The Dog Park. Laura Caldwell

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СКАЧАТЬ even harder, his little golden legs churning.

      “Take it easy, buddy,” I said, but I smiled. As Baxter’s legs churned faster, I could see the images flying through his head—the dog friends he might see, the birds he might chase.

      I looked at my watch, hoping the other dog owners we knew would be there. We were people who probably wouldn’t know each other otherwise. But our dogs were friends. Odd and simple as that. And so we had roughly learned each other’s schedules. And we shot to meet up in the late morning like now.

      At this hour, during the weeks Sebastian had Baxter at his place, I really didn’t know what to do with myself. Sometimes, I would still go to the park and chat with the others, but I always felt forlorn, rubbing the mini tennis ball inside my pocket, no dog to throw to, always missing Baxter. Sometimes Sebastian.

      Although any missing of the ex would stop now, I reminded myself, since I planned to come alive without Sebastian.

      We reached the park and, as hoped, some of Baxter’s pals and their owners were there. Among the dogs was Comiskey—a border collie named after former White Sox Comiskey Park, but called Miskie for short—and a pug named Miss Puggles. The pug had a historical air about her, one of a heavy, corseted woman who talked in a high voice, always held an aperitif in hand, but Miss Puggles was always social and friendly. Rounding out Baxter’s pals in attendance was a tiny scrap of white fluff named Daisy. Daisy must have weighed all of eight pounds, but she had the heart of a German shepherd. She chased after the other dogs, her little legs racing doubly fast.

      As we entered the park, Daisy skidded into the sandy baseball pitch after a ball. Then Baxter and Daisy saw each other, and, as always, it was all Romeo and Juliet. Daisy’s head raised, the ball dropped, and as she churned her little legs toward Baxter, he did, too—two lovers racing across a green lawn to tangle and nip at each other.

      Bax jumped and picked up the pace, making Daisy speed after him in pursuit. I stopped momentarily, thinking how similar their relationship was to Sebastian’s and mine—an awful lot of chasing on my part. But that was all done. I reminded myself I would thrive on my own. With my dog. (Whenever I got to have him.)

      I walked over and spoke to Daisy’s owner, Maureen, who was talking with the British couple who owned the pug.

      “Did Daisy go to the groomers?” Tabitha, the wife, asked Maureen.

      “We had to. She found something dead in our alley and before I could stop her, she flipped over and rolled in it.”

      “Eew,” we all said.

      “Thank God Miss Puggles doesn’t do that,” Tabitha said. “She wouldn’t deign to.”

      We watched as Miss Puggles sassed around the park, heavy-snouted with a light, sashaying rear. Baxter spun away from Daisy and tried to entice Miss Puggles into playing. Eventually, he turned his sights back on Daisy, and the whole thing started again.

      “So you have Baxter back,” Al said to me.

      “Yeah. I missed him so much.”

      “I don’t know how you guys do it.”

      He said this to me at least a few times a month.

      His wife swatted his arm. “Al, leave it.”

      “Hey, have you guys ever tried that bitter apple spray?” Maureen said. “Daisy is still chewing the one end of my couch. It’s making me crazy!”

      We talked for the next thirty minutes about all things dog, from the food we fed them and their digestive systems, to their antics and habits.

      The group broke up when Maureen announced she had a lunch date.

      “Great. Have fun,” I said, wishing I had a lunch date myself. But who did I want that date to be with? I had no idea.

      I hadn’t met many people since Sebastian and I split up. I’d made a stab at internet dating, but felt too out of the game to make a decision to go out with any of the guys who’d written me. I’d since canceled my membership. I was too concerned, apparently, with picking over the life I’d had with Sebastian.

      But now that I’d decided to move on, I should grab opportunities. Maybe I’d go out with the weather guy that my broadcaster friend was always trying to set me up with. Maybe I’d try to date online again. I’d go after business harder, maybe start courting some of the local magazines more so I could style their shoots.

      Bax and I continued our walk and when we reached the busy intersection of North and Clark I decided to take Baxter toward the nature museum and the creek behind it.

      We stopped for a moment at the corner. “Sit,” I said to Baxy. He did so obediently. I smiled a smug grin, thinking, He is such a good dog. Sebastian and I got so lucky.

      “Hey, Mrs. Hess.”

      It didn’t used to irk me when people called me that. Sebastian was fairly well-known in Chicago and I was known as his wife. So although I hadn’t taken Sebastian’s name, preferring Jessica Champlin to Jess Hess, I never minded. But now that we were split up, now that I was on my own, it bothered me.

      I turned. Then it didn’t bother me so much. “Hi, Vinnie.”

      Vinnie was a sweet fifteen-year-old kid. I’d known him for a few years, since Sebastian and I had moved to this neighborhood. Back then, he went by William or Will. That was his middle name. (Apparently, his parents had named him Vincent only as a tribute to a grandfather who died on the day he was born.) But recently, upon entering high school, apparently in protest to some perceived injustice, Will started calling himself Vinnie. His parents hated it, so he kept using it. He’d told me this one time when Bax and I were at the park and Vinnie was hanging around shooting short films on his phone.

      The kid was always behind that phone, videoing something. Often he chuckled, scolded himself for a bad shot or generally just mumbled low, narrating, apparently.

      Once he showed me the short films he’d made. Some were silent, with a sort of French feel. Others were loud, raucous street scenes. He seemed to like the juxtaposition of the two. After that, I’d looked at the webpage where he posted his films, and saw he had a lot of followers online. A hell of a lot more than I did.

      “Hey, Baxter,” Vinnie said. He bent and petted Baxter on the head. Baxter batted his golden tail on the ground.

      “How’s he doing?” Vinnie said, pointing to the dog.

      “Good. I just got him back from his dad.” Yeah, that was how I talked. I was Baxter’s mom and Sebastian his dad. I was fully aware that I was a childless woman in her thirties whose dog was her kid. (Hence Baxter’s winter sweaters that were just waiting to be worn and the fact that I sometimes signed emails to friends, “Jess and Baxter.” I wasn’t even embarrassed.)

      Baxter stood suddenly, his nose pointed across the street, his eyes peering.

      I saw a mastiff walking with his owner. (His dad, I mean.) Although Baxter weighed all of fifteen pounds, he often seemed to think he was heavier and wanted to play with dogs much larger than he was.

      I considered going back to the park, where it appeared the mastiff was heading, but then Bax strained on the leash even more.

      “Sit,” СКАЧАТЬ