Dog Days

This morning on my way out for a walk I saw a woman and her dog at the end of my driveway. I waved, but they didn’t notice me. They were locked in on each other.

Drop it, said the woman. The dog (Buddy, let’s say) had dug up some breakfast. I couldn’t see what was in his mouth, but it was clear from her face that he had broken a rule. He looked distressed.

I hoped he hadn’t eaten chocolate. I don’t have any pets, but I know chocolate is toxic to dogs because it’s a storyline in two out of every 10 movies from the 80s and 90s, skewing heavily towards Tom Hanks films.

Buddy looked stressed. Should we get an ambulance? Should I boil some water?

I suddenly remembered, unhelpfully, that there was a family-sized Hershey’s bar in my kitchen cabinet that I’d bought for the s’mores we’d never made. It would be a nice treat after we all came back from the ER. For me, of course. Not Buddy.

Buddy made a noise. It was then that I saw he’d clamped his jaws around a chipmunk.

I froze.

I can’t blame Buddy. Dogs, I’ve noticed, are animals. Last spring, during the first wave of COVID lockdowns, my family wanted to get a dog. But we could not find a hypoallergenic, trained, fun-loving but non-slobbering, well-read, licensed cognitive-behavioral therapy dog that would rinse his own paws by the door before coming into the house.

They have dogs like that now in Denmark.

We gave up after a few months. But I know that my sweet Gunnar is out there, probably living in a minimalist flat in Nørrebro with the wrong family. At least he can enjoy pristine parks and free healthcare for all.

It was for the best. I didn’t realize dogs found chipmunks so fetching.

Now, where was I?

Buddy’s owner was growing angrier. Drop it, she commanded again.

Buddy cocked his head and sniffed. His person straightened to her full height, looking every bit his ancestor. She was a 5'9 arctic blonde wolf in electric blue Lululemons, the kind with the mesh cutouts that make everyone’s thighs look toned. They stared at each other.

It was clear who would break first. Buddy lowered his tail, bowed into an apologetic half-circle, and dropped his catch at the woman’s feet.

The three of us looked at it.

I covered my mouth. Oh my God, I said. (Though even in my sickened state I knew I’d eat that whole Hershey’s bar before the kids came home. Funny how the mind works.)

Buddy let out a damp, guilty gargle. His big brown eyes were trained down on my driveway. I shifted away to give him a little room so he could process his shame, which is an interspecies condition.

We’ve all been there, Buddy.

Lululemon turned and looked at me for the first time and asked me if I was excited about the coming summer. How normal this summer would seem compared to last year when nobody left the house, she said. Yes, I agreed, normal.

We made a weird little pack. She had marked her territory (on my property, no less) and the air was pungent with her authority. I hung my head. Buddy was cowed into submission. The chipmunk was already reincarnating into God-only-knows-what and would need to be dealt with. That unlucky job was beneath our leader, who was already pulling Buddy away.

I growled inwardly. Alphas.

I decided not to go for a walk. I went back into the house, opened my cabinet, and tore the brown and silver wrapper off of that Hershey’s bar. As shards of chocolate landed on the floor, I felt carefree. As only the dogless can be.