In the Dog House. V.M. Burns

door.

      As I marched home, I told myself over and over again, “She meant well.” However, the idea of sharing my marital situation with the entire church in a small town like Lighthouse Dunes was the equivalent to posting an ad on the front page of the Chicago Tribune.

      It took the rest of the afternoon before I calmed down enough to step outside. However, I needed groceries, and unless I went to the store, I’d be forced to order pizza again and the delivery boy went to Marianne’s church. I shouldn’t be embarrassed. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Albert was the one who cheated. He was the one who had an affair. He was the one who had left me for a bleached-blond Barbie doll who was young enough to be his daughter. Nevertheless, I found myself looking askance at everyone I passed at the grocery store and the gas station.

      When I got home, I was surprised to find a large RV parked in my driveway. I pulled up next to it, and the door opened and out jumped a tall, thin woman with big Dolly Parton hair, tight jeans, lots of jewelry, and holding a tiny black poodle.

      “Lilly Anne, I know I should have called.” She hugged me, careful not to squash the poodle. “I was so excited to get your e-mail this morning, I hopped in my RV and hightailed it up here to see you.” She pulled back and looked at me. “I hope that’s okay?” she said in her sweet southern drawl.

      I smiled and gave her another hug. “Of course it’s alright, Dixie. I’m really happy to see you too. Please, come inside.”

      She handed me the dog. “You don’t mind I brought a few of my dogs along, do you?”

      I juggled my grocery bags and held the little shivering fluff ball to my chest. “Of course I don’t mind. I love dogs, but I thought you had big poodles.”

      She opened the side door to the RV and out pranced two large black poodles that appeared to be shaved closely in many places, but where their coats were longer, the hair was wrapped up as though they were getting a perm. They had bright-colored wrappers hanging from their ears, and the hair atop their heads was a conglomeration of scrunchies and rubber bands. On the ground, the dogs came to my waist. They were big and carried themselves regally, regardless of the ridiculous wrappers and bands. There was something in their bearing that proclaimed, I don’t care what you think of my appearance. You are beneath me.

      “I do have standard poodles.” She placed a lead over one of the dog’s heads. “This is Champion Chyna, the Ninth Wonder of the World.”

      I raised an eyebrow at hearing the name.

      Dixie shrugged. “That’s what I get for letting my nephew and his fraternity brothers choose the name.” She patted the dog. “I just finished her at the specialty, so that made the win even more special.”

      She scratched the dog behind the ear, and Chyna looked as though her eyes would roll back in her head. “That’s her registered name, but her call name is Chyna.” She put a lead around the other dog. “And this is Champion Galactic Imperial Resistance Leader, call name Leia.”

      “Wow. That’s a mouthful.”

      She smiled. “The registered name is just for shows. Breeders try to come up with unique names that will make a statement with the judges. The call name is what we actually call the dog.”

      “I get it. So, Chyna and Leia?”

      She nodded. “You got it.”

      I held out the fluff ball in my arms. “And who is this?”

      She smiled. “I have no idea. One of the breeders rescued her from a puppy mill. Her husband went bonkers when she came home with another dog, apparently fifteen was his limit. She asked if anyone would be willing to take her.”

      “She looks awfully small.” I stared at the other poodles relieving themselves on the shrubs that separated my house from my neighbor’s. I cringed at what Bradley Hurston would say when he saw me again.

      Dixie must have noticed my cringe, because she quickly grabbed the dogs’ leads. “I’m sorry. I forget not everyone is a dog lover.”

      “No, it’s okay.”

      She pulled bags out of her pocket and cleaned up the deposits and walked them around back to the garbage cans. When she came back, she opened the RV door to return the dogs, but I stopped her.

      “You aren’t going to leave them outside, are you?”

      She looked skeptical. “Well, I don’t want to cause trouble.”

      “You’re not causing trouble. Bring them inside.”

      She searched my face and then opened the door and called the dogs. They pranced out, and we all marched into the house.

      “They’re very well-behaved. They’re both completely housebroken and, after an entire weekend of shows, they’re worn out and will eat and sleep for days.” She turned to me. “However, I’m not sure about the little one. She isn’t really a puppy. She’s probably about two years old, but I suspect she’s spent the majority of her short life locked in a crate, pushing out litter after litter.”

      I frowned. “That’s horrible.”

      “Unfortunately, not all breeders are responsible dog owners. For some, these cute little things are merely a commodity to be used to generate cash.” She scratched the dog’s head.

      “So, if she’s two, then she’s fully grown?”

      Dixie nodded. “She’s a toy poodle. Poodles come in three sizes: toy, miniature and standard.” She scratched the small fluff ball behind the ear. “This is a toy. Toys are the smallest and shouldn’t be more than ten inches from the withers.”

      “The withers?” I asked.

      She smiled. “From the shoulder to the ground. Dogs between ten and seventeen inches are miniatures. Anything over seventeen inches is a standard.” She pointed to the other two dogs, which had eaten a large bowl of dog food and were now lying on the floor fast asleep. “Those are standards.”

      “Is that the only difference between the three?”

      Dixie nodded. “Yes. The breed standard or the guidelines are the same for all three. The only difference is the size. Some other breeds are differentiated by color or coat, but for poodles, it’s the size.”

      “So, what are you going to do with her? It is a her, isn’t it?” I held her up and looked underneath.

      She nodded. “Yep. It’s a female, and I’m looking for a good home for her.” She narrowed her eyes and looked at me. “You wouldn’t know anyone who is looking for a companion, by any chance?”

      At that moment, the fluff ball sighed and laid her head on my shoulder. From that moment on, I knew this was my dog.

      We spent the rest of the night talking and thinking up names for the new addition to my family. Dixie suggested I name her something that had meaning to me. I had always been a big mystery fan, so I settled on a registered name of Queen of the Cozy, call name Agatha. Although I intended to call her Aggie.

      * * * *

      The next morning, I woke up to barking, screaming, growling, and a few whimpers. I rushed downstairs and found Albert backed up against the front door. The whimpers were coming from him. The two standard poodles, which had seemed so docile and a bit ridiculous with their colored hair wrappings and ridiculous cuts, were lunging toward him with teeth bared. They emitted a rumbling growl that sounded ferocious. The barking came from Aggie, who had a hold on Albert’s pants leg and was shaking it with all her might, as though she was going to rip him to shreds if he dared move.

      Dixie had the standards’ collars and was straining to keep them from taking Albert out and yelling at him to stop moving and stay still.

      “What’s going on here?” I hurried to Dixie’s side.

      “This lunatic just waltzed in the house, unannounced, and Chyna and Leia were protecting their territory.”