Jonathan pressed himself up against a tree for cover. He turned up the collar of his jacket, trudged the three blocks to Tompkins Square Park in the rain, unclipped the leashes, and off they ran, skipping for joy, sniffing other dogs and snaffling up bits of discarded food. How lucky was it, mused Jonathan, though it was way too late to move now. “You have a dog run practically across the street! How lucky is that?” It was one of the deciding factors for James. Most dog owners in New York had to walk miles to find one, or hire someone to transport their dogs to Central Park. Jonathan looked up and saw the critics at the door, waiting. He sensed they disapproved of his lifestyle. At the beginning he’d demur, saying they belonged to his brother in Dubai, but after a while he just said, “Thank you,” and “Your dog is nice too,” even when the other dog wasn’t, particularly.īut lately something had shifted in his relationship with them. They were good-looking dogs, and people stopped him on the street to admire his fine taste in pets. Long walks took the place of going to the gym, and the dogs’ ability to sleep calmed him, took the edge off work. He had to admit it was nice being greeted with enthusiasm when he came home from a hard day at the advertising coal mine. AWere they plotting to take over his life? And if so, how? “And stop confounding me with impossible philosophical options.” Her back was to him now, as was Dante’s, their heads together. And if it did, would it be wise to turn them over to a dog? The reins to his life? He hadn’t even known his life had reins. She emitted a soft whine, a pleading noise that might have meant anything - I’m hungry, I need more love, we’re bored here all day, please turn over the reins to your life so we can sort you out. Sissy padded up beside him and sat at his feet, looking yearningly into his face as if searching for the key to her future. Jonathan very much wanted the dogs to be happy, but it was turning out not to be as simple as walks and bones. He never once mentioned the byzantine quality of his dogs’ inner lives, the practical and spiritual difficulties of caring for other sentient beings, the intense and constant scrutiny to which Jonathan was now subject. James (typically, it had to be said) had understated the nature of the ask.
They’re great dogs and won’t trash your place. “Take them out before you go to work and when you get home again in the evening.
“Just a few months, six maximum? Don’t worry about changing your lifestyle,” his brother pleaded. Jonathan came home from work one day to find the dogs talking about him. ***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***
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