Hunter
was a special kind of German shepherd, one who could turn heads and inspire people to
ask where he came from and if they could pet him. “Sure,” we’d say. He
loved to be the center of attention. He was a champion. The son of
champions. The grandson of champions. The great-grandson of champions. It
was in his blood to be smart, handsome, and somewhat high-strung. So, in a
way, we weren’t surprised when he started to talk at a young age.
The first time was during one of our fights. Hunter was in the living room
watching CNN and we were in the kitchen. I’d made myself some French toast
and was eating it when Brenda came
in.
“Thanks for thinking of me,” she
said, flicking her hand in the direction
of my plate.
“You could’ve told me you were hungry,” I said. “How am I supposed to know
you’re not dieting
tonight?”
“Dense bastard,” she said. “You could’ve
asked.”
“Fat bitch,” I
replied.
“Hairy
scum.”
“Lazy slob.”
Back and forth. Back and forth, like some perverse tennis game. We were
good at this. Pros. We’d had a lot of
practice.
“Prick.”
“Asshole.”
That’s when Hunter said his first
word: “Stop.”
We both
turned and saw him standing in the doorway. His ears were pointed straight
up and his body was taut. He was staring at us with a hint of menace in
his brown eyes.
“Okay,” we
said in unison. “We’ll stop.”
He trotted back into the living room, jumped
on the sofa, and stretched out with a grunt. Brenda left the kitchen, and I
ate the rest of my French toast in stunned
silence.
***
Brenda
thought it would be a good idea to increase Hunter’s vocabulary with some
intensive daily tutoring.
“This is an apple,” she’d say,
holding it in the air. “A-p-p-l-e. Can you say apple?” She’d cut it
up and feed him slices.
“This is a ball,” she’d say. “B-a-l-l. Can you say
ball?”
She’d toss
the ball to him and hug him when he picked it up. Hunter would lean
against her with a happy look on his face.
She brought in a chalkboard to teach him how to spell. Then she taught
him how to read. They’d sit together on the sofa, heads bent over whatever
book they were working on. Brenda would read and Hunter would follow her
finger as it moved across the page. They’d do this for hours at a time.
I did more active things with Hunter, like play Frisbee
in the park. Hunter loved to run, and I loved to watch him. He was
fast and powerful; a very special animal. He attracted a lot of
women, far more than I ever did on my own. They’d come over alone or in
groups. They’d hug and kiss him. “He’s so beautiful,” they’d say. “Is he a
movie
star?”
***
I made a gym for Hunter in the backyard. It had tunnels, mazes,
hurdles, a wall to jump over, a sand pit, things like that. I put up
spotlights so he could run the course at night. Hunter made great progress.
“Dad,” he said one night. “Watch this.” He jumped over a 6’ wall with ease. I
was so proud, I felt like crying. And maybe I did, just a bit. He
came over and sat beside me. “Stop it,” he said. “Let’s go in and get some
cookies.” That was his first full sentence. We went in and had some
cookies.
***
Brenda was
sharing a pizza with Hunter. She took large bites and swallowed them
whole. Hunter had a napkin tucked under his collar and was using a fork
and knife. He looked like a gentleman.
“Pass the
cheese,” he said. “Please.”
Brenda slid
it across the table.
“Mind if I
join you?” I asked.
“We don’t
want you,” Brenda said.
“I do,”
Hunter said.
“Well I
don’t,” Brenda snapped.
Hunter
nudged a seat toward me anyway.
Brenda’s
face turned red. Her eyes bulged and the vein in her neck pulsed. It was
very disconcerting. She pushed her chair back and jumped to her
feet.
“Okay, Mr.
Big Shot,” she said, shaking a finger at Hunter. “No school for you
tomorrow.”
Brenda flipped the box off the table and the pizza landed upside down on
the floor. We ate it anyway. Afterward, Hunter went into the living room
and stretched out on the sofa with a grunt. He was reading Heart of
Darkness
. I sat on the floor beside him and watched a rerun of The
Simpsons on
TV.
***
The enmity
in the house was growing. At certain times of the day, it would sit at the
kitchen table and drink Corona beer. Brenda also fed it enriched soy
powder shakes.
We no longer
slept in the same room. Hunter and I stayed in the second bedroom, the one
set up for Brenda’s 10-year-old niece. It had a poster of Justin
Timberlake on the wall and a ruffled pink comforter. A few stuffed bears
hung out near the pillows, playing poker. They drank Glenlivet and smoked
Macanudo cigars. One of the bears was packing a Smith & Wesson .38
Special.
Brenda took a job selling cars at the local Audi dealership. She worked from 7
a.m. until 11 p.m. six days a week. On the 7th day, she rested. I sold
women’s lingerie in the mornings from home and spent afternoons in the
park with Hunter. We played Frisbee and checkers. He attracted a lot of
attention.
“He’s magnificent,” a young woman with a female German shepherd said.
Her name was Elaine and her dog was Rosetta Marletto de la Hoya, or Rosie
for short. Hunter sniffed Elaine, then played with Rosie. I
apologized for his rude behavior. I said he came from a long line of
champions and was brilliant, but a little high-strung. I offered to show
her his pedigree. We talked about this and
that.
Meanwhile, Hunter and Rosie
were getting along beautifully. They chased each other around the park,
stopping every now and again to take a break. Hunter nuzzled her haunches
and nipped her neck. He whispered in her ear.
“Come back
to my place,” he said.
“Woof,” she
replied.
***
We went to
the house and I showed Elaine the pedigree. She was impressed. Rosie was
also registered with the AKC. Her father was Oh What a Night from New
York, or Night for short, a highly decorated dog. Her mother was Miss
Tootsie de la Hoya, or Trish for short. She was a champion in her own
right.
“They’d make
a lovely couple,” I said.
She
agreed.
“So would
we,” I added.
“Woof,” she
replied.
***
Brenda came home early and found the dogs in bed. I was in the den with
Elaine watching Wheel of Misfortune.
“Atlantic City New Jersey.” Elaine shouted
“Beijing
China,” I replied.
The contestant gave the wrong answer and won a free trip to hell.
Brenda stood
in the doorway and stared at us.
“I hate
you,” she said. “And you too, whoever you are.”
She ordered
me to leave the house.
“Get out,” she said.
“Gladly,” I
replied.
I packed a couple of suitcases and left them by the back door. The
enmity carried them out to the car.
Hunter and Rosie, hearing the commotion, came downstairs and stood
beside me and Elaine. The volleys started to fly.
“Nitwit.”
“Moron.”
“Beast.”
“Scumbag.”
Back and
forth. Back and forth. But it would soon be over.
Brenda turned to Hunter. “And what do you have to say about it?”
she demanded to know.
“Woof,” he replied.
