LBD: A Love Story in 14lbs

By Molly Bowes

When we walk down the street people stop and want to pet him. 'Well, hel-

looo

little black dog!' Then they ask his name. *I met him when I was about 23. Winter was ending, and my boyfriend and I had packed ourbags and loaded the truck for the three hour trip to visit his family for the weekend. We had just turned onto a country road not far from my house when we spotted a small back dog inthe road, tongue and tail wagging as he dodged a truck that was honking at him. We pulledover - mainly with hopes of shooing him off the road since none of the dogs I stopped for everseemed to trust me enough to come very close. I opened my car door and cringed as he ranin front of another car and over to ours. He was a curly, matted, dirty, debris carrying,wiggling mess - one end of him seemingly moving independently of the other - who promptlylay at my feet and rolled over. When I bent over to pet him, he was up again, jumping aboutme, scratching at my legs and crouching to dare me to chase him.When I opened the truck door he made it from the ground to the passenger seat in oneleap. 'He must belong to someone around here,' my boyfriend said as we slid across theseats. The little black dog squirmed on my lap, licked licked licked my arm and looked up atme. 'I think I love him,' I said, which surprised me almost as much as my boyfriend, a boywho’d never heard the word ‘love’ come out of me other than in reference to pasta. We drovedown roads and long driveways to ask men working in their yards, children getting off theschool bus and women leaning in doorways if they owned the dog. 'Nope,' a mother with ababy on her hip told us, 'nobody owns him. He just runs around here.'

*I couldn't keep the dog. I didn't know what I was doing next week let alone years from nowand couldn't commit to owning a dog. We didn't have time that weekend to look longer forthe owners (if they existed), and couldn't take the little black dog with us to my boyfriend'sparent's - they already had a fluffy, white purebred who would probably faint at the sight of this mixed breed. So we decided to drive the little black dog to my mom's work since it wasclose by; we'd ask her if she could watch him for the weekend. It was a long shot, since mymom wasn't particularly a great animal lover but she did have a bit of a soft spots for dogssince she had owned one as a child.'He's

really

cute. And it would just be for the weekend when I can find the owner.' My mom's co-worker laughed. 'Where is he right now - in your

car

? Well, let me look at him.' He was curled on the front seat sleeping peacefully with a dirty paw over his eyes. 'Oh,' mymom said placing a finger to her lips. 'He's ugly. Take him back. Someone will miss him.' * Next we tried the woman who was the greatest animal lover I knew: Audrey, my grandmother.I left the little black dog in the car with my boyfriend and slides open the heavy glass door.Audrey greeted me with a kiss. She was a small, energetic woman who wore muu-muus andusually had 4 or 5 small, yapping dogs orbiting her at all times. She'd be happy to look afterhim for the weekend, she said. The little black dog squeezed through the door before I’dopened it more than a crack. He promptly sniffed all the dogs' “message boards,” beforeraising a hind leg to claim an antique sofa as his own property. Audrey waved away my look of horror: 'Look at this bunch! I'm used to it!' *Over the next weeks we made signs and knocked on more doors. The one pet I did have - myblack cat 'Bubba' who'd been with me since eighth grade - couldn't wait to see him go. Shewas appalled at his hyper behavior and was (should I say 'literally'?) pissed when I first lethim in the house: he chased her to the bathroom where I found them in a face off - himcouched ready to play, her tail raised against the shower curtain letting loose a stream of urine onto it. 'Bubba!' I yelled and reached for her. She hissed me away, stared at the littleblack dog, and finished making her point.*Over the insuring weeks of fruitless “owner searching,” I was determined not to get attachedto the very cute little black dog and basically told him so.'Little black dog, don't get to comfortable on that couch because soon we're going to findyour family.'

'Little black dog, don't eat the cat food.' 'Little black dog, I could have told you The Boyfriend would be mad if you ate his new wallet.' But there didn't seem like there were any owners to find. And I was getting pretty attached tohim, and him to me.* One early spring day, we went to the Lowe's so I could scan the shelves for the right kind of light bulb. I heard a woman behind me laughing. 'A little black dog is running up an down theaisles!' Which sent me running up and down the aisles ('How did he get out of the car?'). I'dget to Gardening and someone who say, 'He's over in Appliances!' ('But I only left the windowopen a crack!') I'd get to Appliances and someone would say, 'I think he's near checkout.'When I saw him, he was at the other end of Hardware. He was running towards Building butsaw me and changed directions, running in place against the concrete floor Scooby Doo styleuntil he regained traction and was running towards me. Maybe in slow motion. Maybe withthe sounds of 'Love Story' playing over the store speakers. Maybe I'm romanticizing this part.But I knew then that if he could try that hard to find me, then I could at least let him, and lovehim back.Which meant, it was time to name him. But it was too late.I called him 'Flea,' because of the way he jumped high and just beyond grasp. But he didn'tanswer to that.I called him 'Satchmo' - which my grandfather would forever call him - but he didn't respondto that either.One day in exasperation, after he'd slipped out the front door and was running from tree totree checking for squirrels, and I'd called him everyother name I could think of, I called him what hewas. 'Hey, you,

black dog!

' And he turned and ran and jumped all around me until I caught him in my armsand he licked my face. 'Hey, you. Black Dog.' * Black Dog is about 12 or 13 or 14 by now, I don’t knowfor sure because he was a stray. But every year thatpasses makes me hope that he is younger than hemay be.He no longer runs next to me when I go jogging; hishind legs are weak and his back sometimes hurts him.And instead of springing into my car or onto my lap in