Bride & Groom

making notes on romantic walks we just had to take and museums we just had to visit. Unfortunately, thirty seconds after we walked into the house, the vet tech who was living in Steve’s old apartment above his clinic called to say that a hospitalized cat had taken a bad turn. Instead of relaying the message to one of the vets who worked for him, Steve apologized to me and took off. His parting words were, “Don’t go outside alone!”
    Steve’s dedication to the welfare of his patients was one of the reasons I loved him. Still, I resented the interruption and even felt a little jealous of the ailing cat. I was left with the task of giving all five dogs some time outdoors in the yard, and, in Steve’s absence, not simultaneous time, either. Steve’s three dogs were in the third-floor apartment. The simplest way to get them to the yard would’ve been to take them down the back stairs, out the back door, along the driveway, and through the gate to the fenced area. It seemed ridiculous to suppose that the serial killer would attack me while I was outside for a few seconds in the company of three big dogs. Even so, I crated Rowdy and Kimi, went to the third floor, and then, with Lady and India following me and Sammy bounding in circles around us, passed through my place and into the yard. In the short time since Steve and I had arrived home, a heavy rain had started. Consequently, his dogs got wet and, on the way back up to the third floor, tracked mud over my kitchen tiles and the stairs. I didn’t bother to clean up yet, but put on a rain parka and gave Rowdy and Kimi their turn outside. Rowdy, with his hatred of water, relieved himself in about five seconds and demanded to return to the dry indoors. After letting him in, I stood under the eaves and waited for Kimi, who was cooperatively quick.
    When I opened the door and let her in, I should’ve known that trouble awaited. Instead of shaking herself off, Kimi zoomed forward, and the next thing I knew, she’d tackled Rowdy, and the two big dogs were in the middle of the kitchen floor fighting over a horrible mess of coffee grounds, empty ice cream containers, dirty plastic bags, and other refuse that Rowdy had liberated from the trash can that belonged in the cabinet under the sink. Alaskan malamutes display what is known as “genetic hunger,” a legacy of the breed’s Arctic origins evident in the malamute’s determination to devour everything that could possibly be edible—and anything else that happens to be in the vicinity as well, including rival dogs vying for the same spoils. Consequently, the cabinet under the sink was always supposed to be fastened shut with a tight stretch cord. Steve wouldn’t have forgotten to fasten the cabinet. Either I’d been careless, or Rowdy had somehow defeated my dog-proofing. Bending my knees to put myself in a secure stance and bellowing at the dogs to remind them of exactly who was spoiling their fun, I grabbed Kimi’s collar, yanked her off Rowdy, dragged her to a crate in the guest room, and locked her up. Then I returned to the kitchen, swabbed out Rowdy’s mouth with my fingers to remove a greasy hunk of aluminum foil, and incarcerated him in the guest room in the crate next to Kimi’s.
    Without even removing my rain parka, I got a broom and dustpan. Only when I’d transferred most of the debris to a trash bag did I notice that under the rain parka, I still had on the new pale gray dress I’d worn to dinner. Its skirt was about four inches longer than the parka, and in sweeping up the coffee grounds and grease, I’d managed to soil the fabric with what I suspected were permanent stains. I began swearing, mainly at that damned Jack London, and let me warn you, as he didn’t, that The Call of the Wild doesn’t begin to prepare a person for the reality of life with the noble and legendary dogs of the Far North.
    So, I changed out of my new dress and into ratty jeans and a T-shirt, finished sweeping the kitchen floor, vacuumed and mopped it, put a fresh plastic bag in the trash can, stowed it under the sink, and defiantly slammed the cabinet door shut and secured it with stretch cord. The big green garbage bag was still in the kitchen.
    All this is to explain, although not to justify, why I went outside alone at night. With the dogs in their crates, I could’ve left the trash bag in the kitchen. Or I could’ve put it in a closet, in the back hall, or in the cellar. I succumbed, however, to an urgent