Raw Dog
"I would love to dedicate this next song to all the parents and children of the world." - Celine Dion
It would have been a lovely weekend had it not been for the incident with the dog. Roz did everything in her power to make it nice for Ethan and his new boyfriend. That entailed arriving at the cottage Friday morning while Joe worked in the city, picking up groceries and fresh flowers – an indulgence Roz insisted on to enliven the dormant building – getting the water running, dusting, clearing leaves and needles from the porch and debris from the gutters, and laundering all the linens, including the curtains. Roz accomplished all this with the utmost efficiency, leaving time in the afternoon to prepare dessert in advance of the big dinner. She even remembered to eat lunch to avoid a fainting spell. She judged all this effort to be worth it to show support to her son and his new partner. Ethan had never before brought a man home, though Roz suspected that he’d had many potential candidates over the years. Handsome and personable, there was no reason Ethan wouldn’t have had at least one relationship serious enough for a meet-the-parents dinner in Roz’ biased estimation. She was anxious but enthused at the prospect of enjoying this long-awaited milestone.
Joe’s arrival at sunset was trumpeted by the dog’s high-pitched yapping, straining Roz’ ears as she finished her last tasks in the house while they rolled up the driveway. She was overtaken by a sinking feeling, forlorn that the two Tylenol she’d popped in anticipation of the dog’s appearance were no match for its relentless rambunctiousness.
The retriever was a new acquisition; Joe’s ill-advised idea of a birthday gift for his and Roz’ granddaughter, their eldest son’s eldest child. Not only had he not consulted Roz in the purchase of this gift, he hadn’t even asked their son if a dog would be a welcome addition to their family. And judging by the stricken look on his wife Jessica’s face when the present was unveiled at their granddaughter’s birthday party, welcome it was not.
Roz did her best to diffuse the situation, advising Joe and son to take the kids to the park with the dog after the party. The women needed a cooling off period, even if it meant taking charge of the cleanup. Roz found it hard to mask her own disappointment and contempt. She knew Joe had been hiding something from her ever since he volunteered to purchase the gift. He’d been cagey for weeks, sending and receiving discreet emails and taking off on cloak and dagger excursions at the oddest times. Roz thought it sweet at first, touched that after more than thirty years of marriage (who was counting at this point?) her husband still took pains to surprise her. Her friends’ husbands had all given up on grand romantic gestures long ago, but not Joe. The catch was Roz was often left out of the fun when Joe knew his wife would disapprove of his machinations. And Roz was loath to admit he was correct, she would have put the kibosh on this gift had she been asked. And standing in the kitchen, watching her daughter-in-law furiously scour dried up chocolate crumbs from the cake pans, Roz knew she would have been justified in doing so.
Roz put down the plate she was drying. In her gentlest coddling voice, she said: “Jessica, why don’t you let those soak for a while?”
Jessica threw her head back, her mouth twisted into an irregular shape. “My house will never be clean again.”
Roz put a hand on her back. “I’m so sorry, Jess. I had no idea.”
Jessica let the cake pan sink into the soapy water. Her voice quivered. “It’s just one more thing I have to take care of.” She bent at the waist to rest her forehead on the kitchen counter. “One more thing to manage.”
Roz picked her daughter-in-law up by the shoulders and brought her back to standing. “I think you could use a drink.”
They took their wine out to the backyard, settling down in two folding chairs. “Mind if I smoke?” Jessica said. She lit up before Roz could respond.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
Jessica blew smoke away from Roz, though the wind carried it in her direction anyway. “I hid it well. Anyway, I’m down to one cigarette a week, my little treat on Friday nights. And for emergencies, I guess.” She looked a picture: solo cup in one hand, cigarette in the other, but it was the frilly yellow apron that brought this sad Norman Rockwell together.
Roz felt compelled to say something reassuring. “You know,” she started, looking off into the distance over the roofs of adjacent bungalows, “when I was a kid, my sister brought home a stray kitten. She wanted a pet so badly. Me, I never cared much for animals and I don’t think my mother did either. My parents entertained the idea of keeping it for a while anyway, but my mother’s allergies were very severe. One day we came home from school to find the cat had disappeared from the house. My sister looked all over but even its toys and litter box were gone. It was only when she started to cry that my mother told her that a stray mummy and a stray daddy cat from off the street had come looking for their kitten that they missed terribly.” Roz’ focus snapped back to Jessica, who she could see was hanging on her every word. “So if you find your allergies are acting up, you call me and let me know because there might be a mummy and daddy dog looking for their missing retriever and I wouldn’t mind being the one to explain that to the children.”
Joe was indignant when he heard the dog was going up for adoption. “You can’t destabilize an animal like that,” he declared. Apparently, he felt such a strong sense of duty to the animal that he insisted he and Roz take the dog in, at least until he found a suitable family to entrust its care to. Roz had faith that her husband would honour his word, he knew she was no animal lover. She was confident the dog would be with them a month at most. What a fool she was; in her sixties and still naive, she couldn’t believe it. The dog stayed not a month. Oh no, Joe couldn’t seem to part with the little pooch and insisted that if the dog went, he’d go with it.
The dog was off like a racehorse as soon as it heard the front door open, skittering across the front hall to assault the interlopers with a maelstrom of barking and jumping.
“Stop that! Stop that!” Roz cried. The animal darted all over the room, too fast for her to grab by the collar. “Hello, welcome,” she said to her guests with a rueful curtsy. “Sorry about all this.”
This was not the tone Roz wanted to set for the evening. She’d pictured herself twirling into the foyer like Debbie Reynolds, her flouncy skirt billowing up ever-so, oozing charm as she asked about the drive, inquiring if Ethan and Tommy had stopped by any of the delightful shops in town. Instead, she was hunched over with a death-grip on a dog’s collar, being jerked left and right as the animal tried to evade her grasp.
“It’s quite alright,” Tommy said, holding out a bouquet. “These are for you, Mrs. O’Toole.”
Roz was delighted by the sight. “Fresh flowers, I adore fresh flowers, thank you.”
Tommy and Ethan exchanged a glance, making it plain that some coaching had transpired. Roz was smug that her son knew this would impress her and heartened that his boyfriend was eager to make an impression. “Joe!” she yelled. “Joe, come get the dog!”
“It’s alright, mom,” Ethan said, “just let her go.”
Of course the dog lunged at Ethan and Tommy as soon as Roz released her grip, launching itself at Tommy’s face just as he leaned over to give it a pet. Tommy reared back, wincing and covering his nose with his hand.
“Are you alright? Let me get a look at it,” Ethan said.
Knowing it had done wrong, the dog skittered out of the room. Roz apologized profusely. As Tommy turned to Ethan to let him examine the damage, Roz spotted a stream of crimson running over his lip. Her heart shuddered as her limbs went numb. The tile floor rushed toward her. She was out cold after that.
“Mom. Mom.” Roz came-to as Ethan tapped her on each cheek with the back of his hand. The boys had conveyed her to the living room couch while she was out of it. Joe had locked himself away with the dog in the bedroom so that it may not be underfoot, no doubt letting the animal up on Roz’ bed in the process.
Tommy offered her a glass of red wine. “For the patient.”
Ethan said: “Are you sure she should drink? She may be concussed.”
“Do you feel concussed?” Tommy asked Roz.
Roz thought about it. “No.”
“Good.” Tommy handed her the wineglass. “This will calm your nerves.”
The kitchen timer dinged. “That’ll be the chicken,” said Ethan. “Don’t talk about me while I’m gone.”
“You’re very good at this,” Roz said to Tommy once Ethan was out of the room, tilting her head at the glass.
Tommy sat down in the nearby armchair. “I had some practice playing nurse after Ethan’s knee surgery.”
“Surgery!” Roz shot up in her makeshift hospital bed. Tommy’s face fell. Roz supposed he didn’t realize he was making a revelation until it was too late.
“Dinner’s ready!” Ethan exclaimed from the kitchen, naive to the shift in conversation that had occurred in his absence. “Don’t move, mom! We’ll eat around the coffee table!”
“I set the table already!” Roz shouted back.
“I don’t think you should get up just yet. Have something to eat first. Tommy and I will sit on the floor, it’ll be fun!”
In a hushed tone, Roz said to Tommy: “When did Ethan have surgery?”
Tommy scratched the back of his head. “I’m not sure, Mrs. O’Toole.”
Ethan distributed the plates and cutlery and settled himself on the floor. No sooner had he tucked into his chicken than Roz turned to him and asked point blank: “When did you have knee surgery?” She wasn’t one for mincing, especially when it came to her children.
Ethan’s fork hovered halfway between his plate and his mouth, a speared piece of meat dangling from the tines. His gaze shifted from his mother to his boyfriend and back again. “I don’t know, mom, it was a while ago. It wasn’t a big deal.” He raised his eyebrows at Tommy. “Right, Thomas?”
Tommy squinted as he clawed at his scalp. “Not a big deal at all.”
Roz disregarded the brewing lovers’ quarrel to focus on her son. “I just think I ought to know if my son is injured–”
“Yes, mom.”
“–Or, god forbid, sick–”
“Yes, mom.”
“–That’s a non-negotiable for the woman who birthed you, do you understand?”
Ethan put his fork down, defeated. “Yes, mom. I’m sorry I didn’t call, I was on a lot of pain killers.”
“Then next time have your boyfriend call me on your behalf.” She turned to Tommy. “Do you think you can handle that?”
Tommy perked up and nodded. “Good.” Roz picked up her knife and fork. “Now we can enjoy our dinner.”
Roz would have roused her husband to attend to the whimpering dog were it not for his CPAP machine. Having to watch him go through the whole rigmarole of waking up and disconnecting everything just to come back minutes later to do the reverse was enough to compel Roz to take care of it herself. The dog wasn’t very well trained but at least it was housebroken. Roz followed the crying to the back door. She groped around in the dark for its leash in vain. The property wasn’t fenced so the dog couldn’t go out on its own. Exasperated, Roz chanced taking the dog out without a tether. Of course the animal bolted as soon as she slid the door open. “Fine,” she muttered, “run away for all I care.”
The dog took off around the corner, headed toward the driveway, likely smelling something there. Roz considered it just her luck for the dog to encounter a skunk on this night of all nights. As she slid the door closed behind her, she heard the faint sound of a car starting up, near enough that it could only be on their property. Either a stranger was lost in the backroads and had stopped in their driveway to turn around or Ethan and Tommy were leaving. But where could they be going at this hour?
A sharp yelp pierced the air. Recognition hit Roz like three simultaneous blows: one to the stomach, one to the chest, and one to the head. Oh god, the dog. Her vision swam as she staggered to the front of the house, bracing herself with one arm against the exterior wall. “Don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint,” she repeated to herself.
Tommy stood in the driveway, the beams projected from his car illuminating him like prison searchlights. He stared down, petrified by what lay under his car, his eyes glazed over in dissociative shock. And what was under his car? Well, the dog, of course. At least, what was once the dog and was now a mangled pile of bones, fur, and guts.
Roz called Tommy’s name once, and then again when he didn’t answer. “Thomas!” she hissed in a stage whisper. He said nothing but he did make eye contact with her at last. “Wait here,” she instructed. She ran to the house, returning with two cups and the half-finished bottle of red from dinner. “Get in,” she said, jerking her head toward the car.
“What?”
“You can stand out here and get eaten alive by mosquitoes or you can get in this car with me to talk strategy.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. They piled into the front seats. Roz switched the idle car off, pulled the loose cork out of the bottle with her teeth, and poured them each a glass. Roz handed Tommy his cup. “Spitball with me. First thought, best thought.” Tommy said nothing. “Fine, I’ll go first. We burn the body in the fire pit out back. Thoughts?” Tommy remained silent, the cup shaking in his hand. “Thoughts, Tommy!”
“Uh… Might draw attention.”
“Good. Okay, your turn.”
“Um… We canoe out to the middle of the lake and toss the body in for a burial at sea.”
Roz nodded. “Okay… Okay… Seems unsafe to canoe out in the middle of the night. What will we say if one of us drowns? Your wine’s getting warm.”
Tommy took a long draught.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Nice, yeah.”
“Can I ask where you were going when you ran over our dog?”
Tommy’s hand went up to the back of his head. “Just going for a drive.”
“Don’t lie to me, Tommy. I can see you’re about to scratch, it’s your tell.”
Tommy dropped his hand. “Ethan and I had a fight, I don’t know if you heard.”
Roz shook her head. “Can’t hear anything over Joe’s CPAP machine.”
“Wish I hadn’t said that, then.”
“What was the fight about?”
“Ethan was upset I mentioned his surgery.”
Roz brushed her hair back with her fingers. “I think I have a right to know when my son is injured.”
Tommy kissed his teeth. “I know, but he didn’t want to worry you at the time and then it seemed like it was too late to tell you once he was better and the guilt and shame just kind of compounded as time went by until it seemed like it was all too much and we had to just forget about it.” He took a deep breath, having said all this in one gasp.
“There’s a lot Ethan doesn’t tell me, isn’t there?”
“I get that sense, yes.”
Roz fixed her gaze on the darkened house. “He’s had my number a long time. A mother always knows when she’s being lied to. Ethan’s smart, he learned to omit the truth instead of fudging it. Well, I guess we all have our secrets.” Roz raised her glass to Tommy. “Right, killer?” Tommy’s jaw dropped. Roz tried and failed to suppress a victorious smile, proud of herself for eliciting this reaction. They both dissolved into hysterical peels, howling with laughter until tears rolled down.
Reality set back in fast for Tommy. “I killed a dog, Mrs. O’Toole.”
“Call me Roz.” She threw back the last of her wine. “Now let’s bury this fucker.”
It seemed appropriate that the dog’s funeral be held at the cottage, the last place it was seen alive. Joe and Ethan held out hope for a while that the animal might return. Joe went so far as to flyer cottage country with missing posters. Meanwhile, Roz counted down the weeks to the end of summer when falling leaves followed by falling snow would obscure the unmarked grave deep in the woods. Ethan and Tommy came down for the memorial, as did Jessica and Roz’ eldest. They had to reschedule once because Ethan came down with COVID. Tommy had phoned Roz to explain the prognosis. She was happy to hear it was a mild case. She found herself happy to hear any news from Tommy.
Joe erected a little statue for the dog. Roz knit her brow at the striking resemblance when she saw it for the first time. She was not thrilled by the prospect of this stark reminder forever tarnishing her vacation property. She knew she’d get used to it though. Three decades of marriage and child-rearing had imbued her with the patience to withstand any irritation. It was her philosophy that any annoyance presents one with three options: fight, fly, or endure, maybe for a short time, maybe for the rest of your life. One thing that could be said for Roz: there was a lot she could endure.
The men loaded the dog’s toys into a little box and lowered it into the ground. The plywood crate wasn’t a four-person lift, but each took a corner for the sake of ceremony. Roz and Jessica stood off to the side to observe the burial. While the rest were out of earshot, Jessica leaned over and asked Roz: “What’s the skinny on the new guy?”
“Tommy?” Roz paused to consider her response. “I like him. I think he’s on our side.”
“An ally?”
“An ally.”
Neither took their sunglasses off for the duration of the service, but neither cried either. Roz felt a bit misty thinking about how many relatives’ funerals she’d attended or would soon attend. Her own wasn’t too far off in her estimation, but she folded that thought up and put it away for the time being. She still had much to look forward to. Her grandchildren were young and perhaps there would be more on the way soon. Ethan looked so grownup in his suit and tie with Tommy by his side. There was a lovely symmetry between them, like bookends. A kernel of hope sprouted in Roz that they might raise children of their own someday.
Joe fell asleep on the couch after lunch. Roz would have liked his help cleaning up but didn’t feel entitled to cajole him given the monumental secret she harboured. She once again found herself at the kitchen sink with her daughter-in-law, scrubbing and rinsing as a team.
“Shame about the dog,” Jessica said without conviction.
Roz nodded with mock solemnity.
“I do feel guilty about it. It was the kids’ pet for a short time, after all. Do you think your mother felt guilty about your sister’s cat?”
Roz turned to her daughter-in-law. “Huh?”
“Your sister’s cat.” Jessica put her sponge down. “Remember, you told me that whole story about your mom getting rid of your sister’s cat because of her ‘allergies.’”
“Oh. Right.” Roz flipped the tap on and went back to rinsing. “I made that whole thing up so you’d feel better.”
“What?” Jessica flipped the tap back off. “You lied to me?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Hm. I guess it did.”
“Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Roz figured Jessica had plenty to worry about as it was, all mothers do.
Tommy stepped into the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
A rush of tenderness swelled in Roz’ chest as she beheld the man she hoped to someday call son-in-law. “Tommy! I’m so glad you asked. We need someone to dry.”
About the Author
Some people are just spineless. Some people are weak, mealy-mouthed neurotics and I want to know what makes them tick.
Hi, I'm Spencer. I'm a writer obsessed with the inner lives of people who have three deadbolts on their door, who won't take the subway for fear of the tunnel collapsing, and who would rather die than have sex with the lights on. spineless is my fiction newsletter that explores how we become these people and the forces that compel us to change our ways. In my stories you'll read about characters fighting with everything they have to maintain or reassert the status quo, even when the status quo is anything but normal.