The Mad and the MacAbre

in case he never found the owner and had to abandon the dog.

He walked past the toy section on his way to the checkout counter. Maybe he should buy something to keep the dog occupied during the day. He picked up a bone-shaped squeak toy, decided against the expenditure, then paid for the food and went home.

* * *

The dog gobbled the bowl of food as if it hadn't eaten in months. It didn't even seem to be taking time to breathe, which was funny to watch because it had a flat little nose that didn't seem like it would be easy to breathe through.

It finished off the contents of the bowl in no time, ate the pieces that had spilled over the side, then looked up at Charlie. He shrugged and filled its bowl again. This time it finished half of the food, then let out what sounded like a happy bark.

Charlie had nothing to say to the dog, so he went back upstairs to make some signs.

* * *

Charlie wrote 'Found Boston Terrier' and his phone number in black magic marker on twenty pieces of paper. The notice would probably be more effective if he attached a picture of the dog, but he didn't own a camera. The whole idea of photographs made Charlie uncomfortable. Not that he believed that they'd steal his soul or anything like that--he just didn't like them. He might have owned a cell phone with a camera, if he ever had anybody to call.

After he finished making the twentieth sign, he questioned his judgment in putting 'Boston Terrier' on there. If those were valuable dogs, people might try to falsely claim the one in his basement. Though he could certainly figure out a way to make potential owners prove that the dog truly belonged to them, he didn't want to be bothered with scam artists.

He crumpled up all twenty signs and began the process again, writing simply 'Found Dog' and his phone number. Then, armed with his signs and some scotch tape, he walked around the area for about half an hour, taping the signs to streetlamps, mailboxes, and newspaper boxes, as well as on the park bench where he'd found the dog. He returned home, turned up the heat, and went to sleep.

* * *

Charlie woke up out of a sound sleep and glanced over at the alarm clock. 1:21 AM.

There was a strange noise in the house. He listened carefully for a moment, and then figured out what he was hearing: scratching.

Why was that stupid dog scratching on the basement door? What could it possibly want at this time of night?

He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but the scratching didn't stop. The dog had food and it had water--did it just have an attitude problem? Charlie was a big believer in the merits of a good night's sleep, and if this dog didn't knock off the scratching, he'd kick it in the face.

He counted slowly to five hundred. The scratching continued. With all the soundproofing, scratching on the door was pretty much the only sound he would hear from the basement. Figured.

Charlie cursed, got out of bed, then walked in his underwear through the kitchen over to the basement door. He opened it and glared at the dog, which sat on the top step.

'Don't do that,' he said.

The dog barked.

'Don't do that, either,' he told it.

The dog pushed past his leg and ran into the kitchen. Charlie cursed again and went after it. If that dog wrecked any of his things, he was going to withdraw his objections to torturing a dumb animal. With Charlie in hot pursuit, the dog ran into the living room and jumped up on the couch.

Charlie pointed to the floor. 'Get down.'

The dog lay down in the crevice between the two couch cushions.

'Get down,' Charlie repeated, more sternly.

Charlie realized that he'd left the basement door open. It wasn't as if he had a victim down there who might escape or be discovered, but still, he liked to keep the door closed at all times.

'Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you,' he said out loud, closing the basement door and causing a waft of cool air to brush against his face.

It was pretty cold down there, he supposed. He couldn't blame the dog for wanting to come upstairs where it was warmer. The basement was surely a lot better than being outside in the park, but if the dog was used to a warm home with a rich master...

Charlie poured himself a glass of milk, drank it, rinsed out the glass, and then returned to the living room.

'Hey,' he said to the dog. It looked like it was about to fall asleep. 'You can stay up here, but if you...' He trailed off. Why in the world was he trying to speak a complete sentence to a dog? He was losing his mind. Many of his victims had claimed that he was insane, and now he was trying to prove them right!

The dog closed its eyes.

Charlie watched it for several minutes until he was sure that the dog was asleep. Then he returned to bed.

* * *

Charlie woke up and glanced over at the alarm clock. 4:29 AM.

Woof!

Stupid dog.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

Charlie got out of bed and stormed into the living room. The dog stopped barking and started panting happily. At least it looked happy--it was just a dog, so he couldn't tell for certain.

'What?' Charlie asked. 'What do you want?'

A horrifying thought occurred to him. He quickly rushed over and peeked out the front window to make sure the dog wasn't trying to alert him to potential danger.

No police car was waiting outside. Apparently no watchdog duties were being performed. He returned his attention to the animal.

'What the hell is your problem?' he asked.

The dog continued to pant happily.

'I have to sleep! I have to get up early to go to work! You can't bark like that!'

Then he noticed that the dog had somehow worked the bandages off its legs. There were a few small blood spots on his couch. Charlie cursed again, setting a personal profanity record.

'You had your chance, but you blew it,' he said, picking up the dog. 'That's the way the cookie crumbles.'

He carried it into the kitchen, shifted the dog in his arms so he could open the basement door while still holding it, gasped as he nearly dropped the dog, regained control, then got the basement door open and placed the dog on the top step.

'It's your own fault,' he said, closing the door.

He didn't know if it would start scratching again, but he could sleep through that a lot more easily than the barking. He'd be okay for work if he got in a couple more hours of rest before the alarm went off. Charlie was perfectly fine with not getting much sleep on a night when he had a plaything in the basement, but he was much less fine with the idea of losing sleep over an idiot dog.

* * *

Charlie woke up to the alarm at 6:30. He had a banana and a piece of toast for breakfast, then opened the door to the basement. The dog bounded up the stairs toward him as he walked down, nearly tripping him as it nipped at his feet. He braced himself against the wall and told the dog to knock it off. It had a