By: Anonymous —
“Where have all the good men gone?” I sing along with Bonnie Tyler.
Such a great day of firsts. First morning in my very first apartment, first time I ever go to our local shelter to get – yes – my very first dog. I’m going to college now, and I refuse to live at home. I am determined to get that puppy I’ve always craved: something small, sweet, dependent on me and me on him. Yes.
When I was growing up, Mom always demurred when I begged for a puppy.
“Angie, you know your dad is badly allergic to dogs! Do you want to make him completely miserable?” She’d say, her spiked blond, pink-tipped hair wagging from side to side in emphasis. She’s still tiny, Mom. But her mouth isn’t.
What could I say to that?
“I know he’s badly allergic to lackabooze-itis.” or, “He’s allergic to anything that takes our total attention away from him?” or – well, you get the idea. Bit of a control freak, Dad. He dictated what I’d wear until I was halfway through high school and only stopped when I threatened to go commando. insisted everything be done a certain way – a way that pleased him – and when that didn’t happen, well, unpleasant things did.
“I need a hero!” I’m now belting out at the top of my lungs as I exit I65, and isn’t that the truth? Males whose cheeks bulge with chewing tobacco, who have a hand out for my wallet or my keys, or a propensity to leave the lid up – these males need not reply. A normal hero would do! Happy in his work, secure in his masculinity, his confidence. A stellar sense of humor, and good looks. Yes.
Driving to- the shelter, the world’s exploding with birth. Dogwoods in full happy white dress, redbuds in flame. The air with that clean, new smell that only April in Nashville can bring. And the pretty blue lights on the cop car I’m cruising past at 80- crap!
Another first. He drives right past me. Must have other fish to fry, as Mom says.
And here’s the long, low brick building with “Nashville Animal Shelter,” and a pawprint on the sign out front. I pull into the parking lot, bumpy, and the white lines are so faded it’s hard to tell where, exactly, to park. This shelter has been here 40 plus years, and they’re never exactly flush with money. What little cash they do get – well, it goes to the dogs. So to speak.
This wonderful Friday, I waltz in like a queen. For once I’m not here to play with and walk dogs that someone else will take home! Then a little shard of fear gets me right in the gut.
How do I pick the right puppy? Yes, I want a little puppy that I can train myself. And nothing that’s going to grow over 20 pounds: my apartment isn’t big enough for a large dog. But what if there are a lot of these to choose from? How do I pick “the one” for me? These thoughts, along with sheer bliss, are raining onto my consciousness as I open the creaky, Halloween-style screen door.
“Angie! What’re you doin’ here? You’re not working today,” Fred at the counter says. A large, caramel-colored soul, Fred thinks more of animals than humans and is happy to tell you so. He’s also addicted to Krispy Kreme donuts, and that’s something he doesn’t share. Literally or figuratively.
“No, I’m not. I’m here as a client! Finally.” Trying not to hop like a kid for the sheer joy I felt.
“Hey cool! Let me page Joanna, and we’ll go on back.”
Several moments later, he’s leading me down the aisle of Dog Central. Puppies and moms on both sides! My head is swiveling like the periscope of a sub. And then I spot something.
At the end, on the right, there’s a flash of gold, a pile of dark grey hair. I squint. That flash of gold again: it’s an eye! Peering at me from beneath – what? It looks like hair extensions for the aged.
“Ang, don’t even think about that fellow. He ain’t small at-tall and you want a little pup, right? That fellow likely–”
Whine, yip. And so help me, a slow wink from that golden eye! I find myself walking down the aisle, curiosity pushing me. And then I see him, curled into the smallest dog knot possible.
“Well, I’ll be. Look at you, all smushed up like that! You really think she won’t notice your size when you do something outrageous like, maybe, stand up?” His laughter booms out, setting several dogs to barking.
This one – a German Shepherd/Husky mix according to the card on his door- merely stands and, so help me, heaves a dog sigh.
He is beyond beautiful, I can’t help but notice. He has a rich, thick coat that transitions from deep grey to a delicate silver on his belly. The long, elegant black muzzle and those incredible golden eyes that seem to look deep inside me.
“Have mercy, forget my size,” they’re saying. “You can’t leave me in here, I’m almost bigger than their cages already!”
He’s big, and his feet are the size of saucers!
“How old is he?” Surely, he’s 4 to 6 years old meaning, of course, that he’s stopped growing.
“Lupa’s a year old.”
Oh no. But those eyes – he heaves his un-small puppy self to his feet and he’s even more magnificent, with a flowing tail that he’d had wrapped over his nose.
“Well, let’s go back and look at those pug pups. The Mom is adorable!”
~
Half an hour later, we’re on the way home – me and, of course, Lupa himself sitting in the passenger seat of my ’62 Stang. He’s looking most elegant as he stares out the windshield. All he needs is a hat and glasses, then I can finally use the HOV lane! My tiny puppy.
Pulling into the gate of my complex, I see Charlie’s old Merc is home. My next-door neighbor, Charlie, is a rather hefty guy with a mostly bald head and the most acerbic sense of humor. I have to grin, thinking of what he’ll say when he sees Lupa for the first time.
I park next to the Merc, let Lupa out attached to the leash they’d given me. He’s quite the gentleman, padding along next to my knee like he’s done it all his life.
“Ang! That ain’t small, and sure as hell ain’t no puppy. Girl, what you thinking?” Charlie calls down from his balcony.
“That you aren’t right for once because guess what? He’s only a year old – is too a puppy!”
“Christ on a crutch! He’ll be a huge bastard, won’t he? Where are you gonna have him sleep? Hanging in the closet?”
“On my bed, of course.”
“Cool. Be you hanging in the closet, then?”
I have to laugh. “He’s not gonna be that big.” By now, I’m fitting the key into the lock and Charlie’s come out of his door, is scratching a happy Lupa behind big furry ears.
“I see why you got him,” he says. “Right cute, isn’t he?”
The dog kind of purr-moans deep in his throat and rubs against Charlie’s leg.
“Who’s the big man, then? Who’s the big man with the big feet!” Charlie croons to him. “He part wolf or what?”
“Or what. Husky and German Shepherd,” I say.
“Hm. You know ‘Lupa’ is Spanish for ‘wolf’, right?”
I feel my eyebrows shoot skyward. “Really? Well, what’s in a name?” Still, I find myself twirling my grandma’s wedding ring, a major tell that I’m nervous.
“A wolf should smell as sweet.” We crack up and then Charlie heads back home.
I stare at my place with dismay. Next to my white leather couch is a brand-new puppy bed, which Lupa might get one huge foot into. Hell! Tiny puppy toys. But at least I have puppy food in the kitchen. I prepare a bowl for him and bring it out. “Here you go, fella.”
He sniffs it, and so help me he gives me a look like I just farted: full of disdain. After which he stalks to the backdoor, nudges it open. Trots into my small, fenced backyard. The phone rings and it’smy Mom calling:I tell her about Lupa.
“But you know your dad-“ she starts to warn me.
“Ain’t here!” I finish for her with joy and no little satisfaction.
“Humph! Well, you know what that means! Likely we’ll never come over.”
“Humph,” I respond, with a grin in my voice: couldn’t resist. Bonus points!, I think to myself. We both laugh and finally hang up.
I head to the backyard – but there’s no Lupa.
The dog has vanished.
~
“Luuuuuuuupa! Lupa! Where’d you go?” I hear nothing. “Come back boy, c’mon!”
Nothing.
“Hey – you come back I’ll grill steaks.” Nothing. “For BOTH of us!”
I hear a scrambling noise, and a certain dark nose appears at the top of the 7’ wall. Another second and the rest of him follows, coming quicklyand bumps my leg until I give him a scratch. “You devil, you wanted that steak didn’t you?” I’m rewarded for my perception with a wag of his long tail.
While the steaks are on the grill, I see how far Lupa’s training has gone. He does a decent shake, enough for me to realize that his great dark grey paw is bigger than my hand. Which isn’t saying much, really. At 5’2 with tiny bones, I still get teased for “baby hands.”
Sit, stay: he has both of those down pat. Roll over, not so much. But once I show him the concept, he learns quickly that if he rolls onto his back with all four giant feet in the air, it’s good for a belly scratch. He comes when I call, sort of. If he isn’t doing anything else more interesting, like investigating the yard, sniffing the entire apartment from the sofa table next to the front door to my cherry four-poster bed in my room upstairs.
As he seems to have the basics down pat, I hit YouTube to see what else I can teach him. Fetching me a Coke would be great, so we work on his pulling a rag to open the fridge. He catches on fast, I must say.
Over the next few days, I learn that life with a dog is completely unlike life without, even if you work at home as I do. I must get up in the morning to let him out for a pee, whether I’m fully awake or not. Feed him same time daily as all the training sites say to do. When I never do anything at the same time from one day to the next! Who’s being trained here, him or me?, I ask myself.
On Saturday, Charlie comes over to see how we’re doing and is amazed at the tricks Lupa has picked up! Especially when he gets the dog to fetch him a beer! Lupa’s delighted with Charlie as well, flinging himself into Charlie’s lap the minute the guy sits on the couch. I think Charlie relishes Lupa’s delight at the ear scratches, the pats, the belly rubs. Hell, he makes an entire fool himself!
All of which makes it somehow worse, All of which comes into sharp contrast when later that night, those golden eyes focus on the front door, go to slits and a menacing growl issues from deep within his doggy self. I’m scared to death as he’s met several of my friends and never flicked an ear. I mute the TV, better to hear what’s out there.
And sure enough, there’s the ever-so-slight noise of a shoe scraping the top step. I jerk straight up on the couch, Lupa hits the floor, his side against my knees as he presses me backwards, growling. Oddly enough, he doesn’t bark – even when we hear the unmistakable click as someone tries to turn my locked doorknob. I hate to admit it, but I was crying a little with sheer terror. This happens on TV shows, not in my comfy little apartment. And never to me before, never anything remotely like –
Now the sound of a low whisper just beyond the door triggers something I don’t expect when Lupa launches 80 pounds of enraged dog at the door, and hits it with a resounding BANG! Now he’s barking all right, deep, menacing barks intermixed with growls. He’s scaring the living shit out of me – I can’t imagine how the intruders must feel. Even worse, if there’s any justice, I’m thinking as I dial 911.
The police arrive and Lupa greets them like any young puppy would.
“Girl, I bet he’s useless as a guard dog” The one cop said. With bright red hair curling from under the blue cap and freckles all over his round face, this guy looks 15, tops.
“You might be surprised. When they tried the doorknob, he hit that door like he meant to go right through it, open or no,” I say.
The cop looks at Lupa with new respect. “Not a useless big ole fella after all, are you?” He leans down, gives a chin scratch. Lupa manages to drool all over those shiny brown police-issue shoes.
The cops find nothing and leave so Lupa and I climb the stairs to go to bed. I turn on a detective story, but I have so much adrenaline flowing that I can’t relax, much less sleep. Lupa’s big golden eyes follow me as I turn over, fluff the sheets, flip the pillow until it’s nice and cool, and turn back over again. I Throw the sheets off, as it’s just too hot to sleep!
Then, unbelievably, I feel something long and soft going up and down my back – like a lover’s fingertips! I crane my neck around, and Lupa is facing the wall away from me whilst his enormous tail swipes ever so gently up, down. Up, down. This is possibly the neatest dog I’ve ever heard of. Though at this point I’m not entirely sure who owns whom.
He yelps like the puppy he is while his long black nose roots down my tank top. I laugh, hit the bathroom and fill his water bowl for the night. In perfect puppy style he sucks the entire thing dry and half an hour later, just as I’m about to fall asleep, he whines. He needs to pee, of course.
At the bottom of the stairs, he doesn’t turn right towards the backyard. Oh no, not at 2AM. He’s at the front door, eying his new leash. A walk at this hour? C’mon, buddy, you can go in the backyard like other good puppies.
Five minutes later we’re headed down the outside steps cross the parking lot toward the street, with Lupa straining at the end of his leash. We hit the sidewalk and turn to walk south, me marveling at how utterly deserted the streets are at this time of night. I’m just thinking that I could learn to enjoy late-night walks like this when there’s one hell of a bang, Lupa rips out an agonized, high yelp. Just before his entire body collapses across my feet with blood pulsing from one hip, he bites me right above the anklehard!
“Lupa! Why did you bite-“ Bite what? Everything is suddenly fuzzy, like someone slipped me a roofie. I know Lupa’s there, I can feel his weight and the dreadful warmth of his blood as it runs down my sandaled foot to the ground. I can’t see him though, I realize as I float to the ground, while barks, growls, curses, fists hitting flesh – all the sounds of a street fight swirl around me. For some reason I’m feeling really sick, like you do when you have the flu. Every joint aches, my skin feels over-heated, like burning spiders are crawling over it but where Lupa bit me on my lower calf, it feels oddly cold and numb.
I hear someone groaning over and over again, then I realize it’s me.
I hear several cars start before they screech off into the night.
“…get that bullet out,” a low male voice is saying: everything sounds garbled, broken up.
“… two more days … moon,” another responds.
I feel Lupa’s dead weight leave my leg.
“Lupa, bro… eating? Weigh a ton.”
A gasp, then “…he does!… in the backseat… get the girl.”
“You… kidding … pulls… shit now?”
“Enough! … your brother… talking about.”
A low female voice. “And your Alpha.”
But then the heat and pain overwhelms me in alternating waves as the darkness around me becomes me… I’m out.
Time passes, but I have no idea how much even though I partially wake every now and then. There’s a familiar rumbling whine somewhere close, but it’s not until broad daylight that I wake up briefly to see I’m on a plane, a private one, by the looks of elegant couches, tables, and swiveling chairs. I try to sit up, but everything blacks – out…again.
The next time I’m aware, at all, of anything,I’m being carried through darkness.. A wretched wave of nausea hits me , and I groan, vomiting profusely.
“Roll her on her side,” a male voice says.
“Poor thing,” a girl adds. “Get her to the -“
Swirling lights. There are scents of, heavy dank greenery, and the yowl of a howler monkey. A howler–? I’m on a rough, nubby surface. A couch. My head is spinning and I’m so thirsty.
“Water, please.” My throat is so dry I sound like Chucky. My head, useless, flops to the side, when a wonderful wet scent tickles my nose. I barely manage to roll back and do a face plant into a bowl of life-giving water. I see a pair of concerned, golden eyes looking down at me. A hank of black hair falls over one of them as he leans forward, oh he’s holding the bowl.
He who? He’s got dark olive skin, a wide chest with dark little nipples like black olives, who is he? Who? There’s a scent of wildness as he leans down to kiss me, murmuring.
“You’ll soon be better, love. And it will all have been worth-“
I’m out.
When I awaken, I’m in a bed fit for a queen. There’s filmy, almost iridescent silk falling from the peaks of narrowly-carved posts, and scores of pillows holding me up. Where on earth am I?, I wonder to myself. I’ve certainly had the mother of all weird dreams, from howler monkeys to Alphas. What’s wrong with me?
Lupa! Where is he? He was shot, I suddenly recall. “Lupa?” My voice is low, scratchy, dry. “Lupa!”
There are sounds of four heavy paws running in, and then something damp and dense swipes my face from lips to eyebrows. “Lupa, are you alright, sweety? Turn around, let me see your hip.” He does, and I see it’s been shaved and athere’s a round area that’s been stitched closed. A gun shot. God, it was a…
Black dots swirl around my head as a memory forces itselfback in – that shot! The bite, those voices.
Wait! The BITE?
Out
When I next come to, it’s night, and there’s a thick breeze running over my heated self. My so-dry self. “Water? Please?”
A guy with a large nose, dark skin, and smile whiter than any I’d ever seen is holding me against his chest. “Drink, sweet.” He proffers a glass, I smell the sharp, clean scent of fresh lemon and my gut growls with meaning. “Drink, then we’ll see to food.”
I struggle to sit up, propping myself against him. “Who – who?”
“Al – you can call me Al.” He gives me another dazzling grin, and a look at those beautiful golden eyes.
“Al. Where am I?”
He looked uncomfortable suddenly, eyes darting right, then left. “Family island compound. Safe here.”
“Safe from what?” I ask with my voice cracking as I grab that glass finally, and drain it it just a few quick gulps. And to my shame, it all right back up.“Sorry, so-“
Out.
I’m not unconscious forlong this time. Al hasn’t moved under me, is still holding me in his lap. I know this. In the same way I know the full moon has risen only a degree or two more. What? How should I –
“Angie, we’re taking you out to meet the moon. Be all better shortly,” A girl’s voice says, and now I glimpse her as Al stands with me in his arms. She’s pretty with white blonde hair swirling around a pale face like a fairy nimbus.
Her hand is on my head, and I’m resting against Al’s bulging chest as we move into some dense jungle. I hear howler monkey calls, yips, and frogs croaking, all under a heavy canopy through which I catch glimpses of the moon.
There are wolves howling and yipping somewhere nearby. Really near, I realize through my haze. I hear the sound of many running pads around me, with a lot of playful growling. But there are even more howls not far away! Holy shit, I’m surrounded by the creatures! I think. Am I soon to be a jungle snack? I can’t speak, so I do all I can manage, I moan.
“Putting her down.” Al’s voice, full of absolute confident authority.
He lays me on a thick bed of moss next to a running stream with the moon’s beautiful rays rippling over it. Even though the night is dense with heat and bugs, I shiver when a light breeze ruffles my hair. Before I can finish shivering, my very bones feel as though they’re ripping apart, shattering into sharp shards of agony.
“What– what’s wrong with me?” I mutter, beginning to cough. My throat squeezes shut on the cough, turning it into a hacking, burning gag. “Please. Can someone–” I don’t know what to ask for.
“Not good,” the girl’s soft voice says. “How could… go this wrong?”
“I’ll take care… got her.” Al again, and I’m being pulled into his lap He’s emitting heat as would a live bear. “Ah! It’s nearly time, Ang. Everything will be all right, girl.” I feel, more than see, his wide smile. “Absolutely wonderful even.”
Over his head, the moon swings inexorably up until it’s at its zenith and at just that time, something happens to Al’s smile; the whiteness seems to melt, and elongate. I moan in pain, and I discover something hurts. Really badly. My body feels like it did when I was in France one summer, visiting a chateau prison. Trying out the rack as someone tightened wheels and I felt my very bones stretch out. This wasn’t much different-
“God that hurrrrrrr- orooooooo!” What the hell? Had I just howled?
There’s a buzzing sound, then a SNAP! inside my head and suddenly Al’s teeth rip into my neck, then we’re flying. Running with total abandon, surrounded by the others.
Leaping, yipping, biting each other’s muzzles, laughing/howling, running. For I’m four-legged as we bolt through this jungle of incredible, rising scents in every direction. One I know well: Lupa. But his memory is hazy as I crouch then leap to a hairy, deliciously-scented neck. In one vicious head-shake, blood is pouring over my face, down my throat as I howl my delight and then we feast on entrails, ripping into muscle, nipping each other as we gorge.
We’re back at the small creek and I leap, landing with widely flung splashes as I roll, feeling my jaws spread wide into a grin.
There’s an enormous splash nearby, and I see what I should have known, should have suspected nearly from day one. A pair of bright golden eyes, as Lupa nips gently at my own muzzle, I nip back, laughing inside.
Life just became one hell of a lot less boring with the entry of this beautiful creature, in whichever form he choses to take: svelte, tough wolf or dark-skinned, utterly confident male. “Alpha,” I hear, over and over as we’re surrounded by people and wolves.
“Ang, I’m so sorry you are now mate to me without your permission,” Al says.
“Alpha. You have chosen and blooded your mate,” comes an older male’s voice as I remember Alpha’s teeth in my neck.
It wouldn’t be the first time he was a pain in my neck, and it wouldn’t be the last.
It wouldn’t be the first time my heart filled with bursting at the sight of him, the scent of him.
It wouldn’t be the last.
END
