Page 42 of Maybe in Another Life

“We gotta get that dog,” he says, just as I have my hand on the door handle, about to jump out and chase it down. We both get out of the car and run toward the dog, watching out for any possible oncoming traffic.

I can see it, just up ahead.

“On the right side of the street by the Dumpster,” I say. “Can you see it?”

Ethan comes toward me, looking. He starts walking slowly after the dog.

“Hey, buddy,” he says when he gets close. The dog prances on down the street, not a care in the world. Ethan creeps up, trying to grab hold, but the moment the dog sees him coming, it runs in the other direction. I run a bit faster and try to cut the dog off on the other side, but I just miss it. The dog is brown and a dingy white, bigger than I thought from far away but still on the smaller side, a terrier of some kind. Shaggy but short-haired, small but feisty.

There’s a car coming. Ethan once again gets close and tries to grab the dog but fails. The dog thinks we are playing a game.

The car is now barreling down the road. I start to fill with panic that the dog will run into the street again. I’m a few feet away. The dog is playfully prancing off in the other direction.

I growl at it, loudly. I give it the best animal-like roar I can muster.

It stops in its tracks. I turn away from it and start running, hoping it will chase me. It does. Just as quickly as it was running away from me, it’s now running toward me. When it reaches my feet, it jumps up onto me. I quickly bend down and pick it up. The car flies past us. Relief washes over me.

It’s a female. No collar. No tags.

Ethan comes running up to meet me. I am holding the dog in my arms.

“Christ,” he says. “I honestly thought she was a goner.”

“I know,” I say. “But she’s OK. We got her.”

She has curled right into my chest. She is licking my hand.

“Well, clearly, this dog is a trained killer,” Ethan says.

I laugh. “Yeah, I have no doubt she’s just biding her time until she can attack.”

“So no tags,” Ethan says. “No leash, no nothing.”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “My guess is we will have to take her to a vet tomorrow and see if she’s chipped. Put some fliers up.”

“OK,” he says. “In the meantime...”

“We can’t leave her out on the street,” I say. “Do you have room fortwowomen to join you this evening?”

Ethan nods. “I’m sure we can find a spot for her.”

We both start walking back to the car. When we get there, Ethan opens the door for both of us.

“We should probably name her,” I say. “You know, temporarily.”

“You don’t think we can just call her the Dog?” Ethan says as he goes around to his side.

“No, I think she deserves a noble name. Something epic. Grandiose.”

“A big name for a small dog,” Ethan offers.

I nod. “Exactly.”

Ethan starts driving. We think for a minute, and then I’m convinced I’ve got it. “Charlemagne,” I say. “She’s little Charlemagne.”

“Charlemagne was a man,” Ethan says. “Does that matter?”

“But doesn’t it sort of sound more like a woman’s name?”

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