wanted to be completely accurate, our scene was more “dog dragging girl.” Seamus was surprisingly strong for his size. Basically I let him take me where he wanted to go, since I had no real plan myself. Occasionally he would stop abruptly, right in my path, forcing me to hurdle over him clumsily.

We lurched down Pearl Street, passing renovated turn-of-the-century bungalows, a redbrick apartment complex, and a large Greek-revival-style mansion that, judging by the tall, clean-cut, incredibly cute guys playing Frisbee on the front lawn, had been converted into a frat house.

Eventually we staggered around a corner, and there, just past a concrete tennis court, was a wide, tree-lined park. Seamus pulled me along the curving sidewalk toward a sea of pea gravel. There preschoolers clambered over a giant blue-and-yellow plastic playscape while their mothers sat on park benches, gabbing and nursing sling-swaddled babies. A few of the children stopped to gawk at us. One of the younger ones, a wild-haired tyke in a Thomas the Tank Engine shirt, shouted, “Yook! Goggie! Goggie!”

A boy who looked about five years old ran up to us. “I like your dog,” he said, trying to pet Seamus on the back. Seamus was hopping around on his leash, eager to continue his walk.

“Thanks,” I said proudly.

Seamus, realizing the boy wanted to pet him, turned his attention toward the child. He panted happily and his tail began a high-speed wag. I felt the shifting of his weight and recognized the eager glint in his eyes. But before I could do anything, he had already flung himself forward and leaped on the small boy, knocking him to a sitting position.

“Seamus, no!” I yelled, snatching him up.

Luckily the boy just laughed and stood back up again. “What’s his name?” he asked, patting Seamus’s head.

“Seamus,” I said, straining to keep hold of my dog.

“Same as?” The boy stared up at me quizzically. “Same as what?”

I laughed and shook my head. “No. Seamus.
Shame . . . us,
” I explained, breaking it down for him. “It’s a boy’s name. Just like yours.”

The boy’s blue eyes grew large and round. “His name is the same as mine? William?”

“Uh, no. What I meant was—”

By this time his two companions were walking toward us. The boy turned to them, shouting, “Hey, guys, guess what? The dog’s name is William too!”

“Ohhh. Hi, Will-ee-am,” sang a small, pigtailed girl as she stroked Seamus’s ears.

“Will-yum! Will-yum!” chanted the small one who’d called him goggie.

I struggled to keep hold of Seamus, but he managed to squirm out of my arms and leap on the smaller boy. The boy shrieked with delight as he fell against the grass, Seamus licking every inch of his face.

“William and Michael, come here right now!” A woman stood up from one of the benches and gestured toward us. “You know you’re not supposed to pet strange dogs!”

“You too, Alicia,” called out a second woman.

“Sorry,” I called out, scooping up Seamus again and holding him with all my might. The women just ignored me.

“Bye, goggie,” said the smaller boy as he scrambled to his feet again. He waved at Seamus before toddling off toward his mother.

“Bye-bye, William,” Alicia said sadly. Then she, too, skipped off toward the benches.

The older boy, William, lingered behind and continued to pet Seamus. His features were set in grim determination.

“William!” his mom repeated in a warning tone. “Right now! It’s almost time for your swim lesson!”

At this the boy brightened slightly. “I can almost swim,” he announced proudly. “I can hold my breath a long time. Look.” He inhaled deeply and puffed out his cheeks. For a long time he stood motionless—but I could still see his chest moving up and down.