We Tried to Get a Second Dog
“I know it says we are in San Diego. We are not in San Diego. We are in Mexico. We have to say we are in San Diego.”
The lady who was fostering our potential second dog volunteered that information before I asked. I was fine with her being in Mexico. I said we owned our home. Look at us, both lying to one another.
The dog was cute. Chihuahua-Papillion mix. His name was Klyde the Kisser. Hard pass on the name.
We worked out a little drug deal: Klyde gets brought across the border for the weekend. How? I don’t know, I asked to be left out of the logistics. We take Klyde for the weekend. See how he works with Bing Bong. If we like Kylde, $350. Cash. Kylde is ours.
The lady shows up at my house Friday night. First thing I notice: half her face is paralyzed. Does not factor into much other than, hey, half your goddamn face doesn’t work. She tells my wife that she has 21 dogs. She sits down. I offer her forty different beverages. She shoots them all down.
She does tell me to get away from the dogs. “They need to play. They need to learn.” I back off.
Bing Bong, a social climber amongst the San Diego dog park community, was quick to greet. Kylde was cold. My wife took this as a personal offense. Our son is perfect. Kylde feels too good to acknowledge perfection? Hey, Kylde? Correct your attidude.
“Kylde is probably nervous,” I say. Kylde is already driving a wedge between my wife and I. Kylde undermines my argument by approaching me, kissing me, then going limp in my arms forcing me to cradle him like a baby. Bing Bong is insulted.
“Bing Bang is jealous,” this lady says. My wife has now emotionally shut down. I love Klyde. Kylde is giving me more attention then Bing Bong ever would. I am making sure Bing Bong sees the happiness in Kylde’s face as I hold him. This could be you, Bing Bong. You had this chance.
“I’ll come back Monday. You’ll feed him?”
Jesus, lady. How low is the bar for pet ownership?
“Yeah,” I say. She lingers for fifteen more minutes. She is selling Kylde hard. Its a puppy. No need to sell.
Finally, she leaves. My wife and I are alone with Kylde and Bing Bong. They are still not playing. Kylde loves me. Kylde is following me around like an actual dog. Kylde jumps up and sits next to my wife. His little tongue is out. He looks like a beautiful idiot. Bing Bong approaches to sit on the other side of my wife.
Kylde growls. Its deep. My wife and I look at each other. We are not used to hearing that deep of a noise. I can’t make a noise that deep. Bing Bong ignores it because in his past life he was on Death Row.
Kylde shows his teeth. I say ‘no’. ‘No’ to the tension. Make the tension stop. At this point, my wife is frozen as if movement equates to being within this reality.
It’s not even a debate. We call this lady back. We were worried that she might be already across the border: she was waiting outside. Maybe you do have to sell Kylde.
“You have to be strong,” she says to me. I am not. Give Kylde to a strong person. The strongest person in my home is seven pounds and shits outside.
Kylde leaves. We are two humans and one dog now. Feels good.
