Bobby D. Lux - Dog Duty (9 page)

“Buddies? I’m playing by myself. Just me, Mr. Mac Nugget Head.”

“You just said you needed a ref.”

“Who did?”

“You did.”

“Oh. Maybe. Well, since you bring it up. We could start a game if you want to be the referee.”

“Does your head bounce around a lot in that helmet?”

“Sure does,” he
said, laughing. “Kinda gives me a headache, but then it’s like I don’t feel anything after awhile. I can’t figure it out. My humans think it’s funny.”

“I bet.”

“So, can I have my ball?”

“Do you know a Rottweiler that goes by Clay?”

“Hmmmm, no, but I know a Chow named Chuck over there.”

“Does Chuck know Clay?”

“I don’t know. They both start with the same letter, so maybe.”

“Do you know anything?”

“Can’t help you there, officer.”

“Here.” I nudged his ball over to him. He tried to catch it in his mouth, but it bounced off his facemask. This cycle of the helmet bobbling side-to-side with rhythmic thuds repeated as I watched this most interesting creature off.

I saw a crew of pugs acting suspicious and went code five on them. I watched them sniff each other for an extended period and decided to make contact. Ernie intercepted me with another dog close beside him.

“Hey Fritz, this is my friend Saucy. She’s from the streets too like me. We go way back.” Her eyes were different shades and she was part Border Collie. I want to say there was some Dachshund tossed in there too.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me-”

“I don’t live on the streets anymore,” Saucy said. “I ha
ve a nice yard and I don’t miss the good old days as much as Ernie does.”

“What do you think of her costume, Fritz?”

“Ernie, that’s rude. Don’t put him on the spot.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Looks nice.”

“She’s a nurse.”

“I see that, Ernie.”

“She wanted to be a sailor like me. That was our plan, but her owner wouldn’t go for it.”

“I’m sure Fritz doesn’t want to hear my life story, Ernie.”

“Just trying to introduce my best pal,” Ernie said.

“I thought Nipper was your best pal?”

“He is, Saucy, but you’re my best girl pal.”

“Speaking of Nipper,” I said, “is he okay? This whole costume thing seems to be bothering him more than it should. It’s just an outfit. Who cares what any of these hounds think?”

“It’s not that, man.”

“It’s not that he cares about what these hounds think of him,” Saucy said. “He cares what one
hound
thinks of him.”

“And not just any hound,” Ernie said.

“Well, who is he?” I asked.

“It’s not a
he
.”

“It’s a she,” Saucy said. “My yard mate, Scarlet. She’s the prettiest dog you’ve ever seen. At least that’s what everyone, literally everyone, says. I don’t know, maybe they’re right. I think I see it. But Nipper, like every other tongue dragging mutt in here, he’s got it bad for her.”

I’ve never been one to bite when dogs fish for compliments, but Ernie, she teed that one right up for you. I gave him a moment to tell her he thought she was pretty. His face remained idle.

“So what’s the problem?” I said.

“Easy for you to say,” Saucy said. “You look like a cop.”

“He is a cop,” Ernie said.

“Oh yeah? Here in Grand?”

“This is just a costume. I was a cop. If it were up to me, I’d let Nipper have it.”

“It wouldn’t even help,” Ernie said. “Nipper’s been stuck on her for years, but she won’t give him the time of day. He’s tried everything. Every line in the book. He’s sang to her. He tried poetry. I helped with it. Something like wait, wait, okay, your eyes are a pleasant surprise like a half-eaten cheeseburger in a garbage bag and your voice is the fries; when you pass me your scent sticks with me like a fresh piece of meat that I want to devour. Your legs are-”

“
We get it Ernie,” Saucy said. “And who could ever figure out why that didn’t work.”

“It’s art. It’s not for everyone, okay? Besides, those were my words anyway and they were meant for… Here we go.”

“What?” I said, my ears tingling up.

“There’s Nipper,” Ernie said. “He’s going for it. He’s going to talk to her.”

On the other end of the park, Nipper took small steps in a direct line towards a dog who had to be Scarlet. The word
perfect
gets tossed around nearly as much as
genius
does, but I’d be a stone cold liar if I said Scarlet was a tad short of being anything less than a, yes, perfect feminine canine specimen. Purebred Siberian Husky. I was quite positive she wasn’t pulling any sleds, though she had the hips for it. There was just enough trace of wolf in her face that was as intimidating as it was mysteriously magnetic. She had curves where it counted and a striking jaw line that said
yeah, mister I’m talking to you. You know all of that attention you have for the rest of the world that you like to spread here and there, yeah, that. It’s mine and you don’t have a say in the matter
. Poor Nipper.

“Let’s get a good seat,” Ernie said.

“If he’s going to talk to her,” Saucy said, “give him his respect.”

“Respect? Look what he’s wearing. Besides, we’re both going to hear about it, so let’s get the real story with no spin.”

For no good reason, I followed Ernie and Saucy behind nearby bushes where we interrupted some Yorkies eating rotten mushrooms out of the ground. I shooed them off and we hunched down as Nipper made his final approach towards the unsuspecting Scarlet.

“What is he supposed to be anyway?” Saucy said.

Neither of us could answer.

Scarlet was looking up into the sun with her eyes closed and her neck tilted up towards the light. Her costume was simple and fitting: a tiara. Nipper walked around in a nervous circle like he was debating what to say when Scarlet whipped her tail up and caught Nipper in the jaw.

“Excuse me,” Scarlet said. “I’m trying to get optimum sun on my tai… Lord, look at you, honey.”

“Hi Scarlet,” Nipper said, staring at the ground.

“My, my, my. Well, it is Halloween isn’t it.”

“Nice princess outfit,” Nipper said.

“Honey, I’m the queen. Don’t you forget that.”

“Oh yeah.”

“I say sweetie, you could be Petrucio’s dog with the way you’re dressed.”

“What’s a Petrucio?”

“Oh dear, that’s Shakespeare, honey.”

“What’s Shakespeare? Some new toy?”

“Toy? A toy? No, it is not a toy. It’s poetry.”

“Oh. I know poetry. Remember my poem?”

“How could one forget, Nipper? Now what can I do for you this fine day? But make it quick. The sun is unobstructed right now.”

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind
,” Nipper said, “if you weren’t busy… Or if you were, that’s fine too, just let me know otherwise I totally understand and in fact-but-if-you’re-not-which-would-be-great-if-you-were-able-to-and-it-would-be-great-because-I-would-do-whatever-you-wanted-”

I couldn’t watch that anymore. I’d seen some grisly things out on patrol, but watching Nipper flounder like that was too much. He looked moments away from speaking in tongues.

“Hey Fritz,” Ernie said, as I came out from behind the bushes, “he’ll see you. Where you going?”

I had better things to do than watch this latest episode of
Barks of our Lives
. I was in the midst of an investigation. I scanned the park for those pugs. As a breed, they always seemed to know something though they played dumb at every opportunity. If I couldn’t find them I for sure wanted to have a chat with the mushroom eating Yorkies.

“Oh my,” I heard
, from nearby, “now who is that wonderful hunk of dog sashaying away from me? ‘Scuse me, Nipper Dipper. You hold that thought of yours.”

“Okay,” Nipper said
, remembering to again exhale.

“Where do you think you’re disa
ppearing to?” Scarlet said, as a pair of paws trotted up to me from the side, and a warm breath of air found its way into my ear. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce yourself or am I the only one with any manners in this here park?”

“I’m Fritz.”

“Fritz. A rugged name for a rugged dog, I’m sure. Now here I was afraid I was just going to have to call you darling.” Her eyes were surrounded by smoky fur that faded perfectly into glistening white across her back.

“Fritz will do.”

“It sure will, sugar.”

“May I help you, ma’am?”

“I’ve never seen you here before. Maybe I can help you get to know the surroundings.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling like I was getting somewhere. “Do you know any dogs that go by Clay or Scamper?”

“Oh, now I know plenty of dogs, Fritz. But how about we just talk about you and me.”

“Clay is a large Rottweiler and Scamper is his sidekick; one of those Jack Russells. Know ‘um?”

“If it’ll keep you talking to me, of course I know them. Now how about I show you a few of the more quiet areas of the park?”

“Where can I find them?”

“Over by that tree in the corner where no one’s looking, that’d be good place to start.”

“I’m talking about Clay and Scamper.”

“Still on that, are you? Have I said how much I like a dog in uniform?”

“No.”

“Well then let me be the first to say how much I do.”

“Thank you. Now, can you help me?”

“Of course I’ll help, but don’t you think about playing hard to get with me. I’ll answer anything you want, but not here.”

She sniffed my nose as close as she could without our noses touching and left.

“Where?” I said, yelling after her, wanting to follow, but feeling paralyzed.

She answered me with her hips. They bounced up and down and swayed to and fro. I stood there like a lump. A lump who was having a hole seared through
him by the laser eyes of a dog a few yards away dressed like a lollipop junkyard.

Since my departure, Nitro had the Grand City kennel all to himself. My bed was gone. My bowl was gone. My scent was washed away.

I pictured the
overbred dope alone in my kennel late at night, thinking no one was watching him. I imagined that they took the opportunity to knock the kennel down and completely rebuild it for Nitro as one of those projects they use leftover budget money on. I was sure that it had wall-to-wall insulation and a heating system. I was sure it had soft light. I was sure the barks didn’t echo for minutes in there. I was sure it had multiple windows. I was sure it was ventilated and didn’t trap in unwanted smells. I was sure it had a life-like human dummy hanging from the ceiling with bungee rope. One that Nitro could tackle and attack like it was the real thing. I was positive Nitro gave the dummy a ridiculous nickname too; something like “Chewy.”

I pictured him living it up in there with all the perks I never had. A working speaker mounted into the ceiling. They’d turn on the radio for him and he’d romp around hyping himself up for a chase.
             

“You got this brother,” he’d tell himself
, as he slobbered and salivated at the thought of tackling some scumbag and taking a clean bite off a sweaty forearm. “You’re the dog. You’re the envy of the canine race. No one holds a candle to you, Nitro. Get some, Nitro. That’s it. Oh, dog, you’re getting a medal for this one. Here comes the news, you’re getting that camera time. Nitro, the hero, coming to you live at eleven o’clock from the crime scene. No fear. All action. All Nitro. All the time.”

Nitro was in better shape than I was or ever had been. I knew that when we worked together. He was lean and muscular. The veins on his arms and hind legs were like ropes. He was faster than me too, but what did you expect? Now they have bio-engineered food for every stage of your life from puppy to adult to mature. Me? I just got food. Big fifty pound plain sacks of grub were just fine for Fritz. Food that made the same sounds twice a day as they poured it into my bowl. Clang-clang-clang-clang-clomp-clomp-clomp. That’s it. There was nothing for my skeletal health or my digestive track or my circulatory system or for muscle density or to promote strong teeth. I got knuckle-sized clumps of dry food sprinkled with what people think a chicken smells like. Year after year after year.

If I wanted to strengthen my bite, I had to get creative and deal with whatever I had to work with. If that meant I had to chew on a spare two-by-four that one of the other cops gave me after they remodeled their home, then I destroyed that thing until you could pick a lock with it. Toss me an old crow bar and in six months you’d be left with tin foil. I didn’t get tennis balls to chew on; I sharpened my enamel on steel wool wrapped together with rubber bands.

When I ran, it was on flat ground or up a hill. Sometimes they’d take us to where the firemen trained and we could run the stairs. That made the Dalmatians throw a piss fit. Now they have a whole obstacle course at the academy for the dogs with ropes, tires, netting, hurdles, bushes, and forts to climb through.

Instead, I was now curled up in the backyard of the Hart residence after a day of playing make-believe while entertaining my insomnia with a view of the stars and power lines.

It’s wasn’t
my place to say what’s fair and what wasn’t in the world, but I couldn’t help the way I felt. If I had the advantages Nitro had, or if I had the great fortune of his year of birth, then maybe I would’ve been in the kennel with Nitro the night when Clay and Scamper showed up looking for me.

What I know is that there was a crash outside at the kennel when there shouldn’t have been anyone out there. What Nitro was doing at the time was anyone’s guess (he later claimed “nothing much”). Since I’m the one unraveling this yarn, I’m going to speculate that he was training to a corny song like what they play at the police banquets when all the officers are too drunk
to walk straight; something like “Kung Fu Fighting.”

“Ni-TRO wa
s fast as lighting,” he sang, as I imagined him taking a flying leap across the kennel. Knowing Clay and Scamper, they didn’t just go up and tip their hand with an outright disturbance. They wouldn’t have gone without a proper plan; one that surely would have included some recon. Clay would have forced Scamper to squat down so Clay could stand on his shoulders to get a good peek in through a window, unbeknownst to the training buffoon.

Clay got a good look inside with his empty eyes and doesn’t see me. Instead, he saw what woul
d appear to be a rhythmic dance routine. Then the breath from his nostrils fogged up the window in a half-circle. That’s when Scamper’s legs gave and Clay crumbled to the ground.

That had to be the crash that Nitro told me he heard. Clay, disgusted by his partner’s lack of sustainable lifting strength, improvised and sent Scamper and his cramping body to the door while Clay took cover out of sight.

“Can I help you?” Nitro said, opening the door to a grimacing Scamper.

“Umm, yessir,” Scamper said, hoping on three legs.
“I was here to see if you’ve mailed in your census form for this year and if not-”

“Census was last year.”

“Well, you know how slow the government can be. We can’t help-”

“What was that noise?”
Nitro said.

“Noise? What noise? I didn’t hear anything,” Scamper said
, too quickly for a seasoned cop not to raise an eye.

“It sounded like something fell. Like a thud.”

Nitro took a look around. Clay held his breath in the shadows and squinted his eyes to abduct all reflection from them.

“It was me,” Scamper said, reeling Nitro’s waning attention back
in to him. “I’m scared is all. I don’t really work for the census. I just needed a reason to knock on the door.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re at the police station. What can I do for you? I’m Nitro, the new guy in town.”

“What happened to the other one? That’s who we’re, I, me! That’s who
I’m
after. I mean, looking for.”

“Fritz?
” Nitro said, spitting out of the side of his mouth. “Figures.”

“That’s his name?”

“I thought you knew him?”

“Just by reputation only. They say he was the best, right?”

“They may have said that at one time, but I’m the best now. How can I help?”

“You
can tell us where to find Fritz.”

“Who’s us?”

“Me. Sorry. Me. I just mean me. So, where is he?”

“He got old and retired somewhere out in the suburbs, pal. Look, you want help, you got Nitro. It’s my kennel now. Fritz can’t help you anymore. What do you want with a beat up old-timer like him anyway?”

“He’s retired and beat up now, you say?”

“Last time I saw him. You sure I can’t find a way to help you?”

“Well, I just wanted to tell him thanks. You see, he saved me and a friend of mine. I guess it was right before he retired and we just wanted to return the favor if we could. I guess you can’t help us.”

Scamper turned his back to Nitro, stood up straight, and walked away. Nitro had to feel a pang in his chest; was it rejection or was it something else? Ineptitude? Suspicion?

“He’s living with Officer Hart at his house off of Sycamore,” Nitro said, trying to be of service somehow. “If that helps you at all.”

Nitro waited by the door for a thank you that wasn’t going to come. He returned to the kennel and his funk jams. He didn’t run around the kennel and he didn’t practice on Chewy. He sat there and wished for the day when I was no longer around.

While he sat there, I can only hope that before Nitro joined me that night in a late-night double-date with the insomnia twins, that he noticed the hulking shadow that emerged from nowhere. The shadow that caught up to Scamper and engulfed him before both sets of footsteps vanished into the night’s echo. I want to think he did.