Carlotta Graham: The lap dog

"Well, here's the latest batch, and not a bad one," Harry was saying as he reached into the refrigerator to pull out an unlabeled quart beer bottle, filled with some slightly cloudy liquid. Stepping over to the sink he pried off the cap. There was a loud pop and a sinister tendril of blue smoke curled out of the opening. Very, very carefully Harry poured part of the contents into two glasses, trying to keep the cloudy sediment from being stirred up. He handed Jack one of the glasses. "Here's looking at ya," he said and took a long drink. Jack followed suit, choking a moment as the strong beer flowed down his throat, but after the first bite he realized Harry had indeed brought in a good batch this time.

By the time the two men had killed the first bottle they were both a little tipsy. The stuff wasn't only good, but it was loaded with high test rocket fuel, Jack thought foggily to himself. By now the whole world looked rosy.

"So what if I take this dog and it doesn't work out?" he asked his co-worker, slightly slurring his words. "Can I bring him back?"

"Sure, sure," Harry answered glibly. "Here, have another glass."

"Oh-ho, trying to get me drunk. Never saw you so ready to part with your home brew. You must really want to get rid of that dog." Getting no answer, the young man thought a moment and then went on. "Only one thing bothers me, really. What if the dog doesn't like Angela?"

For a moment, Jack thought Harry was going to choke on his beer. After a few strangled gasps Harry was finally able to say, "Oh don't you worry about that, he loves women, just loves women!"

Peering fuzzily down into the cloudy depths of his beer, the younger man thought a moment longer. "Okay, Harry, I'll take the dog. But if it doesn't work out, I want you to know he's coming light back here. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Harry answered, nodding solemnly, as if they had just concluded an international peace treaty. "By the way, his name is Hans." The big dog looked up alertly as he heard his name, wondering why the two men were staring so intently at him.

"Well," Jack said draining his glass. "Might as well be getting on my way while I can still drive. If I can walk to the car, that is. By the way, where's your wife, out shopping?"

"No," Harry answered, a sudden shifty look coming into his eyes. "She's off visiting her mother. Left this morning."

"Hey," Jack said, sudden enlightenment coming over him. "You wouldn't be trying to get rid of the dog while she's away and doesn't know what you're doing, would you? Hell, I don't want to buy a bag of trouble with Myra."

"Since when have you worried what Myra thought?" Harry shot back, becoming a little desperate. "We just made a deal, didn't we?"

"Okay, old buddy, don't get all steamed up. I'll stand by my word. I just want to know all the facts before I do something." The truth was, the younger man had become a little more fond of the idea of owning the big beautiful German shepherd with each additional glass of beer. Already he was wondering how Angela would react when he got home with the animal. "How do I get this big brute out to the car?" he asked.

"Nothing to it. C'mon, Hans," Harry ordered, and led the way out of the apartment, the dog following eagerly.

"Seems pretty trusting," Jack said.

"Loves to tide in cars," Harry answered. And sure enough, when the three of them arrived next to Jack's car, Harry opened the back door and Hans quickly jumped in to perch on the back seat, his head nearly scraping the roof. Jack slid in nervously and started the motor.

"Well, wish me luck," he said to Harry, and drove out into the street. When Hans saw that Harry wasn't coming with them, he turned around on the seat to look out the back window as his former master faded away into the distance and whined excitedly.

"For Christ's sake, cut that out," Jack said nervously. "You make me feel like a slave dealer." Hans soon stopped whining, but, all the way out to the suburbs, the big dog lay on the back seat, his head half hidden between his paws, looking like a lost orphan. Jack felt lucky that the dog's confusion and fear didn't take a more dangerous trend.

By the time he pulled up in his own driveway, the slowly sobering Jack was beginning to feel the whole thing was a stupid mistake, one that, for some unknown reason, his old friend Harry had conned him into. The way the dog looked now, the first thing he would do was run away. As the car came to a stop, the front door opened and Angela came out.

"I'm glad you're home," she called. "I was getting a little worried. Where've you been?"

By now Jack had gotten out of the car, and, throwing open the back door, he said, "Not wanting us to have to go through all that nine-month pregnancy stuff, I went out and got us a dependent." At first, his wife didn't know what he was talking about, and then she saw Hans in the back seat and her eyes widened in surprise. Hans saw her at the same time, and the sudden transformation in the animal was incredible. From sheer dejection, his mood changed to one of utter joy. Girl and dog stared at one another for several seconds and then the big animal bounded out of the car and, placing his paws up on Angela's shoulders, kissed her face with his long pink tongue.

"Why Jack," she said in delight. "Where did you get this beautiful dog?" There was no mistaking the pleasure in her voice, and, all at once, her husband started to feel better. Maybe old Harry had something after all.

"Like I said, this is out new dependent, someone to keep you company when the old man's off at the salt mines."

"Oh Jack," Angela beamed, "how wonderful. You mean we can really keep him?" Jack knew he was home free. There wasn't much more he needed to say as his wife and new dog got to know one another. There was one little incident. Hans placed his nose hard up between Angela's legs, pushing her skirt right up into the "vee" between her thighs, sniffing and nuzzling, and he didn't seem about to quit. "Naughty dog," Angela scolded, but for a moment it didn't seem to do much good. Finally Jack had to come up and pull the dog back by the collar.

Looking down at the obviously confused animal, Jack said, "If that isn't like Harry – teaching the dog his own bad habits. But we'll have him all nice and trained and polite in no time."

If he had only known.

Several days later Angela Sims was out in the yard hanging out the wash. It was a beautiful day, not too hot, not too cold, with an exhilarating breeze. The lovely young blonde cast a fond look to where Hans lay sleeping in the shade of the fence, acting for all the world like this had been his home all his life.

The young housewife felt that somehow the dog had enriched her life and was grateful that Jack had brought him home. Once Jack had sobered up, he had told her all about Harry's rather strange behavior. There was no doubt in either of their minds that there was something about the handsome German shepherd that had caused Harry to try everything he knew to get rid of the big animal. But, whatever it was, neither Jack nor Angela was able to tell, not from the animal's behavior, at least. He was the perfect pet – friendly, intelligent, seemingly well-trained, and, at the same time, selectively protective of the house and particularly his new mistress. A good all-around dog. Aside from the expense of feeding the huge animal, the young couple could find nothing wrong with him. Harry was no help. Every time Jack started to mention Hans at work, Harry would immediately change the subject.

Not that Angela cared. She loved Hans now, and that was all that mattered. While the animal's presence had hardly cleared up her sexual difficulties with Jack, it at least gave her another companion to share her otherwise lonely days with.

And Hans seemed happy with the change. The big dog obviously enjoyed the freedom available to him at his new home and spent long hours running in the fields and woods. The Sims didn't exactly live in the suburbs as Harry had put it, but instead out in an unincorporated part of the county that was fast becoming a suburb. Just a couple of years ago this had been farmland, and even now there were still a couple of small agricultural operations in the area. But, with the approach of the city, the land had become too valuable to farm, and a few of the smaller developers had put up small tracts of homes, not tracts exactly, but modern tract-type houses scattered in little clumps of twos and threes over the rolling land. The Sims lived in a house like this, modern, inexpensive, yet comfortable. Their house nestled right under the brow of a wooded hill that was all theirs and the only other house near was several hundred yards down the narrow winding road. The young couple realized this situation couldn't last much longer, and that soon they would be in the middle of a vast housing tract, but they wanted to enjoy it while they could, knowing that eventually they could sell out at a considerable profit and move elsewhere.