Stepdog by Mireya Navarro Page A

kept my mouth shut, but Mr. Fourlegs’s family trips were numbered, as far as I was concerned.
    Eddie wasn’t finished. That same day, in the excitement of my first sleepover at his house, Jim forgot to put him in the crate after the kids went to their mom’s for the night. The next morning we found him lying outside the bedroom door, next to a little wet yellow present. I later figured he peed because Jim had banned him from his bedroom at my request, even though Jim swore the dog never slept with him.
    â€œHe snores,” he said by way of proof.
    I didn’t believe him. I found dog hair everywhere in the bedroom. Eddie was simply dismayed that I had taken his place. From what I could tell, Eddie in fact appeared to have the run of the house. He could lie on beds and sit on the sofa. He shed short, white pine needles that floated aimlessly throughout the house until landing on sweaters, shoes, even food. He had obviously soiled some spots where the carpet, never touched by dirty shoes, looked discolored.
    As if I weren’t disgusted enough, Eddie was allowed to lick the dishes and utensils as Jim loaded them into the dishwasher. It was something Jim’s mother apparently had allowed Shayna, the family’s rescue dog that looked like a big black Chihuahua, to do. Somehow it had become a custom passed on to younger generations. Even Hank, Jim’s father, spoke of the licking ritual fondly. I found myself taking a deep breath every now and then. Don’t be so fussy, girl. You’ve lived alone for far too long. Pick your battles. It’s just a dog!
    One night after dinner, Jim and I sat on the sofa, comfortable and romantic, having a glass of wine. All of a sudden, Eddie jumped on us as we were about to kiss. He put his wet snout between us, whimpering like someone had smacked him.
    â€œGet back, back!” Jim shouted as I screamed, and he shoved him back down to the floor. I wiped my face with my hand and tried to regain my composure. Eddie plopped down by Jim’s feet with a long whimper. It felt like he was throwing daggers my way. I was slightly spooked but also mightily bothered. Listen, galoot. There’s a new sheriff in town and she ain’t bearing biscuits.
    I needed to gather some intelligence.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    H ow did you two meet?”
    Eddie’s Cinderella story began with a father’s promise to his daughter. She would get a dog when she turned ten, Jim’s mom told Arielle and then told her son. Jim had no choice in the matter, but at least he could make sure the dog met a long list of qualifications. Not intimidating or hostile. Puppylike, energetic and fun. Preferably a female, maybe a twenty-pound terrier. Short-haired, so she wouldn’t shed a lot. Responsive to basic commands. House-trained.
    How in the world did this spotted beast get the job?
    â€œAnd you got Eddie?”
    â€œWell, our first stop was a rescue society whose only power in life is to deny people a dog. We went through this process, which was like getting into Harvard. They interviewed us, checked out our house. Every time there was a promising candidate I’d say, ‘Fine, I’ll take the dog.’ But they kept saying, ‘No, I don’t know if this dog would suit you. No, it’s not perfect for you. This dog isn’t good with kids. This dog needs five hundred acres. This dog bites runners.’ It was just ridiculous.”
    After several months of getting nowhere, Jim said, he found out about an end-of-the-line rescue place. They took in dead-end dogs. A woman, Jackie, rehabilitated them from all imaginable traumas and bad habits. Jim found himself in the woman’s living room one afternoon as she presented her misfits.
    â€œIt was really a mixed bag,” Jim said as he rubbed Eddie’s back with a bare foot.
    â€œThere was Max, who was a miniature Doberman pinscher and the most hyper dog you have ever seen. He