Blueberry Hill: a Sister's Story(19)

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

“The dog.” I hope this will be enough of an explanation, but it’s obvious Dick wants more. “He’s just a baby. We can’t dump him in the house and leave. He and Brandi may not get along.”

“They’re the same kind of dog.”

As I said, a wife usually knows her husband’s mind. Right now I can almost guarantee Dick is thinking, These are dogs we’re talking about. But without grumbling he agrees to Chinese, and I am relieved. When we arrive at Joy Chow he goes in for the food, and I stay in the car with the dog. Through the front window I can see Dick waiting patiently at the counter as the cook throws a handful of something in the wok.

I thank God for this man of infinite understanding. Sometimes in this life we get lucky. I did. Donna didn’t. Once again I start to grow angry at the monster she married.

My thoughts fade when I see Dick returning to the car with two brown bags. I reach across and open the driver’s side door. The dog wakes up and starts licking my face again. Dick reaches across and hands me the bags, and I set them on the floor. Little Mister Pink-eye goes crazy, sniffing, wagging, sniffing, moaning. Finally he lets out a desperate woof.

“He wants this food.” I laugh and think about Brandi who gets a piece of everything I eat.

“Don’t give him any,” Dick warns. “He’s a puppy. He’ll get sick.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I reply.

“Make sure. Otherwise he’ll throw up all over the house.”

Dick knows me as well as I know him. He knows that given the chance, I will spoil this dog with handfed snacks just as I’ve spoiled Brandi.

“Don’t worry,” I say, but even as the words come from my mouth, I am thinking I will dip my finger in the sauce and give him a taste. Brandi will get several chunks of General Tso’s chicken, but the pup will have only a tiny taste.

After dinner and several finger licks of spare rib sauce, we settle in the family room. The puppy tries to climb into my lap, and Brandi swats him away. This is her territory, and she is not ready to give it up.

“He’s just a baby,” I say and move Brandi aside to make room for the pup. Eventually they settle down, Brandi next to me, Pink-eye in my lap.

When the basketball game ends, Dick clicks off the television and we start to bed.

“What are you going to do with the dog?” he asks.

“He can sleep in Brandi’s bed.” This seems like a good idea since Brandi doesn’t use the bed; she sleeps with us.

Dick shakes his head. “Unh-unh. He’s not trained. I don’t want him running around the house.”

Remembering the challenge of training Brandi, I don’t argue.

Dick brings a laundry basket from the basement, and I line it with a thick terry towel. Then we head for the bedroom.

I set the laundry basket close to my side of the bed and lower him into it. For a while he’s content, but the minute he sees Brandi jump on the bed he gets restless. He starts pawing the sides of the basket. He wants out. He wants me to pick him up again. He wants to be where Brandi is, and she wants nothing to do with him.

I feel sorry for the dog; he is small and alone. Like my sister he is flawed and in need of company. I sit on the floor beside the basket and pet him until he finally falls asleep.

At last I am in bed. I close my eyes, listen to the soft sound of puppy snores, and imagine Donna clapping her hands in a wordless call for Pink-eye to come. I can see him winking his albino eye as he leaps into her arms.





The Gift




Saturday morning I start to think about the ramifications of owning a dog. Feeding will be easy enough, but there’s also the training and walking. Neither of which Donna can handle.

It took me almost a year to get Brandi completely housebroken. Now I’ve got only a few days to train this pup. I convince myself it can be done. I plan to take the dogs out together figuring once Pink-eye sees Brandi get a reward for piddling, he’ll catch on quickly. There’s just one problem: the pup wants to be with Brandi and Brandi keeps pushing her off. I take them out together anyway.

Brandi circles the yard with Pink-eye right behind nosing her butt. Nothing happens. Neither dog does anything, so I bring them inside. I put the pup back in the laundry basket and take Brandi out alone. She immediately does what she came to do. I mark the spot, switch Brandi for the pup, and head back out. I sit Pink-eye on the marked spot, and he starts to sniff. When he decides to wander away, I herd him back to the spot and wait.

Again today the sky is gray and the wind cold. “Hurry up,” I say, but the pup ignores me. Eventually it starts to drizzle, and when I am just about ready to give up on teaching this dog anything he squats and pees. I “good boy” him all over the place and give him two cookies.

The next day I take the two dogs out together again. This time it’s a bit better. The pup follows Brandi’s lead, only he squats like she does instead of lifting his leg. Nothing’s perfect.



By Saturday morning Pink-eye is partly trained. I’ve got a length of chain that clicks onto his collar and a stake Dick will pound into the ground. All Donna has to do is slide the patio door open and hook him up. Problem solved.

As we roll down Route 95, I tell Dick, “Donna knows we’re coming.”