Lee Harrington - Rex and the City: A Memoir of a Woman, a Man and the Rescue Dog Who Rescued Their Relationship

By November of 1997, Ed and I had had our shelter dog Wallace about five months, and in all that time, I dont think either Ed or I had spent more than five hours apart from our dog. We were obviously making many concessions for Wallaces extreme separation anxiety, but Ed, being the sane one of our partnership, finally realized that we were going overboard. And so, around Daylight Savings time, he suggested that we at least think about taking a vacation. As bait, he suggested France.

We had many justifiable reasons for going. The airfares were low that season. And Ed was turning thirty on December first, and he had always dreamed of spending his birthday in France. I personally had cause to celebrate as well. I had finally, finally finished the novel I had been working on for countless months. I had polished it off, typed those blessed words The End and had hand-delivered the manuscript to my agent. She was going to shop it around to the top ten publishing houses in New York.

Plus there was the fact that I absolutely love France. I had lived in Antibes for six months back in 1995. I had moved there at the spur of the moment because of heartbreak. I felt that not only could I not remain in the same city as my ex-boyfriend; I felt I could not be in the same country either. So I up and left and ended up in the South of France. Perhaps, I realized, it would be cathartic to return to a place where I had fled with the person I had found. I could visit my past with my present.

Okay, I said. Ill consider it, but we have to find a really good dog sitter.

Now, all dog people know that as soon as you make a decisionas soon as you have the first inkling of a thoughtyour dog seems to pick up on it. I swear Wallace started to act more clingy as soon as Ed got off the phone with the travel agent to inquire about flight options. No bookingsjust an inquiry.

The following day, on my way to Central Park for my morning dog walk with Wallace, I stopped into our corner deli to pick up a copy of the New York Times and I had the audacity to tie Wallace up to a parking meter right outside the store. I knew he was safe, because this was the Upper East Side, and I could see him from the counter where the papers were sold. Wallace, however, howled and screamed so painfully that a few passersby stopped to try to comfort him. These were the very same passersby who would probably step over a freshly stabbed person in order to catch the M101 express bus.

I came out of the deli to find a doctor, on his knees, offering Wallace his breakfast bagel and a nurse singing How much is that doggie in the window? and stroking his ears. Two schoolgirls on their way to Spence had also stopped to watch, and were looking at me in an accusing sort of way. He was upset, the first schoolgirl would say, dangling a little stuffed gorilla key chain in front of Wallaces nose. He didnt even want my maple scone.

And his heart is racing, the doctor said, holding a hand to Wallaces chest. This poor boy is terrified. Terrified.

Meanwhile, Wallace pounced on me again and again, shouting a-woo-woo-woo and muddying up my pants.

I could only stare blankly at my accusers. He has separation anxiety, I told them feebly. He came from a shelter. Before we rescued him, he was abandoned, I think. Sometimes I think he was one of those dogs who got left tied to a pole. But Im trying to recondition him. Im trying to teach him that Im not abandoning him when I tie him to a pole.

One of the nurses nodded her head, and said, Uh-huh, in that way that suggested she didnt believe a word I said. It turns out she worked in the psychiatric ward at St. Lukes.

People steal dogs, you know, said the doctor. It happened to my wifes cousin. They steal them from parking meters and then sell them to laboratories. He began to talk of dogs being maimed, probed, and blinded by cruel laboratory technicians. He talked of the brokers who would comb the want ads looking for free puppies, and then sell them for a profit to the labs. He talked of the outright thieves, the scum, who patrolled the streets of this very city, looking for dogs to steal. The schoolgirls turned around to look at me accusingly again.

My heart was racing as we hurried away. I couldnt believe that doctors and nurses were stopping on the sidewalks to administer to my dog. But we had moved to a neighborhood full of hospitals and private schools, so these sorts of citizens were all over the place. It was enough to make me want to have our New York Times delivered, but in my building people stole that, too.

I tried to sweet-talk Wallace on the way home. Just because I tied you to that parking meter doesnt mean I was abandoning you. You know that, right? I would never leave you. Sometimes I just like to read the newspaper, to find out whats going on in the human world.

Wallace just gave me an uncertain look and continued to trot worriedly across East 82nd Street, back to our apartment, to the safety of his bed. He remained extra clingy for the rest of the dayfollowing me from the desk to the refrigerator, to the bathroom, and back to the desk. He kept placing his body between me and the doorway and giving me an imploring look, as if to say: Youre not gonna do it, right? Youre not gonna go, right? You wont forget me, will you?

I would never leave you! I kept pulling his face toward mine and kissing him all over his head and snout. Youre my baby boy. Youre my little love! His sweet determination made me sad. And a little frustrated. What would it take to convince my dog that I would never leave him? That I was his for life? That Ed was too?

Maybe I just needed to resign myself, once and for all, to the fact that our dog, as the psychiatric nurse would say, had issues. Issues that, because of their sheer mystery, we could never cure. Could we leave such a dog behind for two weeks if we took a vacation to Paris?

I consulted Ed. Can Wallace come to France with us? I said.

No! Ed said. I would never fly him in cargo. Its not safe.

Well, then why do we have a giant training crate in our living room, which you said we needed to have in case someday we decided to fly somewhere? That crate takes up one-sixth of the room.

The crate is not the point and the dog is not the point. The whole point is to get away for a while, just the two of us, alone. We deserve a vacation. We havent been alone in months.

Remember that we were now sleeping with a large dog wedged between us, a dog who spooned with me while simultaneously pushing Ed away with all four paws. Rest on that image for a while, and you will see a bigger picture.

I think it will be good for all of us, Ed said, to learn to let go. Its not going to kill him to spend a week with someone else.

Okay. But like I said, well have to find a really good dog-sitter. No kennels, no daycarehe should be in someones home.

The good dog-sitter came to us in the form of Donnaa cheerful, heavyset woman who sold advertising space at the pharmaceutical magazine where I used to temp. Her own dog, a sleek Italian greyhound, had died a few months earlier, and Donna still kept a giant studio portrait of Organza on her desk. Most of the people in the office had thought it was weird, even excessive, to spend five thousand dollars on a dog portrait, but I never did. I loved to hear stories about Organza. I cried right along with her when she told me how Organza had died in her arms on the way to the vets office. We had formed a bond that transcended the usual temp employee/perm employee relationship. It wasnt until I got my own dog that I realized our bond was that of two Crazy Dog Ladies.

So when I mentioned to Donna that Ed and I wanted to go away, and that we were looking for a dog-sitter, she immediately offered to do it. Id love to, she said. I really miss the company of dogs. She wasnt ready to get another dog yet, she told me. Thats a big commitment, and I want to play this dog-dating game for a while. But shed be happy to watch Wallace while we were away. Hell, she said laughing. Maybe after that week Ill be ready to march right down to the pound and get me another hound.