Chapter V
Motherless pups
"Make sure he doesn't piss on the carpet, otherwise you'll have to clean it!" John practically yells at Charlie while he opens the door for us, clearly unhappy with the situation. It's no picnic for me either, if you want to know.
"Don't worry," Charlie pets the back of my head and looks down at me, "He'll behave. Right, Balto?"
I honestly want to piss on John's carpet just to piss the man off – no pun intended, but I know that doing so will get Charlie in trouble. So, I just wag my tail and decide to comply my boy's wishes against my true will.
We walk into a kitchen and the place is dark; there are no lights on and the curtains are drawn. The place smells like its owner, old and oily. John clicks the lights on and opens a window, motioning for Charlie to sit down on the table. Despite the new sources of light, the room remains dimly lit, like light refused to get in.
"Wait," John calls as he goes to a small, yellow old fridge, "Tie him to the doorknob. I don't want him on my feet while we eat."
As if I'd ever get close to his feet. Dead chance.
"But…" Charlie looked down and sighed, "Ok, John."
He grabs my leash and walks me to the door, tying the other end to the doorknob like he'd been ordered to do. I can't help letting out a small whimper and tilt my head when Charlie stands up and walks away again.
"Sorry, boy," He crunches down and hugs me as he whispers, "It's going to be alright. But this is what we have to do now."
I sigh and lay down. There isn't much I can do for now, I believe.
Charlie sits down on the table as John walks around the kitchen, fidgeting with several pots and bowls as he puts together a poor excuse for a meal. They stay in silence while he does it, and I can feel they're both a little tense. I can see Charlie's fiddling thumbs under the table, and more than anything I want to get close to him and comfort him, but the leash pulls on my neck when I try to move.
After minutes that felt like eternity, John approaches Charlie with two plates, one in each hand. He puts down one in front of Charlie and then sits across my boy, setting the other plate for himself.
"Thanks," Charlie whispered so lowly that I probably heard it better than John could. It takes him a while before he begins to eat it, and he doesn't look that pleased. I guess the taste isn't much better than the dull smell the food has.
More silence.
"So, you're here," John begins to say. Humans do this weird thing, small talk. I don't know how humans cannot rejoice the peace of mind that is the silence, instead, they make it awkward; and try to make it less awkward by having awkward conversations. I don't get it.
"Yeah, I am," Charlie says, and I notice he's playing with his food rather than eating it.
"Are you afraid?" John asks, and my attention is peaked. Afraid? Why would Charlie be afraid?
Charlie swallows hard, despite not having chewed on anything, "Not really. I mean, dad should be scared, he's there fighting. But I'm here. What's there to fear?" He shrugs.
James is fighting? What is he fighting?
"You're brave. That's good," John seems to smile, but it doesn't last, "But don't let yourself be fooled. Too much bravery will lead you to danger. The worst defects are those that, when used wisely, can be qualities."
Charlie drops the fork and it hits his plate with a dry, low thud, "I guess."
It's obvious that Charlie is not interested in talking, but this man doesn't seem to get it. Instead of dropping it, he keeps on talking.
"How's your dad been? You know, before he had to leave?"
"Fine, I guess," Charlies shrugs again, tapping his fingers on the table, "He only told me that this is his duty, this is what he has to do, and so on. We never talk anyway. He just told me to be brave and behave while I'm here."
"You better," John says harshly before he adds a laugh to lighten up the mood. Well, it doesn't work. "Hey, what about the mutt?"
My head shoots up and I look at him with a low growl. Charlie looks back at me with disapproving eyes and I drop my ears back. My boy then looks back at John and sighs.
"What about him?" Charlie mutters.
"What's his name again?"
"Balto." Charlie replies and I must control myself to resist the knee-jerk reaction to run to him when he says my name.
"Balto?" John coughs, "What does that even mean?"
Charlie shrugs, "Nothing. I found him when he was a newborn puppy and I took him home with me. While on my way I spotted a guy fixing a fence on a house nearby, and his toolbox said 'Balto'. I don't know whether that was a brand, or his name, or what. I just named him that. I don't know, felt right."
"Weird name." John looks over at me, "But kind of fits him. Where'd you find him?"
"In a lair."
"Excuse me?"
"Uh," Charlie sits up straight and looks back at me again. Will he tell John the truth about me? He's always made it a big deal about telling other humans about my origins, which I never understood. "In a lair. I was exploring the forest behind our home, and found a lair with four dead puppies that had starved to death, and a fifth one barely hanging on. And that was him. I guess a stray dog must have given birth there and gotten lost from her puppies."
"How long ago was that?"
"Five years ago."
John looks confused, "How old are you now?"
Charlie lets out a small laugh, "I'll be sixteen in a month."
"So, you found him after your mom passed." John states.
Charlie swallows hard again.
"Yeah," It's all he says as he bows his head down and close his eyes. "A month later."
I tilt my head.
I never met Charlie's mother.
The very first memory I have is of his smell, his hands holding me when I still had my eyes closed. As I grew into a puppy and began walking and exploring the world around me, I picked up more smells – James', firewood, food, meat. But I realized that his house lacked a female odor, there was no sight of a mother anywhere. Just the pup Charlie and his father James. I wondered if maybe humans didn't need females to reproduce like wolves and dogs do, but soon I realized that Charlie did have a mother, but she wasn't there.
I later learned she had passed away.
Much like me, Charlie's mother left her pup when he needed her most. But I was lucky enough to have Charlie come and rescue me, Charlie was left alone with James. That was when I knew, I had to take care of him as well. He might not be a puppy, but he needs to be cared for. And that's what I've doing ever since.
And that's what I'll always do.
"How did you convince your dad to let you keep him without having her there to persuade him into it?" John asks with a sly smile, "Your father has always been tough to talk to."
"I didn't," Charlie folds his arms, "I walked in and said I was going to keep him. James didn't object. I took it upon myself to raise him, and so I did, and here he is. I don't care for what James says. I don't even listen half of the time anyway."
John smacks his lips and wipes his mouth with the tablecloth, "You still don't call him 'dad', hum?"
Charlie doesn't say anything. He's sitting with his back on me, but I have the feeling he glares at John while he stays in silence.
"Alright," John says and burps before he gets up from the table, "You done?" He asks and points to Charlie's plate.
"Yeah," Charlie says, but he takes the plate away before John can do it, "I'll go feed the rest to Balto. He's hungry."
I sure am. The thought of food – even if it's John's food – makes my stomach rumble and I begin fidgeting with my front paws to hurry Charlie.
"Stop that!" John yells at me and stomps his foot, "You'll ruin the flooring!"
"Sorry," Charlies says on my behalf as I crunch down and hide my tail under my legs, "I'll take him outside and feed him."
Charlie rushes to me with the plate on one hand and attempts to untie the leash, but it proves to be hard with one hand only. He leans down and unlatches the leash from my collar as he opens the door, "Boy, follow," He tells me, and I obey, walking by his side.
We walk around the house and go to the backyard. Charlie sits under a tree and puts the plate on the floor, but as much as I'm hungry, I sit by his side and nuzzle him instead of eating. I feel sorry for how I behaved and how I made John yell at him. If only I could bite that man.
"It's alright, Balto," He says as he pets my head, "Go eat, boy, you need it."
I lick his cheek and then go to the plate. Indeed, the food isn't the best, but my hunger doesn't discriminate. I hear Charlie take his shoes off and he pets my back legs with his bare foot. I wag my tail while eating, and he giggles at the sight.
"Good boy, Balto." He sighs and looks up the sky, water-filled eyes, "Good boy."
It's been interesting to write from the POV of a dog. I have to constantly remind myself not to have Balto say anything that he couldn't know, or to imagine what a dog can or can't see, but it's fun nevertheless. Hope I did a good job.
Thanks for reading!