BOONE - Part 1 of the HMB Doggie Series

CHAPTER 5

I’ve had Boone for over a week now and I must say that while I’m still having blackouts and freak-outs and crying sessions, they are becoming fewer and far between…say, every day as opposed to three times a day. And Boone handles them like a champ. It’s as if he knows instinctively when I’m about to go down the rabbit hole because he starts that high-pitched whimper and if he can’t get to me, which is rare, he will make a racket to pull me back to him.

His transition into my home is seamless. Because I can’t write, I spend hours trolling the internet, reading horror stories about new puppies destroying anything not nailed to the floor, and sometimes nailed to the floor. One woman in Missouri left for work one morning and came home to her new pup, Madge, stuck in the sofa…like literally stuck in the stuffing of the couch cushion. Needless to say, the sofa had to be retired and Madge was put on lockdown.

Now granted, I don’t have to leave for work but even still, I have gone to the grocery store a few times and even made an attempt to work out at the gym. That was an epic fail.

The second I walked through the door, the front desk girl Amanda was on me like white on rice.

“Sal! Oh my God it’s so good to see you! How are you holding up? Can I get you anything?” I couldn’t get too annoyed with her. After all, Eric and I have spent an obscene amount of money here on training and are considered VIP members, so staff is kind of obligated to treat us that way. But really, I just wanted to go unnoticed. Having her fall all over herself wasn’t the best start to my workout.

I side-stepped her as best I could without being a total asshole and made a beeline for the treadmill, my usual warm-up. After about 10 minutes of sprints I made my way back down to the weight floor, headphones securely in place so as to give off the impression that no, I really don’t want to talk to anyone. It was not to be. Three of Eric’s friends had to make niceties at me while I attempted some deadlifts and squats. It was then that I began to feel my heart rate accelerate, and not in the good I’m-working-out-really-hard way. Push-ups was where Amanda had to sweep over and tell me how beautiful the ceremony was, at which point my vision started to tunnel and I got a little light-headed. I didn’t make it to pull-ups. I made it to the bathroom just in time to throw up.

Needless to say, I slipped out the back door, evading everyone as stealthy as possible and spent the next ten minutes sitting in my car shaking. Good times.

I broke about every traffic law imaginable to drive the one mile back to my house, just to find some solitude and wallow without an audience. I was so shaken up I was startled by the click-click-click of little paws barreling through the house and even more surprised to see Boone’s smiling face leap at me as I knelt down to embrace him. He gave my hand a thorough licking as his eyes looked onto mine, “I’s smell something not good. What happened?”

“I had a panic attack again, Boone. All because I just wanted to work out.”

“Work out? What is work out?”

“You know…like lifting weights, running…it keeps me healthy.”

“I’s see,” he pauses his licking frenzy to look around the house, “Maybe we work out together. We lift weights and run as team.”

Even this little exchange helped my heart slow, my breathing return to normal and my hands to stop shaking. I don’t know how he did it, but Boone took some of the crazy out of me that day.

Now that being said, I did still come home that day to a partially eaten towel and a very disgruntled-looking couch. It would seem Boone has an aversion to sleeping on the floor.

Even still, I read these horror stories and wonder how I got so lucky with a seemingly docile and even-tempered pup.

Today I am sitting in the chaise in my sunroom office. Boone is laying splayed across my lap and I swear it looks and feels like he’s already gained 20 pounds. I researched the normal growth rate for puppies and it would seem that most reach full maturity at around 12 months, depending on the breed. At that rate Boone is going to be one big dog because he’s already the length of my legs, that is, from front paws extended to back paws extended.

I have my iPad in hand and am scrolling through my emails, something I haven’t been quite as diligent with and it shows. I have so much crap to sift through. I have a number of emails from my agent that I put into a special folder to read later. I know he’s getting anxious with my lack of creative drive and I know without a doubt that if I don’t reach out to him soon he’s going to rage ten shades of nasty.

About 30 minutes later I have everything organized. Feeling quite proud of myself I look down at Boone, who has not moved from his extended puppy pose the whole time. As if sensing me, he raises his head and his drunken soldier twitches, anticipating the next command.

“What do you say we take a little walk, then I come back and deal with my agent?”

He smiles at me, pink tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, “That sound awesome!”

He jumps off my lap and races towards the front door, all legs and no coordination. He hasn’t quite figured out how to maneuver the hardwood floors with his fluffy paws and still manages to slip and slide into walls, furniture and myself. I’m half concerned he’s going to hurt himself, but he always looks at me after a minor collision, “I’s okay! Let’s do again!”

I hook his leash to his collar (he took to his lead surprisingly well…another batch of horror stories via Google that had me wincing) and out the door we go. The day is brisk, grey and breezy. It would be a perfect day to set up shop in front of the fire and get some writing done.

My neighborhood is a series of hills ranging from rolling to steep incline and before long I’m breathless and Boone seems to be having the time of his life. Batches of eucalyptus trees filter the grey light, giving our walk an almost mystical quality. Since it’s the middle of the week there are no kids running the streets, no parents out washing their cars and no dogs out for their daily walks. It’s peaceful.

We meander up and down hills, taking frequent breaks because apparently every bush, tree and flower bed needs a thorough inspection by Detective Boone. When Eric and I used to walk, it was about speed, getting in a good workout and using the hills to our advantage. We did this almost every day, on top of our frequent visits to the gym. I loved it.

But walking with Boone is different. It’s not about the speed or the burn I get from doing lunges up a particularly grueling hill (I will never do that again.) It’s about literally stopping to smell the flowers. As I watch his little nose twitch over some grass blades I’m inspired to act like Boone. Why not stop and smell the roses? I close my eyes and inhale deeply, letting the cacophony of smells wash through me. I can’t pick out any one scent, as I’m sure Boone can, but the overall mixture is pleasant.

I’m not sure how long I stand there, just breathing. When I open my eyes I see that Boone is sitting next to me, watching me with a small smile on his face, “Is nice, right?”

“What’s nice, buddy?”

“Just sniffing. No rush, no hurry, just sniffing.”

“Yes…it’s very nice.” I smile down at him.

“We go slow so you sniff. I’s don’t mind.” At that he starts to lead the way, his pace leisurely. He frequently looks at me as if to remind me that this is for my benefit and that, yes, I should be “sniffing.” Who am I to disappoint my dog?

So all the way back home, I pause and just let the breeze bring the scents of my neighborhood to me. I pass particularly beautiful gardens, ones I’ve probably walked past a thousand times but never stopped to sniff. I sniff now and it’s breathtaking how wonderful everything smells.

We make it back home and by now I’m so relaxed I could easily melt into a puddle. It’s just what I need because I know I need to call my agent. The thought should make my anxiety swell up like a pot of boiling water, but it doesn’t. Boone seems to understand that he just did me a great service and he trots to his water bowl with a little more puff in his chest. I can’t help but giggle. And give him multiple treats.

I make myself some tea and grab my phone, dialing my agent’s personal line. I usually go through his office like all his other clients, but given the severity of his multiple emails (and the fact that he ordered me to call this number) I figure I shouldn’t annoy the already annoyed beast. I settle into my chaise and Boone is instantly on my lap, ready for a snooze.

The phone doesn’t ring twice before his gruff voice answers with an especially cross, “John here.”

“Uh…hi Mr. McNeal. This is Sal. I wanted to touch base with-”

“Sal! It’s about goddamn time you called me! Did you get my emails? My messages? How are you holding up? How’s the writing going? I need that first draft of Wondering With You, like, yesterday!” His voice is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. Boone’s staring at it like a foreign entity just entered the house and a soft growl emanates from his throat. I smile because I have no doubt Boone could throw down just as hard as John can.

“Yes…uh…I’m doing okay, Mr. McNeal. Thank you for asking-”

“Call me John, goddamnit. You know I hate that Mr. McNeal crap. Makes me feel old. And I’m only two years older then you.”

“Yes…yes…sorry, John,” I clear my throat and Boone growls a little louder.

“So…the book. When can I get it?”

Wondering With You is my latest novel that I just barely completed before Eric died. It’s very rough and needs a lot of work, work I haven’t been doing because I have no drive. John will be pissed.

“Well…sir. The book is done, but it needs a lot of revisions and-”

“I don’t give a shit about that. Get it to me. The sooner I get it, the sooner we can publish it. I need to get that pretty face of yours back in the stores. Since Eric’s passing, God rest his soul, we’ve been getting swamped with letters and emails. People need to know you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you?”

What a loaded question. I have no idea how to answer that so I do what I do best and that is divert the conversation. “I can email you the first draft this afternoon. When would you like me to come to the office?” John always likes me to come to the office to go over his notes, probably so he can see my “pretty face” wince and grimace from his colorful note-taking.

“Let’s see…it’ll take me a few days to read it and get my notes in order. So come to the office next Monday.”

I try to stifle a groan of assuage, which I do pathetically. That gives me four days to mentally prepare. I’ve worked with less but I also had Eric to temper the blows.

“Yes, that will work. Thank you, John.”

“Sure, sure. Send me that email now. See you soon.” He clicks off and I swear even my phone gives off a sigh of relief.

Boone watches the phone as I place it on the floor, like he’s waiting for it to start screaming again and this time he won’t be so calm about it.

“I know, I know. John is a little intimidating. Underneath all that gruffness though is a really great man who’s been with me since the beginning.” I don’t know why I’m trying to justify him to Boone but it seems appropriate since these are now the two men in my life.

“He cranky. He needs dog,” Boone’s eyes dance at me.

I crack up laughing as I say, “You know what Boone? I think you’re right.”

~~~

After I sent off the prodigal email, Boone and I spent a nice afternoon in front of the fire, him warming my feet and me with my nose shoved in a book. The grey sky let loose a soft rain, adding to the ambiance of a wonderfully lazy day.

It’s 5:30 now and I’m contemplating what to have for dinner as I sip a glass of wine. The soft rain from before has turned into a full-on storm, complete with wind. It’s pretty cool, actually. Especially since I’m tucked away nice and safe while Boone munches on his dinner happily. If only it was so easy to just throw some kibble in a bowl. I truly dislike cooking. I ponder one of my frozen casseroles that have sat untouched in my freezer, but that lasts a whole of ten seconds when I realize all of them sans one have tuna in them. Bleh! And the non-tuna one looks to be some zucchini something-or-other. Double bleh! I’d rather eat the kibble.

I settle on some steamed vegetables tossed with rice and a chopped up chicken breast. It’s about as bland as eating dirt, but hell, at least I’m eating. I’m going to have to learn the fine art of spicing before too long, otherwise my taste buds are going to have a slow, boring death.

I’m just washing up my dishes when a spectacularly loud crash splits through the air. I jump about ten feet and yelp like the wuss that I am. Boone is jolted to his feet and barking like a maniac. What the hell?

I pick up Boone and his barking quiets to a low and rumbling growl. Either to calm him or myself I’m not sure, but I start stroking his coat slowly. I have a clear shot of the dining room and living room from the kitchen and everything looks in place. I check the front door and back door. Both are securely locked. No lamps are broken, no pictures smashed on the floor. I check my office, expecting to see my computer laying in shattered pieces. Alas, it is not. The guest bedroom and bathroom reveal nothing.

“What was that, Boone?”

He whimpers up at me, “Don’t know.”

I turn on every light as I make my way up the stairs. Every window is closed and locked. I check under the bed and in the closet of both bedrooms. Nada. Both bathrooms are also a bust.

Which leaves me staring at Eric’s office door.

Boone starts to wiggle frantically so I place him on the floor and his nose is instantly at the door, sniffing intently.

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

Boone takes a moment between sniffs to gaze at me, “Is in here! I’s smell it! Must investigate!”

I can feel my hands starting to shake and my heart rate accelerate like a tiny motorcycle, the telltale signs I will surely be having a blackout panic attack within the next five minutes. Awesome.

My anxiety must be coming off me in droves because Boone, between pawing and sniffing the door, comes and rubs up against my legs, his way of assuring me that, yes, it’s only a door and also, yes, I can do this. I try rubbing my hands together to stop the shaking. I try taking a few deep breaths to calm my jackhammer heart. Of all rooms in this goddamn place, why this one?

Boone, as if reading my mind, lets out a singular “woof!” as if saying, “Because it’s time to face music!” I know he’s right and I know I need to buck up and start acting like an adult. Before I know what I’m doing my hand is reaching for the knob and turning it slowly. The second the door cracks open I’m hit with Eric’s smell, a smell I can’t even describe because it’s just…Eric. I take a tentative step inside and flick on the light. The brightness temporarily blinds me so all I can hear is the patter of Boone’s paws, the wind and rain outside and the thumping of my erratic heart.

When my eyes finally focus I see Boone nosing around a lamp that is laying shattered on the floor. The willowy curtains from an open window are billowing into the room and I see that the wind is the culprit to said lamp. Rain has puddled all over the floor, soaking the wood and the pretty rug I had bought for Eric when he first started decorating this room.

“It’s just a lamp…no big deal. Watch where you step, Boone. I don’t want you cutting your paws.” I walk tentatively around the lamp, making a move to close the window. “Wait…why the hell is the window open?” Granted, I haven’t been in this room for well over a few weeks, so who’s to say Eric or myself didn’t open it before the accident. But it still doesn’t feel right. I gaze around the room, expecting an intruder to pop out from under the desk. Of course he doesn’t. Nothing has been moved, nothing has been changed. Every picture, every book, every piece of paper is where it was the last time I saw it, from what I can remember.

A tingle runs up my spine. “This window should not be open, Boone.”

I clean up the lamp and try to dry the floor as best I can, all the while feeling like someone is watching me. Boone has taken up camp in Eric’s thinking chair. He’s sitting erect, ears at attention, almost like he feels like someone is watching him too. It’s unnerving as hell.

“What do you think, Boone?”

He gives a nervous yawn, “Don’t know. Don’t like this feeling.”

“Me neither.”

I make sure the window is securely closed and locked. All I want to do is get out of this room. I’m feeling increasingly creeped out and could use a serious Seinfeld binge. After checking to make sure everything is in it’s place one last time I make a beeline for the door with Boone practically underneath my feet.

I close the door behind me and exhale loudly, not even realizing I was holding my breath. We make our way downstairs and I practically dive for the TV remote, especially aware of how quiet the house feels and, even more oddly, how un-empty it feels.

I snuggle into the couch with Boone in my lap, letting the noice of the TV wash over me.

Boone and I fall asleep with the voices of Jerry, George, Kramer and Elaine keeping the ghosts away.