by Ron Hansen
His Dog
This was when he first saw her. This was the job where he picked up four hundred dollars. He lifted the collar on his coat and stared into the window reflection of a liquor store across the street and of a fat man in a white shirt turning out the lights in the beer coolers.
The man in the street looked down. The window was the front of a pet shop. In a wicker basket puppies nuzzled and climbed one another in sleep. One of them was loose, prowling. The man tapped the glass with his finger and her ears perked. She had blue eyes. He put on a gruesome rubber mask. The puppy backed away, then yapped and jumped at the glass.
Shh! he said, smiling.
He saw the liquor-store owner begin to pull the iron grate across the high windows.
He crossed the street.
$403.45.
In September, in a park, he saw a boy with the same husky straining at a leash. She was much bigger now, almost grown. The boy dawdled and the pup leaned.
Hey, the man whispered.
The pup turned her head.
Remember?
***
He picked bone and gristle and choice bits off the plates in the kitchen of the café. The cook was giving him a weird look. He walked up a dark alley with a plastic bag warm and sticky under his arm. He bumped a garbage can and caught its lid. He peered over a hedge and grinned. He ripped the bag and threw it into the yard and watched the young dog snatch up the meat and jerk it back and drop it to the grass. She carried the bone away and sat there in shadow. He saw her eyes sparkle. She kept staring as he left.
He sat against the chain-link fence. His fingers twisted her fur. Occasionally she licked his chin through the mesh.
It's a crazy way of making a living, he said. Most of the time I just get by. Plus, you're alone all the time.
An autumn wind scattered alley leaves. He lifted the collar of his coat.
He said, I dreamt about you last night.
He said, This is my favorite time of year.
I've been thinking about retiring, he said. How would that be?
He tapped the dollar bills together and wrapped them with rubber bands. He spoke through the rubber mask: And now your change.
The clerk stared at him, his arms at his sides.
Just get out one of those paper sacks and scoop in all the coins.
The clerk raised his hands and suddenly lurched for the gun. There was an explosion. The clerk flew back against a tin rack of cigarettes. He looked down at his bleeding chest. He slowly slid to the floor. He sat.
Goddamn it, the man said. He left the change. Smoke stayed under the light.
***
Dew soaked his knees as he unclipped the chain from her collar. She shook her head and shoulders and watched him walk out the gate. He turned and stood there, stooped and unsure. She tilted her head, glanced at the house. He slapped his thigh softly and she dashed to him and knocked him over with her paws.
Hey! he said. Careful.
He cuddled her and struggled to his feet. He turned happy, tottering circles, his eyes brimming. He rubbed his cheek in her fur. You and me, he whispered. You and me.
She was skittish on his bed. He'd roll with the covers and she'd bolt to the floor. He'd drop his arm over her neck and she'd lie there as though her head were caught in a fence. In the morning she balanced on his chest and gazed out the motel window, barking at semi trailer trucks.
As he drove the jeep he scratched his dog's ears. The dog smiled and lifted her nose, so he spidered down the white patch of fur all the way to her chest. Then he looked in the rearview mirror and his hand went to the glove compartment. He put on the rubber mask. He slowed. A family in a station wagon tried to pass him. He looked at them. They dropped back. He cruised for a while and they slipped up on his left again. The children were wide-eyed, the man and woman laughing.
He glowered in his mask. The man floored his car and the children turned in their seats, staring until they vanished over the hill.
He looked at his dog with victory. She panted.
He cranked down the right window and his dog poked her head out. Her nose squirmed in the air.
We're on the lam. Ever hear that word before? It means we're hiding from the cops.
She bit at leaves and branches that slapped against the door. He chuckled. He patted her rump.
I could watch you for hours, you know that?
He set the brake and opened the jeep's door. His dog clambered over him and ran among the pine trees and across a moist, shady yard to the cabin. She sniffed at the door frame, hopped weeds to the back, came out prancing. She wandered to the lake, waded in to her belly, and lapped at the clear water. She walked out heavily and shook, spraying him. He sat on the bank and smoked a cigarette. When his dog came up and licked his face, he petted her so hard her eyes bulged.
He split logs, nailed up shutters, patched the hull of the rowboat, skimmed stones. She stayed with him.
He found an aluminum bowl and poured in brown pellets. He unwrapped a package of meat and sliced raw liver into the meal. He called his dog. When she chewed at her food, the bowl rang.
He pushed himself back from the table and crossed his stocking feet over the arm of the other chair. He lit a cigarette and stared out at the night. Cigarette smoke splashed off the window. He petted her.
You know what?
Her ears perked forward.
This is exactly how I thought it would be.
He pried a tin box, shook an envelope, stuffed it in his coat pocket. He looked through a stamp collection and sighed with puzzlement. He moved on to another room. He dumped a jew- elry chest, stirred things with his finger, dropped a pair of earrings and a necklace in his pocket. He smashed the head of a piggy bank, shook it on the bed, picked out the quarters and dimes. The coins clinked in his pocket as he walked down the stairs.
Coming out of the lake house, he saw that his dog, the blue-eyed husky, had a rabbit in her mouth. He buried it and wiped the blood from his hands with a handkerchief. He wouldn't speak to her.
He jerked cupboard doors, banged pans on the stove burners, looked out the cabin window all through the meal. Finally she came to him and rested her head in his lap. He cradled it and played with her ears and tipped her nose up so that her eyes fixed on his.
What's the deal with that rabbit? What's got into you, anyway?
His dog was far ahead of him. There were noises in the distant woods, of tearing leaves and snapping twigs. It sounded like food frying, like talk. He picked up his pace and called to her. He caught his ankle in tangling vines. He shouted her name. The weeds rustled and his dog bounded through, her black fur thorny and snatched with brambles. She circled him and he thumped her side with his hand. He leaned against a tree, rubbed his brow, and looked through the bare upper branches at the sun. He kneaded the muscles of his arms. I'm so afraid I'm going to lose you.
She shook the earrings off every time he clipped them on. The necklace was probably snagged on a stump somewhere.
***
He fed the fire and knelt there, staring at his dog. She raised one eyebrow, then the other, and her tail beat against the chair. He broke a piece of kindling and tossed it to a corner. His dog chased the piece, bit it gingerly, flipped it in her mouth. He threw the stick again and his dog ran after it, paws rattling on the floor. They played like that for a while, then he picked up a hot stick from the fire and threw it. A wisp of smoke streamed after it. His dog stood there.
Well, get it.
His dog sat and looked around the room, smiling.
He glared, then stood, feeling his knees.
Good girl.
He sat at the table with his coffee and focused on the calendar tacked to the wall. Then he washed out his cup, put on a coat, and stuffed a gun in his pocket. He stood at the open door and patted his thigh. His dog cocked her head, then slowly walked past him to the jeep.
He followed. We gotta eat, he said.
They drove to a hardware store. He put on his
mask and pointed his finger at his dog.
I don't want a sound out of you. I want you to stay put.
His mask quaked when he spoke. His dog's eyes darted and she settled on the floor. He sat there, looking out the windshield, then he opened the door. His dog smoothed her whiskers with her tongue and panted. He scraped his shoes on the wooden steps and walked inside. A bell chimed and he said something.
She smelled the litter basket and the space beneath the seat. She rolled a road flare back and forth, then far under the springs, out of reach.
He opened the door and climbed in, huffing. He angrily turned the ignition and lifted to readjust the gun in his coat pocket. He still had the mask on. He put the jeep in gear and aggressively rubbed his knuckles into her skull.
Hungry? he asked.
That night he crouched by the lake and watched a brief flurry of snowflakes speck the water and dissolve. He trudged back to the cabin and tried the door, but it was locked.
What is this?
He cupped his eyes and peered through the window. His dog lay by the orange fire, repeatedly licking her paw.
He tried the door again and it swung free. His dog looked at him.
The oar tips cut into the water and moved, stirring small whirlpools. The green lake was shiny with calm. He slouched back against the prow and zipped his mackinaw up to the collar. He could only see boat houses, boatless docks, woods of blurry red and gold, and over them a gunmetal sky. It looked as though it might snow again. He was alone on the lake, absolutely. He smiled for a moment and slowly rowed back to the cabin.
He thought, I should've brought a radio.
His dog sat patiently on the sand bank of the lake, her tail wagging, a bird of some sort clamped in her jaws.
What've you got? Huh?
He beached the boat, scraping it on rocks. His boots splashed in the water at the shore. He tamped the anchor into silt. He climbed tiredly to his dog.
Give me that.
He tapped her chin and she let the quail roll into his hand. He stroked the beak with his thumb and the head waggled. She danced around him and jumped. He held her by the collar, threw the bird to the fringe of the forest, wiped his hands on his pants. He knelt next to his dog and cupped her chin in his hand.
Don't you ever do that again!
She tried to pull away. He swatted her nose and she flinched. He was about to speak again when she jerked her head and slinked off. He gripped her collar and yanked her around.
Let's get something straight once and for all. That's the kind of thing I won't tolerate. That's the kind of thing that could ruin whatever we've got going here.
He walked slowly back to the cabin. She wouldn't heel. She crossed in and out of the forest.
You bitch! he shouted.
His boots rasped in gravel. His eyes were warm with tears. Bitch.
By evening she was gone.
He threw wood on the fire. He kicked a chair around. He slumped against the door.
It began to snow in earnest and he went to bed early.
He thought he heard a scratching at the door. He couldn't read the time on his watch. He stayed in bed and listened for the sound. He heard a whimper.
There was a faint pink glow from the fireplace. The door opened heavily with snow packed against it. He stood outside, shivering in his slippers and pajamas. The snow slanted in from the lake and, when the wind died, made the slightest crackle in the trees, like someone way out there was wadding cellophane. He walked around the cabin, sloughing through drifts, and saw nothing.
***
The snow jeweled in the sunlight. There were two sets of powdered prints around the cabin. He looked at them, a cigarette in his mouth, rubbing the sleeves of his flannel shirt.
I could've done that, he thought. I could've walked around the place twice. I was sleepy.
Then he sagged a bit and pressed his eyes with his thumb knuckles. He turned to go back inside when he heard a bark.
His dog plunged happily through the drifts.
He ran to her and waded and fell. He laughed and they rolled together and she ate big chunks of snow. She sneezed. He sprawled in the snow and smiled and playfully cuffed her head. His dog licked his face. He clutched the fur at her neck.
Baby Baby Baby.
She woke to a hammering at the door. The latch rattled like a broken toy. His dog sat there, her ears alert and her head cocked, like the dog peering at the Victrola.
A deep voice said, I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down.
His dog whined, then yelped, and walked from side to side.
The door burst open and he stood there in his mackinaw and rubber mask.
Scare ya?
She greeted him and happily pushed her paws into his stomach. Her tongue dangled from her grin.
Look what I got.
He brought a transistor radio from behind his back and clicked it on. Then he picked up her paws and waltzed her to the music while she nipped at his fingers. He let her down and she rolled to her back, barking once. He knelt beside her and took off the mask. He touched sweat from his lip.
That was my last job, he said. I'm retired now. This time it's for real.
She stood over him on all fours in bed. His hands were behind his head. He gazed at the rafters as he talked.
I don't know. I guess women are all right, but they're demanding. They always want to make you something you're not. They're critical of how you act. I don't need that.
She nudged his chin and he smiled.
I need you.
He dusted the windowsills and the mantelpiece. He shoveled the fireplace ashes onto a spread of newspapers. Dog hairs collected everywhere and blew away from his broom. He shook his head with annoyance. He washed the dishes and straightened up his room, and he came out carrying a large, gilt-framed mirror.
He set the mirror against the wall and turned the chair around to face it. His dog walked to him, her nails clicking on the floor. She sat at his feet.
He pointed to the mirror. See what I found?
In the mirror he was sitting in the chair in khaki pants and green rubber boots, his legs crossed at the ankles. He was wearing a Pendleton shirt and his hands rested heavily in his lap. Light slanted in from the window.
I wish I had a camera.
He glanced down and squeezed the flesh of his belly. I'm getting fat.
He could see in the mirror that his dog's head was tilted up at him. She dropped her chin on his knee.
Look at us, he said.
***
His food tasted bad and he was out of cigarettes. He sat in a stuffed chair all day and watched his dog. Her teeth nitched at her paw. She groomed her tail. She splattered water when she drank from her pan. When he called, she didn't come.
He dealt solitaire and listened to the radio. Once he got up and squashed an insect that was loggily crawling the floor. His dog got up and sniffed it.
He put on his coat, loaded the magazine of his gun, and locked the cabin door from the outside. He waded through snow to the center of the clearing. He saw his dog barking at the cabin window, her paws on the sill, her breath fogging the glass. He carefully lowered the gun on each of the nearer trees. Bark exploded off with each shot. His dog dropped from the window.
He shoved the gun back into the pocket of his coat and filled his lungs with cold air and smiled agreeably. He stamped his boots on the porch step and saw that the door had somehow been unlocked. He went inside and saw his dog sitting primly by the chair. He slammed the door but it didn't close.
She scratched at her neck with a hind leg. It turned the leather collar, jangling the tags.
He grumpily paced the cabin.
Ching ching ching, he said. He bent to her level and said it louder. Ching ching ching ching ching!
His dog regarded him angrily.
She would chew a swatch of hair, then lick it, then chew again.
The coffee in his tin cup was cold. He pushed it across the table, turned
on the radio, and watched her teeth burrow higher. He watched for quite a while, then banged his cup. Why are you always eating at yourself?
She looked at him and returned to her thigh.
He went to the kitchen, rinsed his cup, and poured himself more coffee.
You never used to do that.
He saw new flakes of snow tap against the window.
I hate that sound.
He kept waking in the middle of the night to see her there beside him on the comforter. She would be silent, observing him, stars of light in her eyes. He would resist touching her and shift to his side.
His dog was off somewhere. He stumbled through the forest, blowing on his fingers. His gun was cold under his belt. He heard his dog growl and wrestle with something. He ran ploddingly through snow, his breath surging, the gun outstretched in both hands. He reached a clearing and saw his dog near a fallen deer, sniffing the red stains in the snow.
Quit that! he shouted. He rocked from side to side, stamping his boots. Quit that quit that quit that!
She stared at him, then trotted ahead, blithely sniffing at snow-laden ferns. She snapped at yellow weeds and dug through snow to the ground.
He ran a few steps and kicked her, knocking her into a tree. She yelped and shied from him and limped ahead, looking over her shoulder with suspicion.
He was awake all night. In the outer room she was growling.
Shut up, for God's sake.
She growled the way she did sometimes when he came too near her food. He threw the covers aside and stood next to the bedroom door. Shut up!
He opened the door and she raised her pitch. She glared at him.
Quiet!
Her nose wrinkled and her teeth showed.
He closed the door and leaned against it.
At dawn she still made the noise, but it was hoarse and dry, like bricks rubbed together. He dressed and went out to her. Her head was on her paws. She growled and lifted her eyebrows and glared at him.