Rebecca was not always an animal person.
In fact, for the first 35 years of her life, animals and herself had played a virtual chess game with no exchange of pieces. If dog moves this way, then I'll move that way, and each created a defensive posturing that allowed the other to live in peace.
But as her children aged, and as the pandemic of 2020 raged, she felt a bond with her family's dog that she'd never felt before. Maybe being holed up inside the house for long periods of time helped her understand her pet's existence. She had read the feminist novels of the late twentieth century like The Awakening, and laughed at the horrible symbology of the trapped "bird." Or clipped wings. Or whatever. Sure, women once had it much worse. Yes, many were trapped in bad marriages, and treated like housepets by their smug husbands. But ultimately, maybe even sadly, she liked love stories like Pride and Prejudice much more. Even with its antiquated views on marrying well for financial stability. Jane Austen wrote about dogs, but they were always owned by the Darcys and the Willoughbys of her novels. Hunting dogs. Which is maybe why the idea of a dog as "Man's Best Friend" came about.
But the longer her wings were clipped inside her house; her stupid dirty house, (why hadn't the boy's done the dishes last night like they said they would!), the more she felt a kinship with Muttley. Muttley prefered the dirty house. There were more objects to shake wildly, more plates to lick, more garbage to tear apart for the last calorie of ketchup residue; he made her housework more laborious. Yet he was dependent on the family. And as Rebecca was trapped in a household of men, she, of course, was the most responsible, and the one most often feeding, bathing, and now walking Muttley. Muttley was exactly as his name implied. Bigger than average. Probably some lab, maybe some retriever, maybe some Blue Heeler, whatever he was, he wasn't a looker, but he was sweet and harmless.
The first few walks, like every other obligation in Rebecca's life, felt like another chore. And with everyone now trapped in the house, working from home, schooling from home, everyone afraid of a microscopic virus, escaping to the outside started to feel like a reprieve.
To Muttley, the idea of a walk was pure euphoria. Muttley believed in the green leash, the orgiastic future outside that day by day retreats before him. The perfect telephone pole might have eluded him yesterday, but it doesn't matter, today he can walk much farther, stretch his leg out wider, pee much longer, and one fine morning, he may smell the secrets of the universe.
Muttley's excitement was contagious. And eventually Rebecca started to look forward to the walks. She noticed houses she hadn't seen before, neighbors she hadn't greeted before, watched the sun rise or set against the hilly backdrop of her neighborhood. She appreciated the air. The smells, and the simple companionship of Muttley. Sometimes one of the boys, or her husband would join her on these daily walks and she wondered how they had gone so many years without this simple pastime.
Jane Austen's heroines would've known the joys of long walks. Of course, Jane Austen wrote about middle class women clinging to some kind of opulent hope. Good marriages allowed them to avoid the dangers of the industrial revolution. Most historical women would've lived more like Oliver Twist than any of the Bennett sisters. It was probably this romanticism of gender roles that Rebecca most enjoyed. How nice would it be to simply play the piano nicely, recite some random poetry, and direct the house servants to throw a lavish party. But what percentage of historical women, while denied a working career, were also free of the slavery of pre-modern housework? How long did washing the clothes take? Fetching the water, heating the water, washing the kids? Every single task she dreaded today, must've taken 10 to 45 minutes longer in 1800.
It was that class disparity she was thinking about, when she rounded the corner and heard a commotion. Muttley had heard it early and expressed that dog-centric emotion of whining and tugging on the leash. Fear, apprehension, and curiosity.
She heard the barking before she saw the figures. Then she heard the shouting.
"Get him off my lawn!"
"He's not even on your lawn, he's on the sidewalk!"
"Well, he peed on my flowers, I watched you let him do it!"
Rebecca now cold see a black man, a black person, an African American?, she wasn't sure what they preferred to be called. She saw him holding a leash, taut, the rest of the dog was obstructed by a neighboring shrub that had pushed past the curb. Come on people, control your shrubbery! she thought.
It must be a massive dog. A pit-bull or Rottweiler. So much acidic urine could maybe kill her flowers, but still, dogs are dogs...
Ten steps more and she was past the obstructing bush, and she could see some form of terrier...a Jack Russell terrier, most likely, his curious face looked at her as she entered the scene. He did not bark, instead he ignored her entrance and repositioned himself defensively against the agitated homeowner.
"I'm sorry he sprayed your flowers, ma'am...if you'd like, I'll spray them off with your hose. He meant no harm."
"You will not touch my hose!"
Other neighbors now watched from their front lawns.
"Well, I don't know what else to do, other than apologize, ma'am."
"Don't you call me ma'am. I'm not that much older than you. I don't need your type belittling me."
"Excuse me, "my type?," I hope you are referring to me being a pet-owner."
"You know what I mean. Walking down this street everyday like its normal. Letting your dog urinate in my yard...it's a shame they let you..."
Rebecca couldn't stand it anymore; "Hey, lady, cool it. Okay? We're all neighbors here. He apologized. It isn't a big deal. Don't make this personal."
"Well, we aren't all n***** lovers in this neighborhood."
The black man scoffed, "Well, there we have it folks, a klansmember right here?!" He swirled his arms around, one clearly hampered by the leash, but he didn't seem too surprised, just disappointed.
"I ain't no klan member. My step-daughter married a black man. But he doesn't let..."
Rebecca interjected again. "Lady, why don't you just shut the f*** up right now. We don't need your antebellum attitude right now."
"You shut up, you dumb bitch, n***** lover."
Rebecca was now incensed. Her husband would've ripped her mailbox out of the ground and thrown it through her car windshield. But men, men... She realized her grip on the leash was shaking. Muttley was growling, just audible to her, and showing just a small segment of teeth. Muttley was a dumb dog, in the nicest sense of the word. He let people walk inside their house and then jumped on their laps the minute they sat down. He ran away from cats in the backyard, and whimpered once at a squirrel who was not afraid of him.
"Walking away," the black man said as he twirled his free arm again. Normally Rebecca had only seen this gesture from gay men, but this man did it with such precision and force, it was masculine to the core. It was a beautiful simple protest.
"Don't walk away," Rebecca said, "this women owes you an apology."
The man turned around and looked right at her. His Jack Russell did, too, as if in solidarity to his master. "Thanks, but, you don't know. You don't know."
"I know this is my neighborhood, and this is 2020, and it isn't right."
"I thank you for being an advocate, or ally, or whatever the hell it is that whitefolks are calling this "wokeness," but this is my everyday. It's not everyday, or month. But I'm used to it. I'll continue to walk this route, I'll consider letting my dog urinate on her flowers, but I will pull him back because I don't need this in my life. I don't want this in my life. It's better if I just pretend this unwelcomeness doesn't exist in my neighborhood."
"But you are welcome..."
"No you aren't," the lady yelled, clearly eavesdropping on their conversation from 40' away.
Some of the neighbors started to murmur, one began recording on her cell phone, one started calling the police. Rebecca realized she might be apart of one of those racial-viral videos.
 |
Take this, racism! |
Rebecca raised her voice, "You know what lady..."
But before an explosion of expletives could leave her mouth, she looked down at Muttley, who had pulled himself as far from his leash as he could, and was squatting down right next to the lady's mailbox. He looked up at Rebecca, smiling-grimacing, as the largest shit he had ever taken, plopped down next to the lady's mailbox.
"Oh, hell no," The lady yelled, as the neighborhood exploded in applause.
Muttley, now an agent provocateur, basked in his attention. He kicked some mulch backwards onto his victory pile.
Rebecca tried to hold back a smile, "Good boy," she said just loud enough for the neighbor to hear.
"You're cleaning that up, this is my property."
Rebecca took two steps away
"You better! It's common courtesy. What's happened to civility around here?"
The black man answered, "Don't shit where you eat, ma'am." the neighbors, clearly sick of this woman, laughed and applauded again. Someone even hooted. It was a white person hoot, so it was awkward.
Rebecca and the man walked away, separated by just enough distance that the pandemic had made normal. Their dogs did not even sniff each other.
They got to the fork in the road. The man said, "This is where I turn."
Rebecca said, "Yeah, I live that way..."
"Well, maybe..."
Rebecca interrupted, "I didn't get your name? Mine's Rebecca."
"It's Ray, the dog is Fraiser."
Did black people watch Fraiser?, she mentally slapped herself for thinking it...
"I have no idea how long you've lived here, but welcome to the neighborhood, Ray."
"Thanks for welcoming me," Ray replied, almost as if the other thing hadn't even happened.
They exchanged goodbye pleasantries, almost like two strangers meeting on a path in a Jane Austen book, except of course, that black people didn't exist on those paths or pages.
"That's some N**** loving dog, you got, Rebecca," he joked.
"Oh don't tell him that, he will think it gives him a free pass to say that word around the house. His name is Muttley." she tried to be funny.
"Well, all mutts matter," he joked with a sly smile.
"Yes they do." she replied.
She walked towards her home. Unafraid of the unknown. Even in a pandemic, good people exist. And dogs will judge the rest.
No comments:
Post a Comment