Page 17 of Marcus in Retrograde
I grabbed the pen and paper and wrote up a quick note, and as fast and as neat as I could, I sketched out a simple drawing offering an apology and the potential to make peace with me and the Wall Barking Wunderhund.
Pollux was nearly dancing in front of the door by the time I got done and he pulled hard on the leash as I headed for the bulletin board. He made a beeline for the stairs, but I stopped him just long enough to pin the note. He pulled so hard I thought I was going to go ass over teakettle down them before I could get him to heel.
“Dude, stop! I know you have to pee! You wouldn’t be in a rush if you didn’t bark at walls!”
He made it to the fire hydrant, thank God. I was afraid he was going to pee on the steps. The grocery store manager was outside hosing off the front of his place and I asked if I could borrow the hose.
“I wash. I watch so many dog peess on hydrant, I wash every day.”
“Thank you! He doesn’t usually make that a habit.”
He waved me off. “You have good dog. No worries friend. At least you not drop a turd in front of my fruits and pretend you not see it.”
I grimaced. “Ew.”
“Very much ew. That is why we wash!”
Laughing, I headed down the block to the cross street and up to Washington Park. Apparently, Pollux had been pregaming and peed on every tree along the way, and on the way back. He was such a funny, friendly looking dog that people always wanted to make friends with him. Once around the park, though, and I was ready to go back.
I really just wanted to sit down, eat dinner on the couch and try relaxing a bit. The Brooklyn Brown Ale was calling my name.
CHASE
MISTER ABRAMOVICHWAS HOSING the hydrant again. I was glad that he was—there were some nasty people in this city. I waved and walked into the bodega, heading for the vegetables and meats.
I stood staring at them for a minute, trying to figure out what I felt like cooking, if I felt like cooking and what the hell to cook.
Living next door to Abramovich and Daughter was the best thing ever. I rarely kept more than a day’s worth of food in the house because they were right there, and everything was fresh. I cooked almost every night. Noah had laughed that I shopped every day, but when we compared our spending and our food waste, he was sold and found a great little bodega by his place.
I didn’t want anything complicated, so I grabbed a head of lettuce, a package of bacon, a cucumber and called it lettuce wedge salad kind of night.
Heading back out of the store, I danced around the hose that Mr. Abramovich was using, and swearing at. Apparently another dog owner had let their precious crap in front of his apples. Just from listening to him, I had picked up the wordsstupid motherfuckersin Russian, and he was using it liberally now.
Kieran had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch the night before and fled in a panic in the morning. We’d teasingly texted each other all day and immediately saw that while Kieran wasn’t going to be a love interest, he was going to be a real friend. And that was worth the time I’d invested getting to know him. I’d already invited him to the bar on Thursday.
Kieran: It wasn’t even a walk of shame, it was a flat out run of horror. I’m just getting home now and ohdearGod, I need a shower.
I laughed at the text as I walked up the stairs. Yeah, this guy was going to be a winner in the friends department.
The giant green 301 on the bulletin caught my attention, and I stopped to pluck the new note off the board.
Last night had been the worst night yet for all the barking. And barking. And barking. I had determined that after the first morning note had disappeared, the situation had warranted a second note. This dog just could not keep barking overnight.
Even the sweet retiree the floor below had said something to me about Barky McBarkerson.
Depositing everything in the kitchen, I took a moment to turn on the oven to cook the bacon for my bacon crumbles. I dropped the note on the table and decided the shower that I also needed would wait until closer to bedtime.
I stared at the note again.
I liked animals. I did. They were wonderful. But in close quarters like this, where the buildings were old, and the walls weren’t insulated or soundproofed…dogs had to not bark. Even if it was my own dog. Even it was the most adorable or awkward pup ever.
Snatching the paper back, I flipped it open.
301
I think my dog is broken. I have no idea why he barks at the walls. But what if we call a truce? There’s a chance that this moron may just be barking because he doesn’t know you. Meet him? And enjoy a beer with me over an afternoon of Cubbies baseball?
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