Once We Were Wolves
I gaze up at Lele, sitting like a queen in her doggie stroller. She smells hot – smoking hot – and she’s oozing the kind of pheromones that pull me back to my roots, to the time when we were wolves. When we ran in packs across tundra and boreal forests.
Now all we have is Victoria Park.
At least I get to walk about on my own four feet, with a mere lead to constrain me. Without it, I might bound through the low-clipped hedges, erupting to capture a fat, waddling pigeon between my slavering jaws. Slavering isn’t an optional extra with us pugs; it’s a breed thing. We are all the rage, despite the drool.
Fortunately, Lele finds it charming. She’s a dainty white miniature poodle. She never gets to run around, even when she isn’t in heat, because her mum insists on keeping her perfectly white. If Lele gets even a speck of dust on her feet, her mum will haul out the wet wipes for a frantic cleaning.
‘That’s a great stroller,’ dad says as he draws up to Lele’s mum. ‘Is it new?’
Dad’s been working hard to get close to Lele’s mum, but she’s been standoffish. The descendants of apes have a much more complicated mating ritual than we dogs do. One sniff of each other’s bottoms, and me and Lele knew we had a connection. Not that we’re exclusive – dogs don’t roll that way. Well, how could we, when a female dog gives off such a powerful message? It short-circuits the brain, taking us back to our wolfy roots.
Lele’s mum is blushing now as she talks to dad. That’s such an ape thing.
‘Yes, it’s brand new. This is Lele’s first outing in it,’ she says.
‘Well, it looks like she approves,’ dad says with a wolfish grin.
Dad isn’t very successful at the mating game. He’s so bad that he needs me as a wingman just to talk to dog mums. A lot of them are married and exclusive – more each year as dad gets older.
There have been some long, dark nights of the soul when I’ve had to sit up with dad, keeping him from sinking into loneliness and depression. I don’t see the problem. Dad’s a handsome man – I thought so the day our eyes met at the rescue centre. He’s kind, too. He certainly spoils me. I have my own bed and leopard-patterned luxury fleece, yet dad still allows me to sleep in his. I have occasionally woken up, sprawled out comfortably, to find dad barely clinging to the edge of the bed. He could have just pushed me over, but he’s that kind of softie.
Lele’s mum gives a gratified smile and says, ‘I bought her a new collar, too. It’s her birthday in a couple of days.’
Dad leans down to get a better look and comes up beaming. ‘She looks just like a princess.’
Lele’s mum gives him an approving smile.
‘Will you be doing anything special for her birthday?’ dad asks.
‘I’ve bought some special treats for the day,’ Lele’s mum says, ‘and I’ve invited a few of her friends from doggie day care to join us in the park next Saturday.’
‘That sounds great,’ dad says, and now he’s got this hopeful, uncertain, expression on his face.
I hope Lele’s mum takes the hint. If she doesn’t, he’ll be walking home with his tail between his legs – not that apes have tails.
‘It’s my first time doing something like this,’ Lele’s mum says with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I never had a dog before Lele, so I’m not so great on dog-owner etiquette.’
‘Lele is your first dog? What a coincidence. Baozi is the first dog I’ve ever owned, too.’
This comes as news to me. Then again, the flat didn’t smell of dog when I first moved in. And why would he talk to me about other dogs? But I was so overexcited that day that I might have missed it. Now, it makes me feel all the more special.
‘Really?’ Lele’s mum says, looking surprised. ‘You seem like such a natural.’
‘Thanks. But I’ve only had him for five years, so I guess that gives me two years more dog-parenting experience,’ dad says with his trademark cheesy grin.
He really needs to give up on that. I’m not sure females like it. But the two humans are so preoccupied with each other now that I take the chance to sidle up to Lele.
‘Hey, gorgeous, how are you today?’ I ask, twitching my nose because, up close, this chick is driving the old olfactories wild.
‘Bored, my love,’ Lele signals with a slight whine.
‘I wish I could break you out. Then we could run and hide under a magnolia and make mad, passionate love.’
‘Baozi, you’re such a romantic,’ Lele sighs.
I wish dad was watching. He could learn a thing or two from me. Meanwhile, he’s still just gazing at Lele’s mum with sad, puppy-dog eyes.
‘Maybe you and Baozi could join us?’ Lele’s mum says.
It’s a miracle! Lele and I exchange a surprised glance.
‘Really?’ dad says, so happy his voice nearly jumps an octave.
I resist slapping a paw to my head. Dad needs to learn to play it cool. No female likes a desperate male.
Thankfully, Lele’s mum just laughs. ‘You and Baozi will be very welcome. I have a feeling that Lele really likes Baozi.’
Now there’s someone with great instincts.
‘I can bring puppacinos,’ dad says, letting his enthusiasm get the better of him.
‘What’s that?’ Lele’s mum asks.
‘Milk with a bit of froth. I give Baozi one every morning when I have my cappuccino. He loves it.’
This is true, and I nod an affirmative to Lele – she’ll love it too.
‘Well, that sounds great,’ Lele’s mum says, ‘then it’s a date.’
She turns bright red as she realises what she’s said. Dad is only a shade lighter.
‘A d.d.doggy date,’ dad stutters, trying to salvage the conversation .
I’m proud of his quick thinking.
‘Definitely,’ Lele’s mum says. ‘But perhaps something more as well.’
Dad is so stunned he’s reduced to amoeba status. He can’t even blink. Lele’s mum laughs and turns the doggie stroller around.
‘See you on Saturday, Baozi and Ben!’ And then she’s off without looking back.
‘She knows my name,’ dad says, coming out of his daze. ‘Baozi, she knows my name!’
I don’t know why he expects me to be pleased about that – after all, I also know his name. But it means extra cuddles and treats for me tonight. Being a wolf may be cool and whatnot, but a comfortable home with all the blankets, cushions, romping and food is even better.
Then again, if dad plays his cards right on Saturday, he, me, Lele and her mum might all soon be forming a new pack.
Marina Pacheco is a slow fiction author living in Lisbon, after stints in London, Johannesburg and Bangkok. Her ambition is to publish 100 books. This is taking considerably longer than expected, especially as she keeps getting distracted by ideas for yet more stories. More at http://marinapacheco.me
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