Fiction - A story about a dog
in Vancouver with dog
called on the Friday. She had met a man on Thursday on the doggy
beach and this was maybe my last chance. Hazel is
27 and three-quarters and is apparently already on the last
"Will you look after my dog? Please..."
I thought you met this guy on the doggy beach? Doesnt
he like dogs?
Hes taking me to Salt Spring by air. You like my dog, Jonah
is so cute, you know she likes you. All you have to do is walk her once
a day. Shes well behaved and..."
Ok, but it is just a one time thing Hazel. As much as I like your
dog, I live in a no-pets apartment."
"You are an angel," she purred and rang off in case I changed
Jonah pitched up outside my door on late Saturday night. She came with
a suitcase, three dog bowls, enough food to feed Afghanistan for a week
and a note stuffed under her collar.
I never actually read the note as she had decided from the very beginning
to guard it with her life. She snarled, pissed on the welcome mat and
camped out in the bathroom, slamming the door shut with her big paws.
She knew she had been dumped and didnt care who knew it. She had
the hump and was going to make my life misery. Taking a leak became
distinctly hazardous. Theres something blood-curdling about trying
to pee with this long low growl vibrating in the bathroom. I decided
to face her down.
Its my apartment OK, I can pee anytime I like.
She growled some more. This was going to be great. At one oclock
I fall asleep, the low grumbling from the bathroom having subsided to
a tolerable drone.
Suddenly, at around 3am she leaped on my bed landing like she just fallen
fifty feet. For a second I though I was under attack. I couldnt
even yell. All the breath in my body was instantly expelled and I was
doubled up in pain, writhing on the floor. By the time I had recovered
from the shock, taken many deep breaths to restore my heartbeat to something
like normal she was in my space, on the bed, snoring, her head on the
Out! Off! Off my bed
She ignored me. She wasnt going to budge, ever. When I tried to
grab her she snapped and made threatening noises. Dogs know a good piece
of territory when they see it.
For the record I slept on the sofa.
So it is Sunday. Sundays in Vancouver means it is raining. I carefully
planned nothing to try and fool the weather into being a sunny day but
I guess some other bastard had gone and planned something and it just
pissed it down. The dog entered the living room and pressed its nose
against the window, sighed and whimpered. It repeated this procedure
around a hundred times in the hopes Id sort of get the hint.
I didnt get up. I rolled over, listening to the rain cascading
off the broken gutter onto my rusting bicycle thinking to myself that
Ill just grab another quarter of an hour of blissful sleep.
Moments later the dog drops a chair leg onto my head. Subtlety is clearly
not one its strong points. Damn IKEA chairs are hard to put back
together as well. Angrily I throw the chair leg at the dog and it handily
embeds itself in one of my B&O speakers. Great. The dog starts whimpering
and burrows its head into my closet. Its all well and good feeling
guilty, but dammit...
I sigh, get up and immediately my bare feet make contact with something
icky. I yell so hard the dog leaps all the way into the closet and starts
shaking. The vicious brute of the night before was a nervous wreck now.
You want to pee?" I asked as gently as I could.
Those words she knew. She bounded out of the closet and I tried hard
not to look at whatever she had deposited by the sofa. Jonah want
to pee from the balcony?
Now it is worth mentioning here that you can take a dog to an eighth
floor balcony, but you cannot make it pee from an eighth floor balcony.
She dug in her paws at the threshold; even when I carried her over and
turned her around and vaguely hinted that now would be a good time,
she clung on to me as if I was going to throw her over. (Which thought
had actually occurred to me). She was not going to pee, no matter how
desperate she was. I realised that somehow Hazel had omitted to mention
her dog has vertigo.
OK. You win. OK? Didnt Hazel ever teach you about Sundays?
We sleep in on Sundays.
I knew I had better shower and dress. This dog had to go.
Owning a dog is clearly a big responsibility. And dangerous too. The
dog bursts into the bathroom as I finish showering and demands water.
Apparently it drinks only from the bathtap and it drinks long and hard.
That can only mean one thing of course, she has already emptied her
bladder. Nervously I go to look.
Yep, sure enough. Right by the power switches for my computer. One inch
to the left and she would have been toast. Most likely my computer as
I tell myself that Ill have breakfast out. Ill walk the
dog on the beach first. Shell be exhausted and leave me in peace
to read the Sunday New York Times. Other people do yoga, I workout trying
to lift the Sunday NY Times.
I took the dog to the doggy beach on Kits. It is full of wet dogs and
soggy owners. The women are there to stare at the men and the men to
stare of the dogs. Jonah, my temporary dog, immediately stole another
dog's stick and ran into the sea with it. Other dogs followed and there
was much wailing from owners who did not want wet dogs. My new weekend
dog emerges sopping wet and victorious from the sea and struts the beach
like a victorious gladiator. Clearly it learned early to bark softly
and carry a big stick. Dogs can have very bad cases of stick envy and
the rest of the pack steered clear of her, sneaking jealous glances
at her tail waving vertically in celebration.
Now heres a tip for people forced to walk other peoples
dogs. Do not attempt to throw a stick and ball at the same time. Dogs
have been known to have instant nervous breakdowns trying to decide
which to pick up first. Jonah stared at both ball and stick with apoplexy
from one to another began whimpering in desperation and finally walked
away disgusted with me for confusing her.
She was still off me as we arrived at Romeos Cafe on Cypress Street.
(Sadly it suddenly vanished one day and became a Starbucks)
Romeos was a strange cafe. It was either totally full or totally
empty. Sundays it was full of young rich beautiful lawyers and media
people eating breakfast (served until 3pm). Of course they didn't have to scoff their eggs and bacon whilst an
impatient dog repeatedly hurls itself hard at the restaurant window.
A young Chinese child was busy entertaining us with excellent performances
of Chopin and other classics, punctuated by the sound of ouff
as the dog pounded the glass every three minutes. Deeply embarrassed
I slunk out of there.
We decamped to the Epicurean on Ist Ave for coffee. She could sit her
butt outside and I could sit with the lepers, I mean smokers, watching
the rain beside her.
"Cute dog." A pretty girl declared.
The cute dog looked up into her exquisite brown eyes and promptly threw
up. Big time.
"Oh my God my shoes"
There is very little you can do about Sketchers shoes once a dog has
vomited on them. You could, of course, offer to pay for new ones, but
I managed to escape with copious amounts of apologies and we both noticed
the shirt buttons in the pile of gunk at our feet.
I kind of knew there was an another surprise waiting for me in my closet
The dog isnt ready to go home. She wants to walk. She feels perky
now shes coughed up my shirt. We walk to Jericho. We walk back,
two solitary sodden creatures in the incessant rain. We arrive home.
It stops raining. In fact the sun comes out in a glorious burst of heat.
I fall asleep on the carpet, exhausted.
The dog drops the chair other leg on my head.
The dog heads for the closet.
I ponder the possibly of dangling dog from the balcony until Hazel gets
back from her romantic tryst in Salt Spring. I was sure I had some rope
The phone rings. Relief at last. It is Hazel.
I am in love. We are staying an extra day. Is that OK?
The dog emerges from the closet with one of my best shoes in its mouth.
I can see that she has chewed the heel off.
No problem I hear myself saying. No problem at all.
I decide to lock myself in the bathroom with the New York Times.
I open it up and groan. She has beaten me to it. The stench of urine
smarts, it is so bad my eyes begin to water..
I stare at the wall and count to ten. It has soaked right through.
She comes barging into the bathroom and rests her head on my knee, dropping
my other best shoe on my toes. Her tail is wagging for the first time.
I believe we have bonded.
© Sam North
*Dedicated to Koko the dog
Sam North is the author of Another Place to Die: Endtime
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