André Alexis - Fifteen Dogs

— Talk! said the man.

And once again, Benjy recited as much as he remembered of Vanity Fair .

— The little fucker’s gold, said the man.

Though she had affection for ‘her’ dog, Clare agreed. It was almost as if the beagle understood them. Beyond that, the dog was compact and adorable. Much of her affection for Russell was transferred to Benjy on the spot.

— He must belong to someone, she said.

— No, said Benjy. No, no, no!

— You heard him, the man said laughing. He doesn’t belong to anyone. Besides, possession is nine-tenths of the law.

— You think we should keep him?

— Don’t see why not. He hasn’t got tags. What’s your name, boy? Can you say your name?

— Benjy, said Benjy.

— Henny? asked Clare.

— Benjy, said Benjy again.

— Benny it is, said the man.

He opened the screen door to let Benjy into the house. Prince climbed tentatively onto the porch, intending to follow his pack mate in.

— No, not you, said the man.

He stuck his foot out to block Prince’s way. Nor did Clare object. She yawned and went in after Benjy, closely followed by the man, who closed both doors after him. In this way, as suddenly as he’d regained a pack mate, Prince lost the dog he believed was the last to share his language. Over the months that followed, he returned regularly to the house. On occasion, he was chased away. On occasion, he sat on the porch waiting to be let in, hoping to speak with Benjy. As it happened, however, this was the last he saw of the small dog with floppy ears.

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The man’s name was Randy. This Benjy learned quickly because Randy taught him to say it. And the man was delighted when, in mere hours, Benjy mastered the r .

Randy would say

— Hey! Clare! Look what I taught him …

Then Benjy would speak the name, rolling the r as if beagles were French.

— Rrr-andy.

The humans would laugh, and Benjy — who had no idea why the name provoked such pleasure — would look at them with his head tilted to one side. Something in the sound of the name must have been potent because, later, when Randy grew tired of the game, he would ask not

— What’s my name?

but

— How do you feel?

The answer

— Rrr-andy

would set the humans laughing as obstreperously as before.

They were, Benjy thought, strange, and over the months he spent with them, he got to observe the strangeness up close. But there were also ways in which they were unexceptional. When they wanted food, they ate. When they were thirsty, they drank. Their den, naturally, was arranged to satisfy these needs at once. When they were in the kitchen, they were never more than a step or two from food or drink. The fridge was — as all fridges are — remarkable in that respect. This one was a wide, tall block of celadon: unavoidable or, better, unmissable. Once its door was opened, it exhaled fat, sweet and spices. Other nooks were just as enticing. The high cupboards, for instance, seemed to be made of coconut, sugar, flour, salt and vinegar. And then there was the room where the humans bathed and applied chemicals to themselves. The bathroom was fascinating, it being astonishing to watch the already pale beings applying creams to make themselves paler still. Was there something about white that brought status? If so, what was the point of drawing black circles around their eyes or red ones around their mouths?

But if the bathroom was astonishing and the kitchen admirable, what was the word for the bedroom? Here, the two were at their strangest. The bedroom had its pleasures, of course. It was where the three of them — Benjy, Randy, Clare — slept. It was where they were a pack, where Benjy felt most as if he belonged. In the beginning, he was relegated to the foot of the bed, but after a while, he slept closer to the middle, ending up most mornings comfortably lodged between the humans. And so, the bedroom was also the room where the smells human bodies made were most pungent.

What was strange about the bedroom was neither the room nor the sensual there -ness of its human occupants. What was strange was copulation. The humans had — every now and again — what was called ‘sex.’ (Why they needed a name for something so obvious was beyond Benjy’s understanding. Why name it, when its necessity was clear to all concerned?) The coupling was not confusing. The ritual that accompanied coupling was what Benjy found odd.

First of all, Randy and Clare kicked him off the bed whenever they were about to have sex. If he got anywhere near them when they were aroused, one or the other would treat him as unkindly as they could: kick, slap or hit. While they had sex, he was not wanted, so he kept his distance, observing them from a corner of the room. He would jump onto the wicker chair beside the chest of drawers. From there, he got the best view.

In the real world, in the world of kitchens, bathrooms, televisions and biscuits, Randy was so obviously the leader that it made no sense to respect Clare. Benjy would lie on her lap while she watched television, lick her face to catch any scraps of food that might linger there, put his head above hers when she was lying down. With Randy he was cautious and much more attentive. Randy was like most high-status beings: he hit out when he was displeased. (The only time Benjy tried to jump up on his lap, Randy pushed him away so hard Benjy flew against a table leg.) He was, at least to Benjy, intimidating.

In the bedroom, however, things were not so clear-cut. Most of the time, Randy fucked Clare. There was nothing unusual about that. It was his prerogative and, really, Benjy would not have been offended if Randy had fucked him as well. But then there were those sessions that smelled of cow. During these, Randy would wear black leather (with parts of himself exposed) and plead while Clare struck him with a riding crop. Most remarkably, it was then she who would penetrate Randy. More: Randy’s pleadings were, in the bedroom, as pathetic as Clare’s sometimes were in the real world, yet both of them seemed to desire these moments during which Clare was fully and admirably dominant while Randy was, to Benjy’s thinking, contemptible.

Benjy, a student of dominance, naturally understood that pleasure — the pleasure taken by Randy and Clare in these sessions — changed the equation between beings. As Randy actually enjoyed the moments when he was dominated, it could not mean that he had ceased to be pack leader. Nor could Clare’s pleasure in the bedroom give proof that her status had changed elsewhere, that he (that is, Benjy) should now respect her. Yet, something about seeing Randy vulnerable could not help but influence Benjy’s feelings about the man. He began to think less of Randy from the first time he saw him in leather and thought progressively less of him on each occasion thereafter.

In effect, Randy and Clare’s love life created a kind of vacuum in Benjy’s imagination. He could not decide who was actually pack leader. That being the case, he wondered why the leader should not be him. So, after a while, he would not come when Randy called, would not repeat Randy’s name, would not immediately submit to Randy’s will, running beneath the bed or sofa rather than doing what he was asked to do, peeing on Randy’s pillow to let Randy know who was in charge. The result? Randy — not a particularly sensitive man nor one with a deep love for animals — grew tired of Benjy, despite the beagle’s intelligence, despite Benjy’s obvious talents.

Clare’s affection was more durable, but only just. Once Benjy ceased doing what he was told to do (dance, roll over, speak …), it occurred to her that they had overestimated his abilities, that the dog was less intelligent than ‘Russell,’ her dog, the one Randy had chased away and now would not let in. Clare took care of Benjy, though, buying him food and petting him when he allowed it.