"Am I really optimistic, for a change?" Chris laughed to himself, looking up to the morning sun which cast a crisp light through the oak trees.
Optimism had long been an absent emotion in Chris’ life; He resolved, at least on this peaceful morning stroll, to ask no questions, only to bask in the feeling and to live in the moment. It felt nice.
Maybe, just maybe, he reasoned, life was finally shifting back on track. He felt a positive sense at the prospect of returning to the person that he used to be; this time on his own terms.
With a newspaper under his arm, a fresh cup of dark roast coffee in his hands, all seemed well with the world. Time to go inside, kick back and ease into the day.
A new resident to the neighborhood had an entirely different set of plans for Chris.
Out of nowhere, Chris found his legs tangled in a leather leash. An energetic puppy circled in a happy frenzy, entangling Chris legs more and more with each rotation. As quickly as he stepped out of one layer of leash, Chris found himself encircled again and again by dog that had clearly seemed long starved for attention.
Chris stumbled backwards; his newspaper fell to the ground in a scattered mess; the coffee cup soon followed before it emptied squarely on top of the paper, and his shirt. Finally, in an awkward balancing act, Chris fell to the ground, flat on his back.
He lay there for a moment trying to regain his bearings as the beautiful golden retriever puppy licked his face as though it hadn’t made human contact in months.
"Jesus Christ! OK! Stop it!" Chris commanded as he pulled himself from the ground, brushing the dirt from his pants.
"What the hell is your problem?" He yelled to the crazed dog, as though it could answer.
Chris managed to get hold of the leash and jerked it tight before walking over to survey what was left of his newspaper, which was completely soaked in coffee.
"Well, maybe I can read it when it dries," he hoped, glaring at the dog.
The retriever carefully poised itself above the scattered leafs of the morning paper and began to urinate.
"You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…really?"
"Let’s go," Chris demanded, snapping the leash tight. He lead the dog into the shop and down the hall.
Chris sat at the end of the bed with his new, unwanted friend who, quickly, found a comfortable and cool spot on the floor, squarely between Chris' his knees.
The puppy looked up to Chris, panting; her tongue hanging to the side, she looked to him as though she were trying to talk.
"What the hell are you lookin’ at?" Chris snapped.
He searched the dog’s collar, looking for any kind of ID so that he might return this annoyingly, overly friendly beast to it’s rightful owner; the sooner the better, he thought.
"Great, no ID…and you stink!" Chris muttered as he sniffed his hands, wondering what to do with his unexpected assailant. He couldn’t just toss this dog back to the streets to aimlessly wander, especially if it was lost. This dog must have an owner or it wouldn’t have such a nice leash, he reasoned.
After staring at the puppy for a few moments, Chris decided to do, what he felt, was the right thing.
"C’mon!" Chris commanded, rising for the door. "Let’s find out where you belong." He traversed every nearby block, occasionally stopping to chat with passers by on the street and those sitting on their porch. One person after another shook their head, not knowing who’s dog it might be. Great! He thought.
They stopped on the street corner for a break when Chris made a solid announcement to the puppy:
"I’m not keeping you, I don’t have room for a dog, I’m takin’ you to the shelter tomorrow if we cant find your owner."
The retriever sat at Chris' feet, looking up to him as if to be focusing every ounce of its attention; it seemed as though he were telling the most captivating, most amazing story ever told.
"Stop lookin’ at me like that, I know what you’re doin’ and it won’t work! You’re goin’ to the shelter," he resolutely announced to the dog.
Back at the shop, Chris prepared to head for work, with his new room mate staring intently at Chris' every move.
"You behave, I’ll be back in a little while," he commanded. Chris locked the door to his room behind him, leaving a light on since his tiny room was windowless.
At work, Chris made a few dozen fliers with a picture of the puppy that he’d taken with his cell phone.
Chris returned later that afternoon to find an unexpected sight. Every single shoe he owned lay scattered around the room. The lamp was laying on its side by the bed and, in the corner, under a pile of dirty laundry, sat one very guilty looking puppy, peeking from beneath an over sized bath towel.
The puppy’s face conveyed an “I don’t know who did this” expression. Its eyes were wide and blinking quickly, looking from side to side, occasionally making contact with a clearly annoyed Chris.
Chris glared at the shoe eating puppy who tried to divert its eyes, only glancing at him, quickly, every few seconds.
"Come here!" Chris demanded as he held out his hand. Grabbing the leash, he’d decided that after posting the fliers he would dump this pest off with Marie. Besides, she loved dogs and he refused to put up with this stray animal for another minute.
As they walked down the sidewalk, their flier mission complete, Chris looked down at the puppy. He felt annoyed about the room and his shoes, but Chris couldn't help but to hold a small level of compassion for this lost dog.
"You little bitch," Chris muttered to the dog. At this moment, he wondered to himself:
"Now that I think about it, I don’t know if you are indeed a bitch." Chris took a quick peek. "Yep, you’re a bitch, let’s go."
Chris entered the pub, leash in hand; his new found charity case firmly attached to the other end.
"Sit down," he commanded.
New Orleans is an extremely dog friendly city. You’ll find dogs in most pubs around town; another unique aspect of this accepting city. They even have a special dog parade during Mardi Gras, Barkus, where hundreds of dogs are festively dressed and paraded through the French Quarter.
"What a beautiful puppy!!" Marie shrieked as she ran from behind the bar. "When did you get it?" She asked, briskly rubbing the puppy’s head with both hands.
"I didn’t," Chris curtly snapped. I suppose she’s lost. I’m takin’ her to the shelter tomorrow if no one comes for her, I put up fliers today.
"Nooo! Marie begged. They kill them if they can’t find a home for them after a while; please don’t take her to the shelter Chris," Marie pleaded.
"YOU take her then," Chris demanded.
"I can’t, I don’t have room for her."
"Oh, and I DO??" Chris shot back.
"She's adorable; What’s her name?"
"Whadda ya’ mean whats her name? It’s DOG, annoying, DOG, that’s her name. I’m not naming this dog Marie, and I’m not keepin’ it, period!" He resolved.
"Well, I think a dog would be good for you, plus, girls like guys with dogs," she persuaded.
"Nice try Marie; that reverse psychology shit doesn't work on me. Girls like guys with a big penis...and guys who are somewhat sane.
"Well, we all know you're not sane...sooo?" Marie laughed.
"Hahahaha...I’m gonna take her tomorrow morning to the shelter," Chris solidly reiterated as he looked down at the puppy who gazed up at him as though he were the only person in the world.
"Stop looking at me," Chris ordered.
The moment was suddenly interrupted when a highly inebriated college girl bent down to pet Chris' new found adoptee. With a drink precariously in hand, sloshing from side to side, she pawed at the dog.
"Hey puppy dog, what’s your name??" She slurred.
"DOG!" Marie quickly announced, smiling at Chris.
"It’s fucking smelly dog," Chris added, glaring back at Marie.
"What a pretty doggie," the girl pined as she awkwardly continued to stroke the dog's neck, barely even making contact with its head.
"I told ya’, chick’s love dogs;" We both know that you're not sane...so hopefully you have the other thing goin' for ya" Marie gloated, trying not to laugh.
"Are you sure that promoting this girl as an example is an effective selling point?" Chris laughed, redirecting his attention to the young woman. "She probably sees two dogs," he whispered.
Suddenly the drunken young woman stumbled forward, losing her balance before half of her drink showered the dog‘s head.
"Oh shit! I’m soooo sorry dude," she slurred.
The retriever shook her head briskly, giving everyone within arm's length an Irish iced coffee shower.
Marie rushed from around the bar to blot the floor, and the dog’s head.
"It’s OK," Chris assured. "If anything it’ll make her smell better. There’s something about the smell of Bailey’s that mixes rather nicely with dog don’t you think Marie?" Chris demurred.
The over served young lady apologetically edged her way down the bar.
"What’s the prerequisite for getting cut off in this fuckin’ place, a coma?" Chris sarcastically inquired.
"Well, you of all people should know the answer to that question," Marie shot back.
Marie continued to dab the sticky drink from the startled puppy‘s head as she changed the subject.
"Hey, what happened with your boy?" she inquired about Thomas.
"He’s out; I haven’t spoken with him in a few days. He’s a giant fuck up but, hopefully, I got through to his thick head the other night so we’ll see," Chris answered.
"Well, I wouldn’t hold my breath," Marie dismissed.
"I have to hold my breath...between the smell of Irish liqueur and wet dog I have no choice," he quipped. "They’ll clean you up at the pound," Chris diverted to the puppy.
Grabbing the leash, Chris rose from his chair.
"Look, I gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow, and I will not be attached to this leash tomorrow either. C’mon, Chris ordered the pup. Let’s go to the store and get you something to eat; you‘ve had enough to drink for one night. And I’m not blowin’ a bunch of money on you, so you’re not gettin’ the expensive shit," Chris assured as he and his temporary pet walked toward the exit.
Marie laughed, watching Chris and his puppy trail away.
Back at his room, Chris lay on the bed watching TV when the puppy pounced from the floor to the foot of the bed. Walking toward the headboard, she comfortably placed herself at Chris’ side, staring briefly at him before resting her chin squarely on his chest, never breaking eye contact.
"Oh Jesus," Chris moaned. With a sigh, he grudgingly began softly rubbing his new friend’s head.
"God dammit, you smell awful…but with a pleasant hint of Bailey’s," he observed aloud; a slight smile crossed his face.
"Well, I’m gonna have to fumigate the room and burn these sheets now, but I’m glad you’re comfortable. And don’t be a bed hog either or I’m tossin’ your ass out in the hallway. I’m used to sleepin’ alone and when I do sleep with someone they smell a lot better than you," Chris lectured
The puppy looked at Chris, holding on to every word, before returning her chin flatly to his chest.
A few minutes passed when Chris grudgingly broke the silence:
"Goodnight Bailey;" reaching up to turn out the light.
As they both lay in the darkness, Chris knew, deep down that he couldn’t dump his unlikely new friend at the pound; no matter how hard he fought and reasoned in his mind, he felt that she might be lost, just as he'd had been for a long while.
"Fuck! You’ve got a name now…just great," he sighed, before ducking under the sheets."
copyright, Pontchartrain Press 2008
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