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The Neighbor's Dog
by LoriAnn Bloomfield It was the neighbor’s dog that woke me. And it was the neighbor’s dog that kept me awake. The damn thing wouldn’t stop barking. Which was odd because he’d never barked at night before, not in all the years he’d been next door. But you don’t wonder about things like that at two in the morning. All you want to do is sleep. He must have finally stopped because when I woke it was to silence. It was early, just barely light, when I looked out the window and saw the ambulance parked next door. The dog was on the porch, his big yellow head cradled on his front paws. His dog eyes followed the paramedics as they got the gurney down the porch steps. He only lifted his head to watch them as they drove away. No lights. No siren. No need. I tried to remember the neighbors’ name and couldn’t. I’d been told it, but had never made enough of an effort to lock in it where it could be retrieved when needed. But that was the thing: it never was needed. We were cordial, the neighbor and me. We said hello or waved if we happened to see one another. But that was it. We were both happy with that arrangement. And now I didn’t need to know his name because there wasn’t a chance that I, or anyone else, would ever be talking to him again. When the ambulance turned the corner at the end of our street the dog let out a sigh with his whole body and dropped his head back down. It was just about the saddest thing I’d ever seen. The dew seeped through my slippers as I walked across our two yards. The dog’s name was Charlie. I knew this because the old man called him inside from the backyard at least once a day. “Charlie,” I said and touched the fur between his ears. His eyes flicked upwards to meet mine but other than that he didn’t move. His look told me that I’d let him down. He knew that I’d heard him, and had ignored him. He knew it wasn’t me who’d call the ambulance. My guess was it had been the woman across the street. I don’t want to say she’s nosy, because she’s not. Not exactly. She’s more attentive, as in not so much as a leaf twitches in the neighborhood without her noticing and trying to figure out what she should do about it. “C’mon Charlie.” The dog hesitated only a second before getting to his feet. How do dogs get so damn wise anyhow? Neither of us had any idea how long this impulse of mine would last. Best to be quick. It was the barking that had done it. I wanted when my time came, and who knew, it could be tonight, a voice to rise up and split open the silence. I wanted to go out knowing that someone, or hell, something, was trying to call me back. I wanted to believe I’d be missed. |
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