twenty-something

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Meet Ben, the family dog. Here he is wearing my hat. A couple years ago. He lives in Rutland, with my parents, grandmother, and siblings.

I got the beautiful new iLife suite on my newly-resurrected PowerBook, and I'm having fun playing, reimporting stuff into iPhoto and such. I've got a lot of pictures of my favortie golden retriever, and it actually makes me miss home just like pickles make me miss Boston.

It's almost enough to make me contemplate going home for the night. Almost.

So in Ben's honor, and for lack of true inspiration today, I thought I'd post a bit of an old-ish, long-ish, not-very-good-ish story called "True North", which I wrote in an undergrad writing workshop. "True" is the misguided tale of the unfortunately-named Oliver North, a college senior who's bringing his boyfriend home for Thanksgiving.

This bit is about the family dog.

Once his mother opened the back door, he pushed past her and squeezed through with all his luggage, immediately dropping the bags onto the floor of the mudroom. A moment later, James, the family's hyperactive golden retriever, leapt up onto him, wagging his tail and licking Ollie's face.

He never admitted to liking the dog much, but he had warmed up to James during recent visits. His mother and brother got the puppy during Ollie's sophomore year, two months after he had come out to them and gone back to school. He found it hard not to see the connection, or to hate the dog. He never understood how an animal could be a real part of a family.

It was only in secret, private times, when everyone was out of the house, that Ollie dared to openly play with James. He'd pet him, or they'd play fetch and other dog-human games, which stopped immediately when he heard a car in the driveway. Ollie would've figured his hot-and-cold attention would've made the dog wary, but, like most men, it seemed to attract him more.

Ollie had enough of the face licking. "Down, James!" he ordered. "Down!" The dog didn't obey. "Mom," he called out in annoyance.

She had his leash ready. "James! Here!" He sauntered over to her, tail wagging, for her adoration.

"I hate that dog," he muttered through clenched teeth, trying to sound convincing.

"I know you do, honey."

She then spoke to James in her patented dog-baby-talk voice, telling him what a good boy he was, and asking if he missed her. In disgust, Ollie picked up his bags and left the room.