Sometimes the Best Presents Can’t Be Wrapped Read online

  But it did feel… good. He couldn’t deny that. Nice. Very nice. Even calming.

  Then Pretty Man put a collar around his neck, and Ned’s nostrils flared and he squinted. It smelled of dogs. Hundreds, maybe. Countless dogs.

  Pretty Man gave a half laugh and apologized, swore to him that when he found a forever home, or they found his family, he’d have his very own collar. Ned supposed this was meant to be comforting.

  But his own family wouldn’t know him, would they? His sister and her three kids, and Perry, who was about as useful as tits on a boar hog. And the idea of finding him a “Forever Home”—he’d been able to hear the capital letters in Pretty Man’s voice—gave him no comfort. It said one thing.

  Forever.

  As a dog.

  “You ready, boy?” Pretty Man asked.

  Ned stood. Took a step.

  “He’s smart, I can see that,” Pretty Man said.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Hank replied.

  At a slight tug on his leash—leash! I’m wearing a leash!—Ned stepped out of the kennel (thank God to be out of there) and then hopped surprisingly easily to the ground.

  “Somebody obviously took care of him. Trained him. Where did you find him?”

  “He was in some dude’s house. His friend said the guy didn’t own a dog. Hated animals. Before I left, the lady—she was so upset—was giving the police a statement. He’s not home, but his car is there, and they don’t know what’s wrong. They don’t know where he is.”

  They were walking to the door of this big cinder-block building. Ned wasn’t sure what color it was. Everything still had that blue/yellow tinge. Like he was wearing sunglasses. He did see the words Four-Footed Friends on the outside, along with large paw prints painted up the front of the place. A rescue service. Better than the dog pound, he supposed.

  Strange how he was going along with this, wasn’t it? He felt like he was some kind of zombie. Or in a dream. He guessed that he was still hoping that this was a dream. But one that went on and on like this? One that, even though it was crazy and impossible, felt so real. The feel of the ground beneath his… paws. The collar around his neck. The smells. Oh God, the smells! Were dreams that real?

  Or worse, was he maybe now in some kind of mental institution?

  The idea was terrifying.

  They went through the door, accompanied by the ringing of a little bell, and entered a big open room inside. Oh, the scents bombarded him again. Detergents. Pine. He glanced this way and that and saw, of course, a Christmas tree. This one with its roots in a big burlap ball. He also smelled something that was like meat, but not meat, and he raised his head high. Moved it from side to side. It was everywhere. Ah. The bags stacked around the room. Dog food. God. And there was dog too, of course. A thousand, thousand dogs. And cats. And cat pee—acrid, making his nostrils flare wide again and again—and shit. Cat shit.

  Fear. And sorrow. Oh no. He stopped. How could he go into a place like this?

  He tried to dig his feet in, but of course there was no need to even try. The floor was linoleum, and there was no place to get any purchase. Still, Pretty Man didn’t drag him but squatted down, petted him, and told him everything was going to be all right. That there was someone coming to meet him. Then he walked him into a room with kennels lining one wall, ten in all it looked like, five above and five below. He started to panic until Pretty Man assured him he wasn’t going into one of them. He just needed to do something. He reached into a cabinet, standing on tiptoe and showing a flat belly and low-rise jeans. In another world, it might have caught Ned’s attention, but no—nothing.

  Then he came down with… something. Ned didn’t quite see what it was, but Pretty Man ran it over the back of Ned’s back and then made a hmm noise. “Hey, man,” he said and did that head-ruffle thing again. Once more, Ned found himself leaning into it. He couldn’t help it. “Did your master not have you chipped?”

  The little bell from the other room rang, and Pretty Man stood and called out, “Hey, Jake? That you?” He led Ned back, and another man was standing there. Oh God! The irony was too much.

  It was Jake Carrara.

  Jake gasped. His throat hitched. “Oh no…,” he said ever so softly. But Ned could hear him.

  “Jake?” asked Pretty Man.

  “You can’t be serious!” Stronger, but his voice broke.

  “Jake?”

  “H.D. It’s cruel!”

  H.D.—that was Pretty Man’s name, Ned realized now—stood. “I wasn’t trying to be cruel.”

  Jake looked down at Ned and then turned his face away fast. His eyes. They were filling with tears. “A chocolate Lab? Really, H.D? Really?”

  “I know….”

  “He looks so much like Coco.”

  H.D. sighed.

  “I can’t.”

  “But you have to, Jake. Because I don’t have anyone else. We’re full to the max here. I’ve got a dog in the Socializer room. And all my foster parents, they’re full and over full. And this guy here—” He reached down and ruffled the hair on top of Ned’s head. “—he tried to bite an animal control officer, so—”

  “So you said, ‘Oh! I’ll call Jake. His dog died last week, and he’d be glad to have a dog that looks like the one he lost except—bonus points!—this one bites!’”

  “Tried to bite. An animal control officer. Dogs hate animal control officers. I think it’s the uniform. You know a dog hates a uniform—”

  “H.D! I can’t.”

  “Hank said they were going to have to put him down.”

  And to Ned’s surprise, a long cry of despair rolled up out of his throat. He did it before he knew he was going to do it.

  Both H.D. and Jake froze… and then looked at him.

  Ned let out another long whine. Dropped to his belly. Down? Put me down? Kill me?

  H.D. squatted again. “What’s wrong, ol’ buddy?”

  Everything. What could be worse? Shouldn’t he be asking what was right? Because there was a whole lot less right going on than wrong. Which meant nothing, really. Nothing was right.

  “Ruot? Ruff mrrrr doh?” Ned said. Put me down?

  “Geez,” Jake said.

  He took a step. Then another. Then walked the rest of the way to where Ned lay on the linoleum. Jake sighed and got down on one knee. “You okay there, guy?”

  “He’s so sad,” H.D. said. Pouted.

  “Shut up,” Jake told him. “Seriously.”

  Jake held out his hand for Ned to sniff. He didn’t need to. Or really want to. But hell, why not indulge them? He sniffed.

  And was surprised.

  The smell was… well… warm. He didn’t know how else to describe it. Earthy. Cinnamon, he thought. But warm? How did something smell warm? Almost like sunshine. But at this time of year, there wasn’t much of that, was there? It was pitch-black when Ned got to the office at six in the morning and pitch-black when he left at six in the evening.

  “Gosh, you’re beautiful,” Jake said. The words startled Ned, and he looked at Jake. Really looked at him.

  Gosh, he thought. You’re beautiful. Those eyes. So dark. Dark chocolate-brown and… deep. How had he never noticed before? Am I blind? Because even with this odd red/green color-blindness, he could see the brown.

  “It’s your eyes, buddy boy. You have really nice eyes. They remind me of someone—”

  Ned sucked in a breath and froze.

  “—but I’ll be damned if I can figure out who.” A tear escaped Jake’s eye and rolled down his dark cheek, seemingly unnoticed. Ned watched it, fascinated. It caught a little beam of the afternoon sunlight and turned for one second into a diamond. The wet path on Jake’s cheek made his—what? Mediterranean-toned?—skin slightly darker.

  But then Jake turned away and said, “I’m not adopting him, H.D. Do you hear me? I’ll watch him a few days—”

  “A week?” H.D. said. “Two at the most?”

  “One at the most,” Jake replied, standing. “And that’
s it.”

  H.D. sighed. “Yeah. Okay.” He nodded. “Do you need me to get you a leash?”

  Jake shook his head, and another two tears suddenly broke free and made their way down the paths that previous tears had prepared. “I brought Coco’s.” His voice caught on his dog’s name, and a strange pang lanced within Ned’s heart at the obvious pain Jake was in about his pet. Ned could smell it. Something like iron, perhaps. And salt, of course. It was an odd and unexpected sensation. Only yesterday the idea that Jake had missed a day of work over the death of an animal had enraged him. And now…?

  Get ahold of yourself. You were right to be angry. Anyone can get a dog anytime and anywhere. Hell. Mr. Dreadlock’s volunteer’s homes are filled with dogs. Coco was just a dog.

  “Food?” H.D. asked.

  Jake shook his head again. “I just b-bought a twenty-five-pound bag a couple weeks ago and c-couldn’t b-bear to throw it away.”

  H.D. reached out, took Jake’s shoulder, and gave it a little squeeze. Then Jake turned and went out the door.

  Ned jumped up and followed him. As if there were some kind of invisible leash between them. The door closed in his face, and he whined.

  He looked back at H.D., embarrassed. He didn’t understand what was going on with him. When that fuck in red turned him into this canine thing, did it come with doggie emotions as well? God! What if he got lost in these inclinations tickling around the edges of his mind? Would he lose himself in dogness? The idea was terrifying. He cried again. Couldn’t help it.

  H.D. came to him, squatted. “If you play your cards right, you might find yourself a new home, okay? Can you be a good boy? Try not to bite?”

  Ned gave a little bark that he hoped got the message—that he had no intention of biting anyone—across to the pretty man.

  H.D. smiled. “Nah. I didn’t think so. You were just scared before. You’re scared now….”

  “Ruff!” Yes!

  The door opened again to the tinkling of the bell, and Jake Carrara was back, this time with a leash… and collar. Rainbow patterned. Of course. And then Ned knew that they had belonged to the sainted Coco. And he felt… why, he didn’t know what it was. But it was unfamiliar.

  Jake exchanged the collars. His breathing was labored, and Ned decided to stay calm. Didn’t move a fraction. The whole collar-and-leash thing was so totally humiliating, but he was also aware that this was a really big deal for Jake. Ned needed to be grateful. Grateful to be on a leash.

  He felt like crying again in that moment. In utter despair. Because he had absolutely no idea what was going to happen to him now. He’d never felt so totally out of control. Not since finding out he was going to have to step in and run Balding Adhesives.

  Then another bolt of panic hit. Balding Adhesives! What the hell was going to happen to the business? Patricia wouldn’t do it, not with her kids to take care of. And no! Not Perry!

  He felt a tug and realized he’d stopped moving. Jake was looking down at him, those deep eyes filled with concern. “It’s okay, buddy. I know you’re probably scared, but I’m taking you to a safe place. It’s not so pretty. But you’ll be okay. And no kennels, all right?”

  Ned gave a bark to say that sounded good. Really good.

  Out the door they went then, and over to a beat-up old boat of a car that must have been around during roughly the Jurassic period. And Jake opened the passenger door and with a sweeping gesture said, “Monsieur.”

  Ned looked in. It was ancient but clean. Why, even Ned left a fast-food bag or two inside his car once in a while. So he jumped in. Jake closed the door and came around and got in himself. And then they were off.

  NED LOOKED out the front window, wondering where they were going. A snowflake came drifting down. Really? This weather. His feet had been on hot blacktop no more than an hour or two ago. Another came down, this one as thick and heavy as a feather escaped from a pillow.

  And then, as they came to a stoplight….

  Ned saw a Salvation Army Santa Claus. He leapt up, front paws on the window ledge, and smacked his nose on the window trying to really see the man. Was it…?

  But no. Not the same guy. This one was thinner. His beard not as thick or long. The brows not as…. But then they locked eyes. The Santa Claus’s twinkled. He winked. Touched his nose. Ned froze in shock, and then suddenly they were moving again.

  Ned started to bark. He couldn’t help it. Somehow, he managed to get over the seat—it was one of those long ones instead of separate ones—and into the back. Got up on his hind feet, front ones in the vastness of the back windows of yesteryear. The Santa was waving.

  And Jake was yelling. “Boy! Please. You’ve got to stop.”

  But he couldn’t stop! Something had taken over him. Something that rose up and filled him, and he… just… couldn’t… stop!

  It was the same Santa. He didn’t know how, because he did look different. But somehow….

  “It’s just a Salvation Army Santa Claus. Please. You’re scaring me!”

  It was the last few words that brought him out of his fury. Shocked him out. And he stopped and turned and sat on the back seat and looked at Jake’s eyes through the rearview mirror.

  “Did a man dressed as Santa do something to you, poor boy?”

  The question startled a bark out of him. How could Jake know that? But then he didn’t know, did he? It was just a wild guess.

  “Hey, boy! I know. I’ll turn on some radio. For music doth have charms to soothe the savage beast. Or something like that, anyway.”

  Just not Christmas music, please.

  But of course, that was what came pouring out of the speaker. “Oh yes,” Jake cried in delight. “I love Christmas music. How about you, boy?” When Ned’s only answer was a growl, Jake laughed. “Oh! Well, you old Scrooge, you Bah Humbug, huh? Sorry. I like it.” He turned it up.

  Ned let out a huff lost in the music, and Jake sang along. “Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plains. And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strains….”

  I’m in hell.

  That was it.

  I’ve died and gone to hell.

  6

  THE APARTMENT building was a horror. It looked like something the Munsters would have loved. Ned’s mouth would have fallen open if it hadn’t—in its dogness—already been hanging open as he panted.

  The panting was embarrassing, and he kept sneaking sidelong glances at Jake to see if he noticed or was annoyed. Dog panting had always driven Ned nearly crazy.

  “Not always” came an odd and familiar voice, echoing out of some part of his brain. Familiar, though not enough for him to recognize. But at the end of the echo, as if attached to an email, came a strong memory of a Westie. A dog. God. A dog he and Patricia and even Perry had loved. Until Dad had gotten tired of it and kicked it so hard that when he and his brother and sister had gotten Mom to take it—her, not it, and her name was Snowball!—to the vet the next day, the lady in a white lab coat had examined Snowball and asked, without blinking, who had been abusing her. Mom said, “No one, she fell down the stairs,” but Perry had spoken up, blurting, “Daddy! Daddy kicked her ’cause she peed in the house, but we was gone all day and she couldn’t help it!”

  The lady vet said she would have to keep Snowball a few days, and they never got her back.

  The memory was so clear! Shockingly clear and in full color, not this blue/yellow stuff. It made Ned gasp, which came out as a whine, and Jake reached out and scratched him behind the ears. That startled him, but then… it felt so good. Who would have thought getting scratched behind the ears could feel so good?

  “It’s okay, boy. It’s fine. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  But Ned couldn’t stop thinking about Snowball, and all those tears and memories came back. Years of worrying what had happened to her and if the vet had had to put her to sleep. “Snowball lived a long and happy life,” said the Voice.

  Ned tilted his head. Huh?

 
“She was taken in by a widow who had just turned seventy, and she had just lost a beloved dog named Chacha. Snowball lived another fifteen years and she and her lady died within a week of each other, and the old lady’s daughter and granddaughter scattered their ashes together, and now they play together on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.”

  The words stunned Ned. He had no idea where they came from or even if they were real. Only that the voice… he’d heard it before, and….

  That’s when Jake had pulled up in front of the apartment building and Ned had been horrified at its condition. He looked at Jake. Blinked. We’re living here?

  And he thought of his home. His beautiful, beautiful home in Woodbridge. He whined, his query coming out as that dogness again, expressing his human sorrow.

  As if Jake had heard Ned’s mental question, he said, “Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “It’s not much. Heck. It’s not anything.” Another sigh. “You should have seen the apartment Bruce and I used to live in. It was beautiful….”

  Bruce. That name again. Yes. Bruce must be the ex-boyfriend.

  “We had a fireplace. Sort of pistachio marble. Gorgeous. In an apartment! Can you believe it? It was connected to gas of course, for safety, you know. And at least half the people in the building were gay. Or lesbian, trans, queer. One big happy family. B-but he asked me to move out.”

  Ned found himself growling. This was too close to home. But at least he hadn’t kicked Cliff out, so of course he should get to keep the house. Cliff didn’t make shit for money, writing his little articles, so why should he have it? Cliff didn’t care.

  And I bet he thinks he’s going to get the lake place!

  Ned growled again.

  Jake looked at him curiously. Blinked at him. And damned if Ned’s tail didn’t start wagging. What? How? Why?

  But, like the head patting, and the ear scratching, and leaning into a hand… it felt good.

  Jake smiled, and Ned’s tail started going full throttle.

  “Hey,” Jake said. “It’s a roof over our heads, and it keeps us out of the snow!”