'He doesn't have one.'
'Doesn't have a name?' The woman scratched both of the dog's ears. 'How can a sweetie like you not have a name? You don't like that at all, do you? I bet you don't!'
'I mean, I don't know its name,' said Charlie.
'Well, he's absolutely adorable,' said the woman, picking up her grocery bag and standing up. She grinned at Charlie. 'Both of you have a great evening, all right?'
The woman turned and retrieved a second grocery bag from her trunk. Charlie couldn't believe it. She was just standing there, totally unguarded, not even looking at him. He could shove her into the trunk, slam the lid, and have a gorgeous woman in his basement this very evening.
He wouldn't do it, of course. He'd broken the schedule once, and had vowed to never do it again. And though this idea sounded great as a flash of fantasy, it was far too risky. She could scream, or somebody could see (for all he knew, her husband was right inside), or she could be locked in the trunk with the only set of keys.
Still...he was amazed at how the dog had instantly created a level of trust.
He should have asked the woman if he could help her carry her groceries inside, just as a test.
'Maybe you could be useful,' Charlie told the dog as they resumed their walk.
Yes, he was talking to an animal in public, but the woman had done the same thing without feeling humiliated. Clearly, you were allowed to talk to uncomprehending animals without looking like a candidate for the local asylum.
Perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to get rid of it. Charlie might have a creepy smile, but he had a cute dog.
* * *
'You need a name,' Charlie told the dog as they sat on the couch.
The dog squeaked its bone.
What was a good name for a dog? Fido? Rover? Duke? Prince? Spike? Clowny-Face?
Killer?
Hmmmm. He liked Killer.
'Do you want to be named Killer?' he asked.
The dog squeaked its toy again, but it was a non-committal squeak.
Killer wasn't exactly subtle. He should probably brainstorm more options. Charlie went to get a pen and a notebook, then sat back down and started writing down ideas. He wrote down every dog name he could think of, the first names of everybody he knew, and other names that might be appropriate for a dog whose cuteness was going to lure women to their death.
After about an hour, he had a list of forty-seven names. He read them slowly, one at a time, to see if any elicited a reaction from the dog.
None of them did. The dog just kept chewing on its toy. Charlie had to admit to himself that he was taking his newfound willingness to communicate with the dog a bit too far.
He read the list of names again, to himself in a whisper.
Cutter sounded the best, but it didn't look right. He wrote it on a separate page. Cutter.
He wrote it again: Kutter.
'That's your new name,' he said. 'Kutter the dog.'
Charlie took Kutter for another walk, tearing down the '
- 5 -
'Did the address help at all?' Alicia asked the next day.
'I'm keeping it.'
'Seriously?'
'Yeah. Its name's Kutter.'
'Well, that's great. Congratulations on the new addition to your household.'
'Thanks.'
Charlie looked at her more closely. He'd always liked freckles. Perhaps someday she'd let him take her out for coffee or--
--his basement. Perhaps someday he'd lock her in his basement. That's what he meant.
But maybe coffee to start.
Charlie wasn't even going to try to pretend to himself that he'd be even remotely close to capable of asking her out right now, so he ignored the thought and glanced back at his monitor.
'Do you have pictures?' asked Alicia.
Charlie shook his head.
'You need pictures.'
'Okay.' Charlie had no intention of buying a camera, even a cheap disposable one. Still, it couldn't hurt to pretend to go along with her idea.
'Well, I'm glad you kept the dog. Give it a great big hug for me.' Alicia patted Charlie on the shoulder and then returned to her desk.
* * *
Alicia asked him about Kutter photos every day for the next three days. After the third day, Charlie realized that saying 'I forgot again' just wasn't going to continue to work. It was really not her place to guilt him into photographing his dog, but finally Charlie decided to cave in to the pressure. He bought a surprisingly inexpensive disposable camera on the way home from work.
Taking the camera downstairs was not an option. Some clue about the basement activities, no matter how subtle, might appear in the photograph, and Charlie couldn't take the risk. He also refused to appear in the picture himself. He'd just get a couple of quick snapshots of Kutter and take them straight to the photo-developing lab at the grocery store.
He opened the door to the basement. Kutter happily bounded up the stairs. Charlie put on his leash, took him for a quick walk, then brought him back inside.
'On the couch,' Charlie said, patting the cushion.
Kutter jumped up onto the couch.
'Good boy. Now smile.' As Charlie peeked through the viewfinder, Kutter jumped off the couch and ran into the kitchen.
Stupid dog. 'Hey, get back in here!' Charlie called out. He heard Kutter thundering around in the kitchen for a moment, and then the Boston terrier came running back into the living room. He patted the cushion again. 'C'mon. Picture time.'
Kutter woofed at him.
'I don't like it either. We don't have a choice.'
Charlie patted the cushion a few more times, then decided that although the couch was the most aesthetically pleasing location for the photograph, it didn't much matter either way. He pointed the camera at where Kutter stood on the floor. The dog looked right at the camera. Perfect.
He pressed the button, and nothing happened.
'What the hell?' He pressed it again and the camera still didn't click or flash or do anything to indicate that a photo had been taken. Was it broken?
No, he just hadn't wound it.
Cameras sucked.
He wound the dumb little dial. Kutter ran back into the kitchen.
'Hey!' Charlie followed Kutter into the kitchen and nearly tripped over the dog as it ran back into the living room. He pointed the camera at the dog, trying to follow it as it ran in a circle around the living room, and squeezed off one shot that he knew wasn't even close.
