Me and Bob

“I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts.”

–John Steinbeck

I was relaxing on top of the comfy sofa watching snow drift down outside the front window when Bob pulled up the driveway in his shiny black SUV. My ears perked up as he got out and opened the hatch, disappeared for a moment, then marched toward the front door. Little plastic bags stuffed with groceries hung from his arms like sausages. I could tell there was some meat and a box of those ginger biscuits Mary liked to bring to Bob with his tea. If I was nearby, I could usually cajole Bob out of a biscuit or two, depending upon how many Mary brought and how fat he thought he was. Bob was always worrying about his waistline. More often than not, a cookie or a piece of meat was tithed on the floor in front of me due to his dietary guilt.

“Damn!” Bob said.

I heard his key turn in the lock just before a bag dropped on the foyer tile, putting an end to his fancy mustard. I knew it was fancy mustard, not the cheap yellow kind, from the crash of the glass, the odor emanating through the crack in the door, and from the way Bob articulated “Damn.” If it were the cheap yellow kind, he wouldn’t have cared so much. Plus it came in plastic tubs and would have bounced. I know a bounce from a crash, just like I know the scratch of a raccoon against the trash can or a mouse scampering from the dining room to the little crack in the kitchen baseboard he squeezes through when the cat is after him.

I watched Bob struggle with the bags as he kicked the front door open with his foot. What a clown! He always tries to carry the maximum amount to save trips, then ends up crashing the mustard, or the apple juice like he did last week. One time he had a birthday cake for little Alice balanced on top of a case of beer and it slid off. Bob tried to catch it with his foot, but the toe of his wing tip caught in his pant cuff, and he ended up kicking the cake up in the air. He sure looked funny when the cake came down on his head; a crown of blue and white icing. Some more profane cursing that day for sure, but I helped him clean up, licking that sweet icing off the tile until it was gone. Mary threw me out of the bed that night I was farting so much.

Bob set his load in the kitchen and went outside for the rest, when Mary came down the stairs.

“Oh. Bob. Not the mustard. Glass and everything. I told you to get the squeeze bottle.”

“It tastes better in the glass,” Bob said, sidestepping her, his arms heavy with the bags. “No worries. There’s some Gulden’s in the fridge.”

Mary looked down at the mess, her hands on her hips, then she looked down at me.

“What are you looking at? Big help you are.”

I wasn’t going to help. I never did and it wasn’t expected of me. If I started helping out and doing things, God knows where it would all end. They would have kept me busy from morning to night. No, best just to play dumb and let them handle it. It was fun watching them manage their lives and yell at each other. Sometimes after a terrible row they would go up to the bedroom and lock the door. I’d listen outside and hear noises that didn’t make sense. It seemed like Bob was hurting her, but after they came out Mary always seemed happy and dreamy, like the way she looked when she came back from her tennis lesson.

Bob got a mop and broom and cleaned up his mess as Mary prepared dinner in the kitchen. I was curious about the menu and strolled in through the dining room, my alleged purpose to get a drink of water. I heard the soft rub of fur just in time to alter my course as Opie lashed out with a paw where he was hiding in a velvet chair. It was a game we played. I controlled the floor and he controlled the space above. When he did manage to give me a scratch on the ear or snout, I would remember it the next time Bob and Mary went out. Then, he better stay high or get a nip. One time I chased him through the closet and got a coat hanger stuck in my collar. Bob and Mary got a laugh out of that when they got home and talked about it for weeks. How it got in my collar they never could figure out. And I wasn’t going to tell them about the torn coat pocket. Bob would find that next time he put on his tuxedo.

I scratched at the kitchen door and Mary let me out onto the deck. The wood was cold under my paws, but I had to piss. I looked around and saw the ground was visible under the bare magnolia tree. I picked my way over, stomping through snow that came up to my chest. I watched the flakes flutter down as I stood there, all peaceful and white. No odor in snowflakes.

Bob caught my eye as I approached the kitchen door and let me in.

“Get in here, girl. What are you doing out there?”

“She’s relieving herself, what do you think?” Mary added. “You don’t want her to go in the house do you?”

To me, that was a dumb question. But that was just Mary’s way of riding Bob and keeping him under control. Dogs and cats do it too. All species do. It’s how nature has things designed to maintain balance and order between the sexes. Can’t have the male or the female getting too much control over the other or things just wouldn’t work out.

I could smell Mary’s meatloaf cooking and started to salivate. She made the best meatloaf, but I always ate the leftovers begrudgingly. Didn’t want to appear too eager. Better to shuffle away then gobble it down when they went upstairs.

“Think I’ll watch the game,” Bob said, looking toward the fridge. At this point he had to make a decision: beer and chips or tea and cookies. I moved in and blocked the fridge, wagging my tail and looking at Bob all droopy-eyed. Bob tried to get in the fridge but I stood my ground. He soon gave up, my presence tipping the scales.

“Some tea when you get a chance,” Bob said.

“Yes, dear.”

“And a few of those ginger snaps.”

“Sure.”

I like Mary okay, she’s a good wife to Bob and always cleans my bowls before she sets my food out at night. But, me and Bob are pals.

I followed Bob into the living room and we assumed our usual positions on the sofa. He grabbed the remote and found the game. I don’t get anything out of watching a football game, or watching anything on television for that matter. How humans can sit for hours and look at a flat screen with images jumping around accompanied by irritating sounds, is beyond me. But, I’d rather Bob watch the game than play the game like they do next door, bouncing a ball and throwing it up into what looks like a thick spider’s web hanging there. You never know where that ball will come down and it’s best to stay way out of the way or you’re in for a tumultuous round of cursing, maybe even a kick or two. Besides, I know Mary will eventually bring tea and cookies, and Bob will share what he has with me.

We watched game awhile, or Bob watched it and I watched for Mary with the refreshments. Finally they came. Mary always wanted attention from Bob when she brought him something, and this time it came in what must have been a real important part of the game. Bob tried to get her to be quiet for a minute, but Mary doesn’t like it when she has to play second fiddle to a stupid ball game on TV. So, she carried on and on, making a big deal out of what could have been avoided by a polite sentence or two and totally ruined the rest of the game for himself.

Bob got up in a huff, went out to the garage and starting tinkering with some of his gadgets. Mary went up to her room.

That left me with the plate of ginger snaps.

Who’s running the show here? Tell me. I’d really like to know. When’s that meat loaf going to be ready?