dependents
The story started, as so many stories do, with a telephone call. This one was from a car dealership, and said that my new ride had arrived. (For the uninformed, one of the great benefits of the PI gig with my large company is a company car with unlimited use privileges and replacement every year or two. Although after the Great Car Accident Fiasco of Winter '06, I was frankly surprised my boss was willing to trust me with a new car.) And so I convinced my mother, who was in the car with me when the call came, to accompany me to the dealership.
The car was lovely, and the transfer process ("Here are the keys!") was blessedly pain-free. Ten minutes later, I was ready to leave when I saw a little dog bouncing towards me. "Oh," I said, "how cute? Whose dog is he?" Fatal words. He was no-one's dog. He had been loitering for hours. He ate anything that was given him. A sandwich was produced for experimental purposes. But the little mutt, now in the middle of a circle of half-a-dozen, ignored the food and went bouncing around to each person.
Here I should mention that, although I never owned a dog, I was a voracious reader of Lad: A Dog, Lassie, and other classic sentimental children's books about man's best friend. I typed a very detailed Christmas list when I was ten, all about the Irish Setter I hoped Santa would give me. I'd considered getting a dog last year, when I moved into my apartment. (I'd decided on Lucie because it's more difficult to house a dog than a cat if you're a renter.) I had a sporadic addiction to the AKC web site, where I learned enough about various dog breeds to know that Italian Greyhounds hate winter, Pharoah dogs blush, and Rhodesian Ridgebacks don't smell. I read books by Jon Katz. I'd added a dog to my first novel, albeit as a surrogate murder victim.
Ten days earlier, I'd closed on my first house, which had a fenced yard.
In retrospect, I see that it would have happened soon. When the lady at the dealership said, "I don't suppose you want a dog?" I replied, "Sure. Let's put him in the car."
The car was lovely, and the transfer process ("Here are the keys!") was blessedly pain-free. Ten minutes later, I was ready to leave when I saw a little dog bouncing towards me. "Oh," I said, "how cute? Whose dog is he?" Fatal words. He was no-one's dog. He had been loitering for hours. He ate anything that was given him. A sandwich was produced for experimental purposes. But the little mutt, now in the middle of a circle of half-a-dozen, ignored the food and went bouncing around to each person.
Here I should mention that, although I never owned a dog, I was a voracious reader of Lad: A Dog, Lassie, and other classic sentimental children's books about man's best friend. I typed a very detailed Christmas list when I was ten, all about the Irish Setter I hoped Santa would give me. I'd considered getting a dog last year, when I moved into my apartment. (I'd decided on Lucie because it's more difficult to house a dog than a cat if you're a renter.) I had a sporadic addiction to the AKC web site, where I learned enough about various dog breeds to know that Italian Greyhounds hate winter, Pharoah dogs blush, and Rhodesian Ridgebacks don't smell. I read books by Jon Katz. I'd added a dog to my first novel, albeit as a surrogate murder victim.
Ten days earlier, I'd closed on my first house, which had a fenced yard.
In retrospect, I see that it would have happened soon. When the lady at the dealership said, "I don't suppose you want a dog?" I replied, "Sure. Let's put him in the car."
posted by sophie at 12:37
3 Comments:
Okay, I'm about to leave work and I don't have time to read this posting until later, but I have to say
WOOHOO! She's back in Blogland!
New house, new car, new dog...new man must be around the corner somewhere?
It's such a lovely story, a story of destiny...a woman and her dog and the company car they destroyed together.
So cute, really.
Jasper's so wonderful. When are you going to tell the story of Max? I'm not sure I've heard that one yet.
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