The Curious Case of the Missing Dog
September 5th.
I woke up dazzled, a little crumpled and buzzing, but not in the good way. At night I was restless due to the raging storm and the ghost that was supposedly walking around the house and materializing in the rich storage of dust which we didn’t give enough fuck about to clean up. I turned on the coffee machine, glanced out the window and there he was.
The dog that turned up from nowhere and acted like he was part of the family for months. Then one day he disappeared, with no hard feelings of course. He was walking with self-consciousness, his head high and neck tensed, a singular thing I’ve never seen in a dog before. He ran up the stairs. I opened up incredulously, not sure if it really was him, but yes, no doubt, his legs shaking from the overwhelming emotions and the guilt for leaving us behind. I sat down on the ground and he happily accepted my forgiveness by jumping on my face and licking it repeatedly. I checked my hand for all five fingers and I wasn’t dreaming, it was truly him. Whatshisname. He had a cheap blue collar embracing his neck which gave me a considerable pause; he was loved and taken care of, branded as one of their own, given a name they later remembered, possibly brought to the vet to get his shots. Then he left and came back where they didn’t care about him enough. There was a laughably sad irony in the situation of which I was acutely aware of, especially since I was parting for Bratislava in a few hours.
I gave Whatshisname some leftover dog food, but there was nothing left for him, truly, I gave it all to Mufasa the day before and he didn’t seem all too pleased with what he got. I piled on some duck fat for him. He graciously licked it up.
I was sending some photos to Katja to share my shock with someone and I was not disappointed, she recognized him right away AND by name. Arthur. Of course. How could I forget. I went inside to get some clothes on, to make the awful weather at least tolerable, and Arthur went on a whining rampage for being left alone, an understandable feature in other dogs yet surprising from him. Not being whiny was Arthur’s top shelf skill he possessed, up until that point. Now he ruined it all. I spent hours on my phone next to him and he seemed perfectly content with all that, at times he came close to me to wiggle his tail right into my face. I assume he was at one of my neighbor’s this whole time, a wise choice, but he seemed hungry and shaken, as if he had traveled great distances to walk up to our door, say hi and then watch us how we leave for the week.
There was some noise at the gate and my uncle stopped by in his half-drunken walk with Tarzan, the German shepherd that had teeth of the size of Arthur. He staggered up the stairs letting his dog loose resulting in a vicious speed dating between the two canines, ending with mixed results.
-Hey, what’s up? I’m Tarzan.
-Yo you better walk away you punk ass bitch! This is my house!
And he really acted as if it was his house. Not unlike the last time he lived with us. Tarzan seemed very patient with the dog that was the size of his paw tearing at his neck with his teeny-tiny teeth. Then Tarzan pissed all over my front porch.
My uncle was in a good mood with a considerable level of alcohol in his blood for his 1 p.m. arrival time. Not a nice sight yet not an unusual one either. He asked for some money, for his electric bills, then, after by his account I saved his life, he told me a story how he spent yesterday at the football game inviting his penniless friend to rounds of shots. Lending money to family is always a mistake. Sometimes it’s inevitable. He begged for a glass of schnapps and then grabbing his pissing dog by the collar dragged himself in a zigzag line home.
At 3 p.m. I was leaving for the bus and I dreaded the moment I had to leave Arthur behind. I had a feeling he won’t take it well. I walked out, locked the door, gave him a last embrace and made my way to the bus station without looking back once. I wasn’t sure where he gave up on following me. At the bus stop I found out he didn’t. He was waiting for the bus next to me, running through some busy roads and roaring cars to get there. I wasn’t sure if I could shake him off by stepping on the bus, he could just as well jump after me. And the driver would say
- Get your dog off the bus.
And I would have to say unforgivable things.
- It’s not my dog. I don’t have a dog.
Arthur, understanding every word, would stop dead, and roll down the stairs lifelessly, loosing all will to live. I would reach out my hand but it would be too late, the door would close and the bus would roll out to infinity.
The bus came and I stepped in and Arthur didn’t and that was that. He was left at the station waiting all alone, not sure of what he did wrong this time. Maybe, if he would’ve wiggled his tail more in my face, I wouldn’t have left and we could have lived happily ever after.
