by Neil Plakcy
I resisted the urge to suggest she might think differently when she got to be their age. Mr. Watnik had nothing laid out in front of him, but he picked a card and then spread out four twos and three sevens. He smiled a toothless grin and said, “Gin!”
“Oh, you,” Allison said to him. Then she looked up at me. “Do you want me to walk you guys down to the lounge?”
“No, we can find our way,” I said. I stopped at the reception desk and signed in, and then Rochester tugged me down the hall. Allison might have been somewhat callow, I thought, but she was spending her Saturday morning playing cards with an old man, and that meant she had to have a heart.
Rochester and I walked around the room, talking again with Mr. MacRae, the janitor at my elementary school, and with Mrs. Curry, the paraplegic woman who had been at Crossing Manor for years. We also met Mrs. Vinci, who spoke with the harsh, guttural accent of a lower-income New York upbringing.
“My kids brought me down here,” she said. “Me, I woulda stayed in Brooklyn, but they got a fancy house out here and said it ain’t right I should be up there.” Her hair was a salt-and-pepper gray, cropped short like a boy’s, and her face was crisscrossed with deep wrinkles.
The woman beside her, Mrs. Divaram, was a plump, dark-skinned East Indian woman with a lilting accent, wearing an intricate red sari. “I am telling you to be grateful you have your children close by,” she said. “My son lives in California with his second wife, who does not like me. So he pays to keep me far away. I have not seen my grandchildren in many years.”
All those I spoke with were delighted to let Rochester sniff their fingers, to stroke his soft fur and whisper sweet endearments to him. Allison came in and said, “There’s one more patient who would like to see Rochester, but he’s in his room. Would you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“His name is Mr. Fictura, but I calls him Mr. Fistula because he’s a pain in the ass,” she said. “Maybe Rochester can sweeten him up.”
Mr. Fictura was a wizened old man who reminded me of Gollum in The Hobbit. “I always had dogs before I got stuck in here,” he said, as Rochester walked up to be petted. “Picked up a ton of dogshit. But dogs are like everybody else. They die and leave you.”
Well, that was a cheery sentiment, I thought. “But while they’re with you, they provide unconditional love,” I said.
“For what that’s worth.” He pulled his hand back. “You can go now.”
“He doesn’t seem that bad,” I said to Allison as she led us back to the front door.
“He yells a lot at the nurses and the aides and he refuses to go for therapy. But I guess they can’t kick him out as long as he pays his bills.”
“I’m sure it’s hard to be in his position,” I said. I shook her hand and promised we would come back again another time.
When we got home, Lili was still busy with her course outline, and Rochester and I sat downstairs. “Guess we ought to do some puppy-proofing, boy,” I said to him. “What kind of trouble do you think Brody can get into?”
He yawned and sprawled on the floor, clearly not interested in helping. I walked around the house, removing breakables and chewables from lower shelves, coiling up unused electrical cords and the cables for various electronic devices. In the kitchen, I made sure all the food was pushed back on the counter far enough to avoid an inquisitive puppy’s nose and tongue. By the time I finished, Lili had given up on her course and joined us in the living room, and we spent the afternoon relaxing and reading.
It was close to eight o’clock that night when the gate guard called to announce Joey and Mark. A few minutes later Rochester began to bark and rushed to the front door.
The puppy led the way into our house – always a bad sign, in my opinion. Dogs are pack animals, and they need to know that their human is their leader. Though I did let Rochester pull sometimes when we walked, he and I had an agreement. He knew that I was in charge in the important ways, that I’d always protect him and feed him and love him, and he could relax and just be a dog. Rick had the same deal with Rascal, but I’d seen a lot of spoiled dogs who thought they were in charge, and who fretted and barked when their humans were out of their sight.
Mark and Joey followed, bearing piles of stuff – Brody’s bed, a collection of his favorite toys, water and food bowls, and a bag of the puppy version of the chow Rochester ate. I thought Joey made a good physical match for Mark; he was almost Mark’s height of six-six, but broader in the shoulders. I was glad that I’d fixed them up.
“Joey and Mark are like you,” Lili said, when she saw all the gear. “Puppy-whipped.”
“Ha-ha,” I said.
As Rochester and Brody chased each other around the downstairs, Joey handed me a typed sheet of everything I never wanted to know about Brody, including his middle name, Baggins. “Your dog is a hobbit?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“He’s short and has hairy feet,” Joey said.
“Joey didn’t want to be too obvious and call him Frodo or Bilbo,” Mark added. “He’s kind of a stealth Tolkien geek.”
“Mark does not appreciate the deep insights of the Lord of the Rings,” Joey said.
Mark snorted. “Elves and trolls and dwarves. Adolescent trash.”
“Hey, those are fighting words in this house,” I said. “I’ve read The Hobbit and the trilogy twice, and seen all the movies, even the bad animated one.”
“Who’s your favorite character?” Joey asked.
Mark groaned and Lili led him into the kitchen. By the time they returned with mugs of hot chocolate, Joey and I had compared notes on characters and scenes. I admitted an adolescent crush on Galadriel, the Lady of Light and wife of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell and master of the Last Lonely House. His was on Aragorn, the human leader of the Fellowship of the Ring, who became the king of the reunited kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor.
I figured we were both pretty geeky to know all that.
The dogs circled around us as we sat at the kitchen table with our mugs of hot chocolate, to which Lili had applied generous helpings of Godiva chocolate liqueur.
“I only give Brody organic treats,” Joey said. “There’s a bag of them in with his stuff.”
“Don’t worry, Rochester only eats organic himself,” I said.
Joey had given us his and Mark’s email addresses, their cell phone numbers, and a detailed itinerary. “I made sure to get an international plan for my phone, so I can use it in every port,” Joey said. “You use Dr. Horz too, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of your baby.”
“He’s going to fuss through the whole cruise,” Mark said. “You don’t know what I had to do to convince him to go in the first place.”
“Brody is my child,” Joey said, and I knew exactly what he meant. I also knew that Rochester was a handful, and I was sure Brody would be, too. I hoped Rochester would keep the puppy in line. And with luck, neither dog would dig up any dead bodies while Brody was with us.
8 – Alpha Males
Joey and Mark slipped away while Brody and Rochester were roughhousing, and it took the puppy a few minutes to realize that his daddy was gone. He sat by the front door and whimpered.
“I hope this dog is not a crybaby,” I said. I walked over and picked him up. He was about thirty pounds of wriggling white fur, so it wasn’t that easy, but I brought him over to the sofa and lay down. I set him beside me on his back and stroked his belly. Every time he tried to squirm away I put my hands around his muzzle and said, “No!” Eventually he figured out that the easiest route was submission.
Rochester was jealous, and he kept sniffing at me and the puppy. Lili called him over to her, but after a few minutes I let Brody go, and he and Rochester went at it again, running around the house like maniacs. Rochester tried to mount him, and I had to yell at him. “No humping the puppy!”
Then Brody grabbed Rochester’s ear and began chewing. “Brody! Rochester is not an edible!”
�
��Let them work it out,” Lili said. “It’s up to Rochester to let Brody know his place.”
“But what if one of them hurts the other? Could you imagine if I had to call Joey from the vet’s even before he left on his cruise?”
“Rochester’s smart. He’ll manage.”
Eventually the two of them calmed down and sprawled beside each other in a temporary amnesty. When we took them both out late that night, it was funny to watch Brody pee – his tail stood straight up and he leaned forward slightly. “He’s like a teapot,” I said. “You lift the handle and the water comes out.”
Rochester waited until Brody was finished, then sniffed around, despite my efforts to tug him away. Then he lifted his leg.
“See?” Lili said. “He’s letting Brody know he’s the alpha.”
“I like that,” I said. “Rochester’s saying ‘I piss on you, you little piece of fluff.’”
“Not exactly,” Lili said.
Rochester usually spent the night at the foot of our bed, but Brody wasn’t going to settle for carpet when there was space on the mattress. He jumped up and scooched himself between me and Lili. Then Rochester had to join us, staking claim to the end of the bed. “There’s no room for humans here,” I grumbled.
“Get used to it,” Lili said, and yawned. Then she leaned over and kissed me goodnight. “This is our new family, at least for the next week.”
Sunday morning, Brody gulped down his food as if he was the star of a speed-eating contest, and then tried to nose his way into Rochester’s bowl. My big dog barked at him once, sharply, and Brody backed away. But a moment later he was back, and it took three barks and some bared teeth before he got the message.
I watched the whole episode, worrying at any moment that there would be bloodshed. But Rochester’s instincts had taken over, and he and the puppy worked out an arrangement. Rochester stepped away from his bowl, leaving behind a few pellets, as if to say “You can have my leftovers, but only after I’ve finished.”
When I checked my email later that morning, there was a message from Felix, Dr. Horz’s kennel assistant, asking if he could come over that afternoon to show me his progress and ask some questions. He left his cell number, and I called him back and told him we’d be home.
It was a gray, wintery day, shreds of clouds scudding across the horizon, a cold wind rattling the tree branches. Felix arrived around two, wearing his plaid-lined parka and puffy gloves. Rochester and Brody both tackled him, and he said, “Down!” in a commanding voice, pointing to the floor.
Rochester obeyed immediately. Brody hesitated for a second then followed my dog’s lead. “How’d you do that?” I asked, as I took his parka and gloves from him.
He leaned down to pet both dogs and tell them what good boys they were. “It’s all in the tone of voice, along with the hand gesture,” he said when he straightened up. “I didn’t realize you had a puppy, too.”
“He’s just visiting.” Brody grabbed the end of the comforter over the sofa in his mouth and began tugging. “And not for very long, unless he behaves.”
“I’m going upstairs,” Lili said. “I’m finished with the homelessness module in my photojournalism course, and I want to crank out the rest of the lessons.”
“It’s not pretty,” Felix said. “I was homeless for a while, before I went to prison.”
Felix had a day’s beard on his chin, and between his close-cropped hair and his tattooed arms, I thought he must have been a formidable presence on the streets.
Lili stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Here in Stewart’s Crossing?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nah, in the Badlands of North Philly, where I come from.”
“Would you mind if I asked you some questions? Once you’re done with Steve?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I got nothing to hide anymore.”
Lili climbed the stairs, and I led Felix to the kitchen table, the dogs following eagerly. I gave them each a rawhide bone to chew and they settled beside us as Felix and I went over his progress. I answered some questions about commas, and it appeared that he was beginning to understand the rules.
He pulled out a page of dictionary definitions that he’d copied out, and I gave him a quick quiz on those words. “You’re picking this up fast,” I said. “Whoever told you you’re not a good student wasn’t paying attention.”
“In prison, I had to learn fast,” he said. “But I guess you know that yourself.”
“You bet. I had to figure out who the big dogs were, and stay out of their way. I had an advantage, because I had an education, and I could help them with their appeals paperwork. It was interesting for me, and I got to know a lot of different guys I never would have met in my regular life.”
“I didn’t have it so easy. I had to fight for my place.” He rolled up his left sleeve. “See this tattoo?” It was the word R E S P E C T in rough gothic lettering. “I had one of the guys do it for me, so people would know not to mess with me.”
I looked at him. He was shorter than I was, about five-nine, and very wiry. It sure looked like he could take care of himself in a prison fight.
To shift the conversation, I asked, “You want anything to drink? I could use a glass of water.”
He accepted a glass, too, then handed me the paper on which he’d hand-written his summary of the vet tech program’s website. “It’s not very good,” he said. “I still got a lot of problems with writing.”
“I still have a lot of problems with writing,” I said. “Using 'got' that way is street language. You can use ‘got’ with ‘have’ if you want – I have got a lot of problems. But it’s an extra word you don’t need.”
“And it makes me sound dumb,” he said.
“Well, I wouldn’t say dumb. But yeah, it’s less proper.”
I went over his summary with him. He had the main ideas down correctly, but he’d written it all as one big paragraph, and I showed him where he was moving from point to point, and where he’d have to break up into new paragraphs.
By the time we were finished, Lili had joined us again. The dogs were still involved with their rawhides. “Where you want me to start?” Felix asked Lili.
“How’d you end up homeless?”
“You got to understand,” he began. “No, you have to understand, the Badlands is a tough neighborhood. I grew up near Broad Street and Hunting Park, drug deals going down all around. It’s mostly all old rowhouses and abandoned warehouses, all poor people, black, Irish, Puerto Rican. Some of those warehouses, they made them into shooting galleries. I think every junkie in Philly ended up there some time or other.”
He took a sip of his water. “By the time I was twelve I was working a corner as a lookout for a dealer. When he went to prison, the Owner got me to take over selling.”
“Owner?” I asked.
“That’s what you call the boss man. Every dope block in the Badlands is run by one of ‘em. He’s the one got the dope in bulk from Puerto Ricans or Dominicans. Every couple of days he’d bring me more to sell, these bags of drugs in rubber-banded stacks that we called bundles.”
“Must have been a lot of money in that,” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah, but most of it went to the Owner, and what I got, I pissed away fast. My moms didn’t like me working the streets, but she sure liked me giving her money for food and rent, and buying shit for my sisters and brothers.”
“Where were the cops?” Lili asked.
“Shit, they were outmanned and outgunned,” Felix said. “There were some decent blocks where families lived, and the cops kept to those places, left the bad zones alone.”
He picked up his water glass again, and I noticed his hand shook a bit. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” I said.
“No sweat. I started to get a big head, you know, mouthing off to my moms, and she kicked me out. I lived high for a while, but then I OD’d on some bad shit and ended up in the hospital. Time I got out, I had no money and no place to go. That�
��s how I ended up homeless.”
He took a deep breath. “I got stupid, let the cops catch me with a big pile of bundles. Couldn’t pay back the Owner, so I fessed up and went to prison. Soon after I got there I got hooked into Paws Up. It was the dogs that helped me turn around.”
Rochester got up from the floor and snuffled Felix’s hand. “Say, how’s Rochester’s paw?” he asked.
“Looks like it’s healed,” I said.
Felix got down on the floor to look at it, but bossy little Brody kept trying to stick his nose in. Felix gently elbowed the puppy out of the way and picked up Rochester’s paw. “Yeah, looks good. But you should still have a follow-up with Dr. Horz to be sure. We’re closing early on Wednesday for Christmas Eve, so come in before that.”
“I will, thanks,” I said. “You’ve made great progress so far, but I want you to practice some more writing, trying to incorporate the grammar you’ve been learning. I’ll send you some more stuff to read and summarize, all right? And there are a couple of other little grammar things you need to work on, too.”
Felix reached out to shake my hand. “This is really solid, what you’re doing, taking time with me, inviting me to your home and all. I’ve been blessed lately – getting into Paws Up and working with the dogs, then Dr. Horz taking a chance on me and giving me a job. I feel like I’m finally getting my shit together.”
He looked embarrassed. “My act together, I mean.”
Lili and I both laughed. I remembered Mr. Fictura’s comment. “Hey, you deal with dogs, you’ve got to deal with shit,” I said, and shook Felix’s hand.
9 – Cabin Fever
“How’s my boy doing?” the voice on the phone asked, and it took me a second to recognize it was Joey Capodilupo.
“Rochester has him in training,” I said, as I watched the two dogs tug a rope between them. Brody braced his front paws on the floor and lowered his head, growling.
“He’s not crying too much, is he?” Joey asked.