Nicola
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He complains about it. It was her decision to get a dog. She said she’d take care of it—she said she’d feed it and bathe it and train it and clean up after it. And she did all that, as promised. But who was it who had to take her dog out at night to do its business? He did.
It’s not safe out at night for a woman, she said. You have a dog for protection, he told her. Oh, he complains, but every night he puts on his shoes and jacket, every night he gets the leash and watches with a grimace as the dog dances around with loopy excitement. He complains, but the complaints are just part of the ritual. He actually enjoys the evening walks. And she knows it. Even the dog knows it.
It’s quiet out at night. He likes knowing everybody is inside where it’s warm, watching television or getting ready for bed. He likes that it’s just him and the dog, because the dog helps him appreciate his life. He knows all a dog needs to be happy is food, a safe place to sleep, and love. He finds it strangely comforting to know his final task of the day will always be to accompany her dog outside at night and watch it take a crap.
It puts everything else into perspective.
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