It Looked Different on the Model - Laurie Notaro [78]
“Come on,” my husband said, reaching out his hand. “I’m sorry. There’s not much you can do.”
So I left the dog standing in the snow as we went off to brunch, and when I looked back one last time, it was going to the bathroom by the side of the building.
Part of me said, “See? Aren’t you glad you left the dog? You’d have to carry dog doo all the way to breakfast,” but I couldn’t help but feel like I had just done something atrocious.
We were going to be late, but I was sure that Jenny would understand. Both of her dogs came from rescue; one was blind, the other had three legs, and she had had several other dogs in the years I had known her that came from foster homes or that were difficult to place elsewhere. If there was anyone who would get it, it would be Jenny.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” I said as my husband and I approached Jenny and Joe, who were already seated at a table. “There is a stray dog we’ve been seeing on and off at the apartment building for days now. We just saw it again, but I couldn’t get it to come to me.”
Jenny immediately looked alarmed.
“What do you mean, ‘a stray dog’?” she asked. “No one was with it? Was it running into traffic?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and sitting down. “It stays close to the building. I haven’t seen it wander off the sidewalk.”
“Someone will call the shelter, I’m sure of it,” Joe said, trying to reassure us.
“No one’s called so far, and we’ve seen it for three days now,” I replied.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Jenny gasped. “It’s been snowing! It was so cold out last night! Did you feel how cold it was? Where is the building?”
“It’s about three blocks from here on Bleecker,” I replied.
“Oh, boy,” Joe said, looking none too pleased.
“I’m not going to let a dog die of exposure, Joe,” she said as she reached for her phone and started looking up phone numbers.
The waitress came over and took our order.
“We don’t have time for a ‘Save the Dog’ mission today,” he protested. “I have a list of things I need to do.”
“Is letting a dog die one of them?” she replied.
I felt my face get hot as Joe raised his eyebrows, sighed, and then looked away. I realized I had done a bad, bad thing.
“What does the dog look like?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, it’s so matted,” I answered hesitantly, as my husband kicked me under the table. “Maybe a collie? Black and white. Some sort of shepherd mix?”
“Perfect,” Jenny replied. “I can call both the shepherd rescue and the collie rescue. How old do you think it was?”
“Old,” I said, shrugging. “It had a lot of gray on its face.”
Jenny snapped her fingers. “Elderly rescue!” she cried.
The waitress brought over our coffee.
“You know, I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” I said, trying to spread some optimism. “The dog’s been hanging out for who knows how long; it’s getting food somewhere.”
“So you think people are feeding it?” Jenny asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but it found a can of refried beans in the trash that it was licking,” I offered, saying anything I could think of to slow the quest down.
Joe did not look excited at all about the dog hunt. In fact, I think if this scenario had taken place two hundred years ago, he would have challenged my husband to a duel. And I need to say here that I had always known Joe to be a nice, patient guy, and I did not blame him one bit for being a little unenthusiastic about spending the day chasing a dirty dog that some stupid girl at breakfast had to open her big mouth about and spoil the lovely Sunday he had planned for himself. The dog, while not necessarily my problem, was my hang-up, and now I had opened the gates and let it run wild with Jenny and her dog-saving networks.
“We’re going to have to take a cab back to Brooklyn. There’s no way I can get a dog on the subway.”
“It doesn’t even have a leash,” I stressed. “I don’t know how you’re going to get it to come to you.”
“Don’t eat all of your breakfast, Joe,” Jenny advised. “We’ll lure it.”
“This sounds familiar,” my husband said.
Jenny spent a good majority of brunch