The tortoise has been in the same spot two mornings running – out in the open, butted up against the brick step at the foot of my office door. It’s not cold, but it is raining hard. It’s possible his battery has run so low he lacks the power to seek shelter.
In the kitchen I find my wife sitting on the sofa, trying to teach the new dog to shake hands. The floor is littered with pristine dog toys and chewed-up everyday items: a wooden spoon, a shoe, a single, fingerless gardening glove. Evidently, a thing worth chewing must be of value to someone else.
“Already?” my wife says when she sees I’m holding the tortoise. “It’s not even cold.”
“I know, but he’s not living his best life out there,” I say.
The new dog takes no notice of the tortoise; it’s completely fixated on my wife’s closed fist, which conceals a dog treat of some kind.
“Paw,” my wife says. The dog doesn’t move.
“If the sun comes out he can go back,” I say, setting the tortoise down. “But for now I think it’s best if …”
“Paw,” my wife says. The dog looks up at her, and then at the fist again.
“No progress?” I say.
“These things take time,” my wife says. “Paw.”
“It’s been, like, a week,” I say. I don’t really see the point; shaking hands is not a key canine skill. The dog won’t be going to any business lunches.
“Paw,” my wife says, tapping the dog’s forearm. The dog fixes her with a look of perfect bewilderment.
“Some dogs just don’t get it,” I say.
“Paw,” my wife says, seizing the dog’s arm, shaking it once, and handing over the treat. “Good girl. Did you see that?”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“Oh,” she says. “And this also happened.” She hands me a book – the one I’m reading for book club. The bottom third of it has been shredded and, one assumes, ingested.
“Wow,” I say. “This dog actually ate my homework.”
“You can’t leave things lying around,” my wife says.
“I didn’t,” I say. “She must have snatched it from my hands as I slept.”
When I come downstairs the next morning I’m greeted by four animals all waiting to be fed, only with different degrees of urgency: the cat is insistent; the tortoise expectant; the old dog is indifferent; and the new dog is hysterical, leaping and twisting in the air like a salmon negotiating a fish ladder.
“Oh my God, relax,” I say. “It’s only dog food.”
The new dog has a bowl with a maze in its base to stop it eating too quickly. As soon as it finishes it runs to the cat’s bowl – now empty – and the old dog’s bowl – also empty. Then it steals the tortoise’s lettuce and carries it into a corner.
My wife walks in and sits down to put her shoes on.
“Everybody fed?” she says.
“More or less,” I say.
“I’ll be back at lunchtime,” she says. “You’ll have to take her to the park.”
“Fine,” I say. “Wait, what?”
An hour later, I’m in the park. As far as I’m concerned the new dog needs only one social skill: coming back when I call it. I achieve this using a pocketful of dog treats. To stop it eating too much I only reward it for doing the right thing one in four times, but dogs are ever hopeful.
Before I let the dog off the lead, I scan the park for potential trouble: toddlers clustered like ninepins, waiting to be bowled over; anyone who carries themselves in a dog-hating posture; anyone holding anything snatchable – a cane, a child’s woolly hat, a birthday cake in a white box. I hold up a treat in a closed fist, and the dog sits. I kneel and undo the lead’s clip.
“So you’re going to stay close, and listen for the note of panic in my voice,” I say.
The dog lifts its paw to be shaken.
“Wrong,” I say, handing over the treat and standing up. “Let’s start by heading this way, towards that lonely thicket.”
I look down. The dog has disappeared. When I turn I see it charging in the direction of a dog I will later learn is a Hungarian vizsla.
“How was it?” my wife says later.
“We made many new friends in the park,” I say. “And only two enemies.”
“Enemies?” my wife says, bending down over the dog.
“Outwardly I’m very apologetic,” I say. “But inside I’m thinking: ‘Yeah, she’s spoiling my morning walk too, and I have to take her home with me at the end.’”
“Paw!” my wife says. The dog stares.