She bears the responsibility. And she possesses the authority. Whereas Champion renounces responsibility, and he does not have authority, either: he, as always, is first… whereas she, undisputedly, is head of the family.”
And with a feeble voice he admitted that under different conditions he would have wondered how this does not provoke him to jealousy, which does not exist in Sue—“For better or worse…”
As if they were two noble horses, Dad rushed to hitch the responsibility and authority to a different wagon, which he sent on its way with a vote of confidence, trusting that I would know how to calculate my actions and to sort the dog lovers from the rest of the applicants:
“In the end we will make the decisions together. And I would like to hope, that not being alone…”
From that evening on, apart from at mealtimes, Grandpa seldom left his room.
And each day more time elapsed, until his clouded gaze slowly began to clear.
On Friday, as he leaned against Mom to sit down for breakfast, Dad called me to the phone. It was obvious to me who it was, because who other than Adi would call so early?
“I’m calling about the ad.”
I was surprised by an amiable male voice.
I wrote down his phone number.
And promised to call upon my return.
In class I asked what, in Adi’s opinion, was most important to the pups.
“Piece of cake:
LWS—
Love, warmth and security,
Like everyone else.”
“And stability, what about that?”
“Part of security.”
I thought so too.
“And support?”
“The same.”
I did not see eye-to-eye with her.
“For you, SLW: with support, love and warmth, security is guaranteed.”
Eventually we settled on LWSS.
“What are you going to do about those who never had a dog?”
I explained that I would find out whether they ever raised a cat, a hamster, a parrot, a silk worm, or whatever. And why this time they want to go for a dog.
“And if… if they had a dog once… and something happened to him…?” I assured her that if he was run over while chasing a dog in heat, that doesn’t say anything about them.
“And what about those who want a dog to guard their house or something like that?”
I wanted them to love him regardless. And besides, to this day it isn’t obvious to me that ours excel at that of all things.
For me—it was enough.
Not for Adi (who not by coincidence chose law as her profession):
“It’s better if we’re sure from the get-go that the entire family is really into it. Otherwise, we can get stuck with those who today feel like getting a puppy, and tomorrow will feel like getting something else instead…”
That really stressed me out.
“If anything, then where they live: an apartment is also okay, if they take them out three times a day. And if they live in a house, what happens if they damage the garden?”
I spoke quickly, so she wouldn’t be able to get a word in.
“And the fact that they shed fur doesn’t count?”
“And nibbling on the furniture?” she continued in the same vein.
We concluded that it was enough for now.
And if I thought of any more questions, we’d rack our brains then.
There aren’t that many calls, I updated her during the week. But whoever calls has heaps and heaps of questions. Only one asked what I wanted to know about them. The rest didn’t understand what I wanted from them:
Like, what?! It’s just a puppy!”
Talking exactly like her older brother, Idan, she made me swear that I would remain “cool as a cucumber”:
Not to give a hoot about anyone.
And not to back down on anything.
Fortunately, Skype did not exist at the time. And so she couldn’t see how I blushed when I detailed all the trouble Champion had caused us when he was a pup:
Ripped books from cover to cover.
Ate underwear, only Mom’s.
Tore holes in the drips with his teeth, and the garden was flooded.
Eventually, even my parents, who are crazy about dogs, thought about giving Champion away.
And then, completely innocently, I ask what they would have done in their place.
One, out of sheer panic, slammed the phone in my face.
In fact, it was only when Adi couldn’t understand how I could have kept such a significant thing from her, that I began to realize how persuasive I am.
So she would understand what I was going through, I also told her about the woman who suddenly remembered that actually, she did have a dog once:
It was a long time ago.
For two weeks—tops.
Meaning, it doesn’t count.
He barked too much, so she gave him away to the military, to the police, to an animal protection society or something like that.
“We must make sure that doesn’t happen to us,” she panicked.
“Especially, not with peewee…”
I blurted out.
And my heart skipped a beat.
It was clear to Adi that I was so worried about her because I had become attached to her the most after saving her.
I knew that wasn’t it at all.
“She’s charm on all fours,” I tried.
“My Mom calls that ‘rich people’s problems’,” she said and laughed.
“All the others are suspicious as hell,” I insisted.
“She…
Really isn’t…”
Finally it hit me, and I realized what was troubling me so much about her.
The butterflies in my stomach did not fly away even when she swore on Tush the Third that, manipulative and goal-oriented that I am, I would find her a great home.
On Saturday Mom woke up early to weed the garden and clear the rest of her day for Grandpa, who had spent the entire week all by himself. And she announced that she would not take any phone calls.
In the evening, while running his fingers through his hair that sprouted grey on his temples, Dad inquired about my progress.
Grandpa yawned.
Mom looked exhausted as well.
And I really didn’t feel like talking.
“It’ll take some time,” I said in brief.
I told them only about one family—Yehuda and Ruthie, and their four children, Jonathan, Yalli, Gilya and Raphael—who were interested in what I wanted to know about them.
“No one is standing with a stopwatch in his hand,” Dad assured me, and told me they should come on Saturday.
* * *
Throughout the week, the moment I inserted the key in the front lock, Champion would push the door open and burst out running toward Grandpa, who had become increasingly listless the longer he stayed away from the garage.
He would rest his head on ‘The Little Prince,’ which was permanently placed on Grandpa’s lap.
Sniff around.
When Grandpa didn’t react even to enthusiastic slobbery licks of his hand, I would bring peewee in from the garage or from the yard (since they had grown, we left the doors open for the pups). I would run his hand across her silky fur. And wouldn’t stop until his gaze cleared.
Throughout the week, I was bothered mainly by one thing:
The phone.
It seldom rang.
With Dad’s consent, apart from the family I liked the most—I invited two other families for Saturday.
Before the first arrived, Mom apologized again that she had better dedicate the limited time on her hands to Grandpa, who “isn’t doing so great recently.”
She approached the gate to introduce herself.
And went back to her affairs.
Sue came running.
Burst into the garage.
One after the other, she grabbed the pups.
The playful pups
thought this was a new game, and kept running away.
Frantically she chased them around.
She barely even let the children come near.
Champion did not cooperate, either:
He refused to part from Grandpa.
“If Mohammed will not go to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammed”—I heard Mom saying to her father, and I couldn’t tell if she was reprimanding him or joking with him, as I entered his room after the last of the guests had left. And she took advantage of my keeping him company by preparing dinner.
Once she left the room, with a trembling hand he put on his heavy-framed glasses. And with a hoarse voice he shared with me that Mom was “pretty impressed” with the first “candidates.” And wondered whether I, too, thought they were interested in the little lady pup.
“Lad,” I replied and laughed. “We already did this bit.”
“Bit?” he wondered with a blank gaze.
I reminded him that he initially thought peewee was a male.
“Oh, well.”
His expression betrayed distress and confusion.
Champion extended a leg.
And another one.
The chair rocked.
And Grandpa was startled.
“So: Mom was pretty impressed with the first candidates?” I repeated his words like an echo.
“The ones interested in the lady pup,” he wouldn’t budge. “They chose peewee…”
They’re against spaying and they aren’t interested in puppies, I explained. And from the very start they fell in love with the big one, and tied a blue ribbon around his neck. But they’re still deliberating about Nero, their elderly dog: what would be the most pleasant for him in his old age.
“There are thus two sides to a coin.”
He eventually commenced with a somewhat enlivened voice:
“How does the bible go?
‘…and honor the face of the old man’. ”
His voice trembled:
“And that is no trifle…
And we should not make light of it.”
Dusting off his vocal cords, he was deeply moved by their consideration, which is by no means a common phenomenon in our world, especially in the modern age. But also in ancient times, when a life span was immeasurably shorter… Often… too often… unfortunately…
Loneliness and old age…
They are interdependent…
And what, according to our forefathers, is the remedy for the distress of old age? More than interested in asking, he seemed eager to reply, in his measured voice:
“Bringing a baby into the world—as the bible attests, ‘Abraham and Sarah were old and well stricken in age,’ when the barren Sarah was told that she had conceived our father Isaac, she laughed, ‘After I am waxed old shall I have pleasure, my lord being old also;’
Or a young female spouse—as it is written about King David, who, when he was ‘old and stricken in years’,” emphasized the repetition of the phrase, “and in the way of elderlies, he suffered from chill, they brought a fair damsel to warm his body and to dispel the chill in his heart.”
Dragging out even, shadow-elongating notes he mumbled that it is not inevitable that a puppy may serve as a combined cure, which will, little by little, dispel the loneliness… And breathe new life into the gloomy spirit of… of…
“Nero,” I completed his sentence.
“Nero, may his darkness be lit…” he blurted out with a blank look.
“As to the old fellow—
There are two sides to a coin…
And only time will tell…”
I was also impressed by Yochi and Abraham who were crazy about dogs, and who were sent on a mission to the Ivory Coast, and whose children—Lihi, Itay and Yuval—were all grown up and lived on their own. And if there was anything they hated, it was returning to an empty house. And if Madam Lauren would confirm that they wouldn’t suffer in the hot and humid climate, they would take two: the one with the green ribbon, and the one with the orange. And with a small voice I admitted that the third family—I wish I hadn’t invited.
“Those who do not do, do not err.”
He recited with a blank expression and dull eyes.
“No kidding…!”
Adi was impressed when I called her, mainly to find out how, in her opinion, Madam Lauren would respond.
“How should I know?!
The fact that she has dogs ‘from the Ivory Coast to Japan’,” she quoted, “and that she’s in touch with some of them, doesn’t really tell us if she’s also in touch with those in the Ivory Coast.”
I went to sleep with butterflies in my stomach.
And woke up with them in the morning.
Upon my return from school, Sue scurried to the garage, and Champion—to Grandpa, who was sitting unbathed and unshaven, his glasses sliding down his nose, and on his knees ‘The Little Prince,’ opened to a random wrinkled page, as usual.
Champion rested his head.
Stuck his nose under the book.
Licked and licked.
And nothing…
I felt sorry for Sue, who was still showing signs of unrest, and returned empty-handed to Grandpa and Champion, who was curled up in the corner.
And every now and then rolled his eyes at him.
I served Grandpa lunch in his room.
Clicking his dentures like castanets, he opened and closed his mouth, even when the fork missed its destination.
“Tsafra Tava,” he greeted me good morning in Aramaic, confused by the crow of Robert the rooster that had woken him up from his afternoon nap that had knocked him out in the rocking chair.
“You don’t say…?!”
He was astounded that evening was approaching.
He staggered to the bathroom.
“Old Spice,” he whispered when he returned on wobbly knees, embracing an opaque white bottle against his chest: “Your Grandmother’s favorite scent.”
At dinner, Mom didn’t take her eyes off Champion, who wouldn’t leave his side, and didn’t accompany me even when I went to pick up the phone.
“Yay! Ruthie and Yehuda, Jonathan, Yalli, Gilya and Raphael are taking Don!” I announced excitedly.
“The one with the blue ribbon,” I pointed at him so as to include Grandpa.
“Don, Don, Don,” I repeated, ding-donging with the tip of my tongue against the roof of my mouth the name of the eldest of the pups and the first to be named.
And I rushed to call Adi to share the happy news.
“Let him be, please,” Grandpa implored me when Champion refused to leave his side at night.
At noon, only Sue was waiting at the gate.
In the shuttered room Champion lay groveling at Grandpa’s feet, while Grandpa repeatedly tried to catch something in the air that only he could see.
“Shhh… Shhh…”
I assumed he was cold.
So I covered him.
“Shhh… Shhh…”
He continued to point his finger, God knows at what.
“Do you want to shut the door?” I tried guessing. He shook his head.
Once he finished eating, he wiped his mouth with a napkin I had forgotten to give him.
Before waking him from his afternoon nap I closed the shutters and put on a bright light in the room, because I was under the impression that the evening hours extended his own twilight.
Thanks to this initiative, or perhaps unrelated to it, his confusion seemed less acute, and the fog of his mind dissipated with less effort.
In the evening he was exhausted. His eyelids drooped during a conversation about the first meeting between Nelson Mandela and the president of South Africa. Mom—who didn’t take her eyes off Champion for a single moment—also viewed the meeting with de Klerk as an auspicious sign.
“February eleventh, 1990 is a milestone in the war against the Apartheid!” Dad emphasized several months later, when, after twenty-seven years in prison, Mandela finally walked out a free m
an with a smile on his face.
“Lately, wherever you go, Champion follows…”
As if tapping against a tuning fork, Mom rushed to draw it near her ear. And she wondered why Champion hadn’t taken a special interest in Grandpa while Sue was busy with her affairs. Whereas now, when she is once again available, he prefers Grandpa’s company to hers:
“Perhaps he has a score to settle with her…”
She cracked her knuckles.
“Dogs…” Dad’s bushy eyebrows weighed down his large eyes that darkened as he stressed: “never… hold a grudge. It’s part of what I love so much about them…”
Despite the great appreciation she held for Dad’s empathy toward them, Mom felt that this was neither the time nor the place to settle disagreements that arise on occasion in every family.
“Certainly not out in the open…” she said with a soft, quiet tone, giving him a harsh and cautionary smile.
And once again she addressed her father, saying that lately, even during meals, Champion prefers his company even to my treats.
Dad shrugged.
Ran his fingers through his graying hair.
And his square jaw went up and down.
“C’est le ton qui fait la musique!”
Regaining his strength, Grandpa said nasally:
“It’s the sound that makes the music!”
“I can’t even remember the last time I managed to exchange a single word with her,” Dad noted and continued with a businesslike tone:
“During the day—we’re both at work.
At night—Tali collapses into bed.
A Dog’s Luck Page 10