The Mad and the MacAbre

Charlie stood there for a long moment, as if waiting for the dog to acknowledge his apology. It did not.

He returned to the couch and turned the television back on. A few minutes later, the dog bounded into the living room and jumped up onto the cushion next to him. It sat next to him until bedtime.

* * *

'Surfing the net on company time?'

Charlie glared at Alicia over his shoulder. 'I'm on my lunch break. We're allowed.'

'I was just kidding,' said Alicia. 'Wow, you take everything personally, don't you? We need to figure out a way to make you a little less serious.'

'I'm fine.'

'You're a powder keg of repressed rage. If you don't lighten up, you're going to run somebody over with your car.'

'Okay.'

'Looking for a new dog?' she asked, nodding at his monitor. Charlie was in the middle of a Google search for animal shelters in the area.

Charlie shook his head. 'Getting rid of one.'

'Oh, no! What did it do?'

'Nothing. I found it.'

'Well, make sure you take it to a 'no kill' shelter.'

'They have those?'

'Yeah, they'll keep it until they find it a home. What kind of dog is it?'

'Boston terrier.'

'Oh, I love those!' said Alicia. 'They're so cute! Did you name it?'

Charlie shrugged. Why would he name a dog that he was taking to the pound? And why wouldn't she leave him alone? She knew he was on his lunch break--why couldn't she respect that and let him enjoy it?

'I guess if you named it, it might be hard to let it go,' Alicia admitted.

'Yeah.'

'But it was nice of you to take in the dog and give it a home for now. Where did you find it?'

'In a park.'

'I can't believe the owner hasn't claimed it yet.'

'Do you want it?' Charlie asked.

'Can't. I've already got three cats. If I didn't, I'd take it in a second. I think you should keep it, though--a dog would be good for you.'

'Why?' Charlie was surprised to discover that he actually cared about her answer to his question.

'Unconditional love. A dog doesn't care if you're in a bad mood or if you cheated on your taxes; they love you no matter what.'

Charlie frowned. Was she accusing him of cheating on his taxes?

'I don't have time to take care of a dog,' Charlie said, knowing that he had plenty of time, even if he kept up his current schedule of television viewing.

'That's fair,' said Alicia. 'I'm not trying to get into your business. But promise me that you'll take it to a 'no kill' shelter, okay?'

'Okay.'

'I'll even look one up for you and give you the address. Then you can enjoy the rest of your lunch break.'

It took Charlie several seconds to figure out how to respond to that. 'Thanks.'

'No problem at all. I'm happy to do it.' She smiled. 'Did you notice that it's not that painful to have a friendly conversation with a co-worker?'

Charlie didn't necessarily agree with Alicia about the level of pain the conversation created, but he nodded and forced himself to smile.

* * *

By the end of the day, still nobody had called about the dog. Maybe his signs just weren't very good. He supposed that if he asked Alicia, she'd help him make better ones--he'd seen the sign she made for a bake sale last week that he didn't participate in, and it was colorful and eye-catching. Of course, making new signs would be a waste of time, since he'd be taking the dog to the address of the animal shelter she'd given him right before he left.

Still, it would be a major disappointment if he turned the dog over to the shelter and then the rich owner claimed it that same day. Or even a few days later. The dog wasn't exactly eating up a large percentage of his income; maybe Charlie should hang on to it for a few more days, just in case. Also, he didn't want to deal with the awkward phone conversation if the elated owner called him to reclaim his or her pet, and Charlie had to explain that he'd taken it to the pound, where it might have been given to somebody else. At least he wouldn't have to tell the owner that the dog had been gassed. He didn't like hearing people cry outside of his basement.

He decided to stop at the pet store on the way home.

* * *

'Don't get used to this,' said Charlie, waving the red rubber squeak bone at the dog. 'I'm not buying you a toy every time I go out. This is all you get.' He squeaked the bone and the dog ran in a joyous little circle on the basement floor. 'If you lose it, it's not being replaced, so be careful.'

He tossed the bone to the dog. It caught it in its mouth and then dropped onto its stomach, chewing vigorously on the toy, which squeaked and squeaked and squeaked.

Charlie leaned against his metal table and watched the dog. It seemed to be having a lot of fun. Why? It was just a rubber bone. Was the dog imagining that the squeaks were screams of agony? They didn't seem comparable.

He observed it for several minutes, wondering what possible pleasure the dog could be getting out of this, besides the opportunity to exercise its jaws. Why did people like Alicia think that dogs were so great? Who cared about unconditional love? Love should be given out on an 'as deserved' basis.

When he decided that the dog had squeaked the toy enough for one night, Charlie changed its bandages and refilled its food bowl. The dog was healing nicely--in a few days, it would probably be completely back to normal. Normal for a clown-faced idiot dog, anyway.

'I don't want you to run away and cost me my reward,' he informed the dog as he showed it the cheap black collar he'd purchased, 'so you're going to have to wear this, like it or not.'

The dog most definitely did not like it, and it took a few minutes of struggle to get the collar over its head and fastened properly. Charlie considered hitting the dog to encourage it to keep still...but, no, there was no reason for that. He'd win this little dispute without resorting to violence.

He got the collar on the dog, attached the leash he'd also bought, and led it up the stairs. He let the dog run around the living room for a minute while he put on his heavy coat and gloves, and then took the dog outside for a traditional walk.

It finished its business almost immediately, but Charlie was pretty sure that walks were about exercise as much as defecation, so they began to walk along the sidewalk. Sometimes the dog walked right alongside of him, sometimes it tugged on its leash in a failed attempt to run ahead, sometimes it forced Charlie to tug on its leash because it got distracted by fascinating smells, and sometimes it ran in a circle and almost tripped him, but overall Charlie thought it was a relatively successful walk.

After they'd gone about six or seven blocks, they approached a driveway where a young blonde woman was taking groceries out of her car. Her eyes lit up as she saw the dog.

'Oh, look at you!' she said, placing a bag of groceries on the ground and crouching down so she could pet the dog. 'What a sweetie!'

The dog licked her face, clearly loving the attention.

'What's his name?' the woman asked Charlie. She was absolutely beautiful. She looked as if she might have just come from the salon as well as the grocery store.