A mixture of shame and anger fizzed through me as I watched him jog away. Why, why, why did I have to have some wiggy meltdown every time I saw the guy? Any day now his psych professors would be knocking on my door wanting to escort me away as their latest case study.
I felt a pull on the leash and looked down at Seamus. For some reason he was all worked up. He was wriggling about as much as his choke collar would allow and his mouth was hanging open in a wide, panting grin. If it were at all possible, I’d think he was laughing at me.
“Oh, what are you staring at?” I snapped. “Sit!” Seamus sat.
I blinked in disbelief. It actually happened. He obeyed—without any help from me.
With sudden conviction, I held out my palm. “Stay!” I commanded. Taking a deep breath, I walked a couple feet away and turned around.
And wonder upon wonders . . . Seamus stayed.
I practically skipped all the way back to the condo. Seamus knew “sit”! He could even stay—not indefinitely, but at least to the count of five. He was also doing a pretty good job of heeling on the leash. From the park to our building, I only stumbled twice!
After witnessing these minor miracles in the park, I was buzzing with all the mad joy of a religious convert. In fact, my arms had been pumping so wide as I pranced rapturously down the sidewalk that I accidentally choked Seamus a couple of times.
“Good doggie! Yes! Goo’ boy!” I was still saying as we walked into the condo.
Christine was sitting on the couch. As soon as we entered, she rose up and turned to face me, propping her foot and folding her arms across her chest so that her elbows and knee were cocked toward me like bony artillery.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, her eyes narrowed into thin slits.
My newfound elation spurted out of me so fast, I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear a whoopee cushion noise.
Ever since the stuffed dachshund slaughter, I’d been avoiding Christine as best as I could. I got up extra early, ate in my room, and only ventured into the living room if I knew she was out with Robot. I’d been afraid of exactly this: a nose-to-nose confrontation. Because I knew I could never win. Not with Christine. I could only hope to avoid it indefinitely.
And yet, somehow, I was managing to meet her gaze head-on.
“Okay. Let’s talk,” I said rather calmly.
Christine lifted her chin as if pointing another weapon at me. She didn’t seem to have expected this reaction.
“It’s about your dog,” she said, glancing down at Seamus long enough for the disgust to register on her face. “He’s been a total pain in the butt since you brought him here and you know it.”
Instinctively, I broke my gaze and stared down at the floor. She was right. Seamus had been a terror. Although I was hoping that would change now.
“He tore up three of my favorite wiener dogs,” she continued, picking up strength and speed. “And one of them I’d had for eight years. Can you imagine what it was like for me to find it all shredded up like that?”
I shuddered slightly, remembering Christine’s hysterical screams, the trail of plush body parts—every ghastly detail. “Sorry,” I said, then immediately regretted it. How many times would I have to apologize? I was getting a little tired of it.
“You should be sorry!” she cried, her mouth twitching and her nostrils flaring wide enough to emit flames. She took a deep breath and moved her hands to her hips. I could tell she was tensing up for the final assault. “You can’t keep him,” she blurted. “You have to take him back to the shelter.”
And there it was. She’d unleashed her ultimate threat. The bomb to end all battles.
For just a nanosecond or two, I felt truly licked— the exact same belly-up, pathetic defeat I’d felt when Chuck broke up with me. And then . . . it passed. I didn’t have to do her bidding. I was not some cowed dachshund she could boss around. I could be the Alpha Dog here.
I picked up Seamus and looked her right in the eye. “No,” I said. “I’m not going to.” I didn’t sound like me at all. It was strange, like I was a life-sized marionette for a loudmouthed puppeteer.
Christine’s entire face seemed to lengthen. Her mouth dropped open and her eyebrows flew to the middle of her forehead. “What do you mean, you’re not going to? You have to! If you don’t, I’ll . . . I’ll tell Mrs. Krantz!”
“I’ve already talked to her,” I said calmly. “I paid her a pet deposit and showed her that I’d registered him in an obedience class. She said he could stay.”
I set Seamus on the floor and took the choke collar off him, replacing it with the buckle collar and leash I’d fished out of my backpack. I couldn’t believe how cool-headed I was. Maybe I’d just been pushed and pushed so much, I had nowhere left to go and finally had to stand and fight. Or maybe I’d lost my mind and hadn’t realized it yet.
Christine charged around the couch. “You can’t do that!” she said, sounding almost whiny. “If you don’t get rid of him, I’ll tell your mom!”
My hands shook ever so slightly as I finished clipping on Seamus’s old collar. I felt the familiar wringing sensation in my gut, and then, just like before, it vanished.
I walked Seamus over to the yellow armchair and sat down. “Go ahead,” I said, scooping Seamus into my lap. “Tell her I said hi.”
I knew what I was doing was dangerous. Mrs. Krantz I could handle. Christine I was somehow handling. But Mom?
And yet, what did it really matter? I lost either way. Backing down to Christine would mean giving up Seamus, and I wasn’t prepared to do that without a fight. I could only hope she just didn’t have it in her.
“You are being so unfair!” Christine shouted, marching over to us. “That is just so wrong! You can’t make me live with him! It’s selfish!”
“Selfish?” I set Seamus down and got to my feet, staring directly into Christine’s wild-eyed, pink-tinged face. It suddenly felt as if that one word had stabbed right through me, tearing open a jagged hole, and all my pent-up fury came blasting out. “You mean selfish like inviting three guys to crash here whenever they feel like it? Letting them eat your roommate’s food and use all the hot water? You mean that kind of selfish?”
I was really yelling now, even though I was smiling and over-enunciating like a scary schoolteacher. Christine’s head slowly retracted and her shoulders seemed to be folding inward.
“Because if that’s the kind of selfish you mean, go right ahead!” I continued ranting. “Tell my mom! Tell the world! And then . . . then it’ll be my turn. I’ll tell Mrs. Krantz and Mrs. B and anyone else who cares all about your selfish ways. It’ll be a contest! A pageant! We’ll let the people decide who’s the most selfish one of all!” I took a step toward Christine, still wearing my loony Jack Nicholson grin, and made a big sweeping flourish with my arms. “Come on! What do you say?”
By now Christine looked small and concave. She eyed me warily for a few seconds before marching off to her room and slamming the door behind her.
I blew out my breath and closed my eyes. My head was pounding at the temples, but overall I felt kind of good.
“Well, buddy. If nothing else, maybe I bought you a little time.” I looked over at Seamus. He was standing as far back as the leash would allow, whimpering mournfully. Poor guy. It couldn’t have been fun for him to see me lose all control like that.
Control . . .
And right then, I got it. The whole Alpha Dog thing. I finally understood the “wall” and the collar and why it supposedly worked. Seamus needed me to be in charge. He needed to know that he was in good hands.
“Sit!” I commanded.
And he sat.
“Good boy.”
I just hoped he got to stay.
That night when Mom called for a report, Christine was still stewing in her room. I lied and said she was at her Bible group.
“Again? She’s been awfully busy with that club lately. Oh well, I’ll just talk to her later. So how are you enjoying your classes?�
�� she asked.
“They’re fine.”
“Have you given more thought to what you might want to major in?”
“I’ve been thinking about journalism.”
“Oh no, you don’t want to do that. They make so little money. Besides, you have to be a real go-getter, and I’m afraid that’s just not you, honey.”
“Way to support me, Mom,” I said, then yawned loudly.
“What’s wrong? You sound sleepy.”
“I am.”
“I knew it! You’ve been staying up late, haven’t you?”
I shut my eyes and grabbed a tuft of hair on the top of my head. Stupid, stupid. Why’d I have to go admitting I was tired? But that was the thing. I was too tired to have my guard up. “No, Mom. I’m not staying up late. I just haven’t been sleeping all that well. It’s . . . um . . . it’s just extra noisy around here. You know, traffic and all.”
“You and your father. The McAllisters always were light sleepers,” she muttered, as if suddenly angry at my dad for this glitch in my genetic makeup. “You know, I have just the remedy for that.”
“You do?” I asked, feeling hopeful.
“Yes. You should come home this weekend. You could go to bed early in your own bedroom, without all that big-city noise. I’ll pick you up Friday after my hair appointment.”
“No! I can’t leave,” I blurted out, my voice shaky with panic.
“And why not?”
I paused. Should I just go ahead and confess about Seamus? I had to tell her sometime. “Because I have . . . I have . . .” My heart seemed to leap into my esophagus, making it hard to talk. “ I have . . . some writing labs I have to go to,” I finished somewhat lamely.
“Oh. Well, good for you. Classes are more important than any visiting. I remember. I didn’t graduate with honors by skipping school, you know.”
“I know,” I mumbled. “Hey, Mom. I really need to get off the phone. I have a ton of studying to do and I want to get to bed early,” I lied, knowing being the ultra-good Stepford daughter was the only way to beg out of a conversation with her.
“I think that’s wise, dear. Hang on, your father has something to tell you.”
I heard a rustling sound and then my dad’s voice came on the line. “Hey, Kit-Kat. How are you?”
“Good.”
“Who’re you going to root for when Texas baseball plays Notre Dame next week?”
“The Fighting Irish, of course.”
“Good girl. Bye, sweetheart. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
I could hear my mom scolding him. “Is that all you’re going to say to her?” She sighed loudly and got back on the receiver. “Okay, then. We’ll talk later. Get some sleep, sweetie.”
“I will. Bye, Mom.”
As I hung up the phone, my hands felt weighty with guilt. Why couldn’t I just tell the truth about Seamus? I couldn’t put it off forever.
I just needed a little more time, that’s all. Just a few more days. Or couple of weeks. A month tops . . .
10
“Ready?” Mr. Willard looked somewhat fearfully at Seamus and me and scratched the side of his head. Along with pacing, I’d noticed he tended to do that when anxious. He was one of those men who tried to make up for being bald by letting the rest of his hair get long and bushy. Thanks to our little group of canine misfits, he usually abused his head so much throughout our lessons, he’d look like some washed-out Krusty the Klown by the end of them.
“We’re ready,” I answered, holding Seamus’s leash firmly in my hand.
“All right,” he said in a lackluster voice. “Begin.”
I took off walking around the room with Seamus, weaving around the others, who stood in a very loose circle. We were spending the hour doing heeling exercises, and Seamus was the worst of the bunch—except for maybe Natasha, and that wasn’t totally her fault. She was just so huge, a simple turn of her Volkswagen-sized head would send poor Barry scrambling sideways.
“Heel,” I said as we wended our way around Yoda, the bassett hound, and his mommy. “Heel. Heel.”
Seamus tried to stop and sniff them, and I turned toward him, ready to correct his behavior with some sharp words.
“No!” called Mr. Willard, grabbing a tuft of hair on the back of his head. “Don’t wait for him! Snap the leash!”
I nodded and gave a quick jerk on the choke collar. “Heel,” I said a little more strongly.
“Good. Now faster. Faster,” Mr. Willard cried out. “Take the lead. Make him catch up with you.”
I quickened my pace. Sure enough, Seamus lagged, distracted by Floyd, the corgi, who was cowering against his master’s legs.
“Snap the leash!” Mr. Willard shouted.
Again I jerked the line, somewhat reluctantly. I still felt like a big meanie every time I half choked my dog. It worked, though, and Seamus caught up to me.
“Good,” Mr. Willard said. “All right, now. Slow down.”
We were making a curve and approaching Natasha and Barry. Natasha saw us coming and smacked her jowls eagerly, her drool making a small puddle on the floor in front of her. Seamus seemed to notice and sped up, veering away from the amorous Great Pyrenees.
“Snap it! Snap it!” Mr. Willard cried, tugging his hair with both hands. He was wearing the cramped, puckered expression of someone watching an impending train wreck.
I gave a good sideways yank and corrected Seamus’s trajectory. As we rounded Barry and Natasha, Seamus appeared to cringe slightly. Sure enough, just as we were even with the two of them, Natasha bounded forward and licked the side of Seamus’s face. Seamus ducked his head, tucked his tail between his legs and dove between mine. The next thing I knew, I was falling face-forward, with chaos erupting all around me. I could hear Barry yelling, “No, Natasha!” and Mr. Willard shouting, “Snap it! Snap it!” Then Seamus let out a yowl as I hit the hardwood floor, jerking him backward by the choke collar.
I rolled over and untangled myself from the leash. Barry ran up and offered me a hand, stuttering and apologizing profusely. Meanwhile Natasha chased Seamus all around us.
“It’s okay,” I said as he helped me back up. “Really it’s Seamus’s fault. He drives the ladies crazy.”
He laughed and pulled Natasha back to their spot.
Mr. Willard, who now resembled an electroshock-therapy patient, made me and Seamus run the gauntlet again. This time, it went much better. I wasn’t as shy about snapping the leash, and when we headed toward Natasha, Barry commanded her to stay in a booming voice that surprised everyone, including a very obedient Natasha.
Soon we had rounded Mr. Willard and Ollie and returned to our spot in the circle. I stopped and Seamus came to a halt beside me.
“Sit!” I ordered.
Seamus immediately sat down and looked up at me with his baby-deer eyes, waiting for his praise.
“Good boy,” I said.
The entire class clapped.
When we left the lecture hall, instead of going to the park to practice, I decided to take Seamus for a long walk.
I shielded my eyes as we crossed Guadalupe at Twenty-first, the afternoon sunshine bouncing off cars, shop windows, and flaxen-haired sorority girls. It was one of those beautiful, sparkling days the Texas Tourism Board loves to advertise. The kind that makes people run like lemmings into lakes, streams and swimming pools and plasters a big, dippy smile on everyone’s face. At the corner we stopped and stared northward, down the seven-block stretch of Guadalupe’s west side—more commonly known as the Drag.
I absolutely loved the Drag. I loved the dense cluster of bookstores, cheap eateries and hip boutiques; the commingling of various drool-inducing smells wafting out of its many ethnic restaurants; and the harsh symphony of street musicians, boom boxes, and thoushouldst-repent soapbox ranters, underscored by a steady hum of traffic.
But most of all, I loved watching the people. You name it, the Drag had it. From pampered coeds scoping the latest fashions to chain-smoki
ng philosophy majors debating Kierkegaard in the coffeehouses, to mumbling, disheveled drifters squatting in doorways. There was even a guy who liked to rollerblade up and down the bicycle lane wearing skimpy gold lamé shorts.
I’d gone to the Drag a few times with Mom to shop and once with Ariel to meet her older sister, but I hadn’t really been able to explore it much since I moved down here—mainly because I knew I couldn’t navigate the foot traffic with Seamus.
But now it was time to test that out.
“You can do it, buddy,” I said to Seamus.
He lifted his shaggy triangle ears and gazed back at me.
“Good boy,” I said, heading down the sidewalk. “Heel . . . heel.”
At first it was scary. Throngs of people seemed to come right at us, as if some Hollywood director were standing atop a cherry picker a few blocks down yelling into a bullhorn. “Group of chatty Tri-Delts . . . go! Woman with six shopping bags . . . go! Loveydovey couple, fuse hands and . . . go!”
But then, when I realized Seamus was staying even with my ankle, it was great—exhilarating, even. I steered him effortlessly through the crowd and around parking meters, just like we practiced in class. Only once did I have to snap his leash—when he stopped to sniff a discarded, half-eaten taco.
By the time we reached the little plaza at Twenty-fourth Street, I felt like I’d been pumped full of helium. My chest was swollen with pride and I was praising Seamus over and over in a squeaky, munchkin voice. “Good boy! Good, good boy!”
Seamus grinned up at me, his back end swishing like a fish tail.
People continued to rush past us, many of them heading to and from the plaza, where over a dozen carts and kiosks had been set up, displaying all sorts of handcrafted wares. Feeling bold, I let Seamus into the mini marketplace.
It was much slower going than on the street. The cramped aisles and crowds of onlookers made it difficult to maneuver around. Seamus stayed close to my legs, his bristly fur tickling my skin. He appeared to be extra alert and cautious.
“Good boy,” I continued praising.
Alpha Dog Page 17