She scampered into the bedroom with me in pursuit. Soon we were on top of the sheets in each other's arms. I closed my eyes and could feel that old lost friend of mine stirring. The magic was returning. You can do this, John. You can do this, John. I tried to conjure up the most impure thoughts I could. I tried to conjure up the most impure thoughts I could. This was going to work! This was going to work! My fingers fumbled for those flimsy shoulder straps. My fingers fumbled for those flimsy shoulder straps. Roll with it, John. No pressure. Roll with it, John. No pressure. I could feel her breath now, hot and moist on my face. And heavy. Hot, moist, heavy breath. I could feel her breath now, hot and moist on my face. And heavy. Hot, moist, heavy breath. Mmmm, s.e.xy. Mmmm, s.e.xy.

But wait. What was that smell? Something on her breath. Something at once familiar and foreign, not exactly unpleasant but not quite enticing, either. I knew that smell, but I couldn't place it. I hesitated. What are you doing, you idiot? Forget the smell. Focus, man. Focus! What are you doing, you idiot? Forget the smell. Focus, man. Focus! But that smell-I could not get it out of my head. But that smell-I could not get it out of my head. You're getting distracted, John. Don't get distracted. You're getting distracted, John. Don't get distracted. What was it? What was it? Stay the course! Stay the course! My curiosity was getting the better of me. My curiosity was getting the better of me. Let it go, guy. Let it go! Let it go, guy. Let it go! I began sniffing the air. A food; yes, that was it. But what food? Not crackers. Not chips. Not tuna fish. I almost had it. It was...Milk-Bones? I began sniffing the air. A food; yes, that was it. But what food? Not crackers. Not chips. Not tuna fish. I almost had it. It was...Milk-Bones?

Milk-Bones! That was it! She had Milk-Bone breath. But why? But why? I wondered-and I actually heard a little voice ask the question in my head- I wondered-and I actually heard a little voice ask the question in my head-Why has Jenny been eating Milk-Bones? And besides, I could feel her lips on my neck...How could she be kissing my neck and breathing in my face all at once? It didn't make any- And besides, I could feel her lips on my neck...How could she be kissing my neck and breathing in my face all at once? It didn't make any- Oh...my...G.o.d.

I opened my eyes. There, inches from my face, filling my entire frame of vision, loomed Marley's huge head. His chin rested on the mattress, and he was panting up a storm, drool soaking into the sheets. His eyes were half closed-and he looked entirely too in love. "Bad dog!" I shrieked, recoiling across the bed. "No! No! Go to bed!" I frantically ordered. "Go to bed! Go lie down!" But it was too late. The magic was gone. The monastery was back.

At ease, soldier.

The next morning I made an appointment to take Marley in to have his b.a.l.l.s cut off. I figured if I wasn't going to have s.e.x for the rest of my life, he wasn't either. Dr. Jay said we could drop Marley off before we went to work and pick him up on our way home. A week later, that's just what we did.

As Jenny and I got ready, Marley caromed happily off the walls, sensing an impending outing. For Marley, any trip was a good trip; it didn't matter where we were going or for how long. Take out the trash? No problem! No problem! Walk to the corner for a gallon of milk? Walk to the corner for a gallon of milk? Count me in! Count me in! I began to feel pangs of guilt. The poor guy had no idea what lay in store for him. He trusted us to do the right thing, and here we were secretly plotting to emasculate him. Did betrayal get any more treacherous than this? I began to feel pangs of guilt. The poor guy had no idea what lay in store for him. He trusted us to do the right thing, and here we were secretly plotting to emasculate him. Did betrayal get any more treacherous than this?

"Come here," I said, and wrestled him to the floor where I gave him a vigorous belly scratch. "It won't be so bad. You'll see. s.e.x is highly overrated." Not even I, still rebounding from my bad run of luck the last couple of weeks, believed that. Who was I fooling? s.e.x was great. s.e.x was incredible. The poor dog was going to miss out on life's single greatest pleasure. The poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I felt horrible.

And I felt even worse when I whistled for him and he bounded out the door and into the car with utter blind faith that I would not steer him wrong. He was revved up and ready to go on whatever excellent adventure I saw fit. Jenny drove and I sat in the pa.s.senger seat. As was his habit, Marley balanced his front paws on the center console, his nose touching the rearview mirror. Every time Jenny touched the brakes, he went crashing into the windshield, but Marley didn't care. He was riding shotgun with his two best friends. Did life get any better than this?

I cracked my window, and Marley began listing to starboard, leaning against me, trying to catch a whiff of the outdoor smells. Soon he had squirmed his way fully onto my lap and pressed his nose so firmly into the narrow crack of the window that he snorted each time he tried to inhale. Oh, why not? Oh, why not? I thought. This was his last ride as a fully equipped member of the male gender; the least I could do was give him a little fresh air. I opened the window wide enough for him to stick his snout out. He was enjoying the sensation so much, I opened it farther, and soon his entire head was out the window. His ears flapped behind him in the wind, and his tongue hung out like he was drunk on the ether of the city. G.o.d, was he happy. I thought. This was his last ride as a fully equipped member of the male gender; the least I could do was give him a little fresh air. I opened the window wide enough for him to stick his snout out. He was enjoying the sensation so much, I opened it farther, and soon his entire head was out the window. His ears flapped behind him in the wind, and his tongue hung out like he was drunk on the ether of the city. G.o.d, was he happy.

As we drove down Dixie Highway, I told Jenny how bad I felt about what we were about to put him through. She was beginning to say something no doubt totally dismissive of my qualms when I noticed, more with curiosity than alarm, that Marley had hooked both of his front paws over the edge of the half-open window. And now his neck and upper shoulders were hanging out of the car, too. He just needed a pair of goggles and a silk scarf to look like one of those World War I flying aces.

"John, he's making me nervous," Jenny said.

"He's fine," I answered. "He just wants a little fresh-"

At that instant he slid his front legs out the window until his armpits were resting on the edge of the gla.s.s.

"John, grab him! Grab him!"

Before I could do anything, Marley was off my lap and scrambling out the window of our moving car. His b.u.t.t was up in the air, his hind legs clawing for a foothold. He was making his break. As his body slithered past me, I lunged for him and managed to grab the end of his tail with my left hand. Jenny was braking hard in heavy traffic. Marley dangled fully outside the moving car, suspended upside down by his tail, which I had by the most tenuous of grips. My body was twisted around in a position that didn't allow me to get my other hand on him. Marley was frantically trotting along with his front paws on the pavement.

Jenny got the car stopped in the outside lane with cars lining up behind us, horns blaring. "Now what?" I yelled. I was stuck. I couldn't pull him back in the window. I couldn't open the door. I couldn't get my other arm out. And I didn't dare let go of him or he would surely dash in the path of one of the angry drivers swerving around us. I held on for dear life, my face, as it were, scrunched against the gla.s.s just inches from his giant flapping s.c.r.o.t.u.m.

Jenny put the flashers on and ran around to my side, where she grabbed him and held him by the collar until I could get out and help her wrestle him back into the car. Our little drama had unfolded directly in front of a gas station, and as Jenny got the car back into gear I looked over to see that all the mechanics had come out to take in the show. I thought they were going to wet themselves, they were laughing so hard. "Thanks, guys!" I called out. "Glad we could brighten your morning."

When we got to the clinic, I walked Marley in on a tight leash just in case he tried any more smart moves. My guilt was gone, my resolve hardened. "You're not getting out of this one, Eunuch Boy," I told him. He was huffing and puffing, straining against his leash to sniff all the other animal smells. In the waiting area he was able to terrorize a couple of cats and tip over a stand filled with pamphlets. I turned him over to Dr. Jay's a.s.sistant and said, "Give him the works."

That night when I picked him up, Marley was a changed dog. He was sore from the surgery and moved gingerly. His eyes were bloodshot and droopy from the anesthesia, and he was still groggy. And where those magnificent crown jewels of his had swung so proudly, there was...nothing. Just a small, shriveled flap of skin. The irrepressible Marley bloodline had officially and forever come to an end.

CHAPTER 10.

The Luck of the Irish.

Our lives increasingly were being defined by work. Work at the newspapers. Work on the house. Work around the yard. Work trying to get pregnant. And, nearly a full-time vocation in itself, work raising Marley. In many ways, he was like a child, requiring the time and attention a child requires, and we were getting a taste of the responsibility that lay ahead of us if we ever did have a family. But only to a degree. Even as clueless as we were about parenting, we were pretty sure we couldn't lock the kids in the garage with a bowl of water when we went out for the day.

We hadn't even reached our second wedding anniversary and already we were feeling the grind of responsible, grown-up, married life. We needed to get away. We needed a vacation, just the two of us, far from the obligations of our daily lives. I surprised Jenny one evening with two tickets to Ireland. We would be gone for three weeks. There would be no itineraries, no guided tours, no must-see destinations. Only a rental car, a road map, and a guide to bed-and-breakfast inns along the way. Just having the tickets in hand lifted a yoke from our shoulders.

First we had a few duties to dole out, and at the top of the list was Marley. We quickly ruled out a boarding kennel. He was too young, too wired, too rambunctious to be cooped up in a pen twenty-three hours a day. As Dr. Jay had predicted, neutering had not diminished Marley's exuberance one bit. It did not affect his energy level or loony behavior, either. Except for the fact that he no longer showed an interest in mounting inanimate objects, he was the same crazed beast. He was way too wild-and too unpredictably destructive when panic set in-to p.a.w.n off at a friend's house. Or even at an enemy's house, for that matter. What we needed was a live-in dog-sitter. Obviously, not just anyone would do, especially given the challenges Marley presented. We needed someone who was responsible, trustworthy, very very patient, and strong enough to reel in seventy pounds of runaway Labrador retriever. patient, and strong enough to reel in seventy pounds of runaway Labrador retriever.

We made a list of every friend, neighbor, and coworker we could think of, then one by one crossed off names. Total party boy. Scratch Scratch. Too absentminded. Scratch. Scratch. Averse to dog drool. Averse to dog drool. Scratch Scratch. Too mousy to control a dachshund let alone a Lab. Scratch. Scratch. Allergic. Allergic. Scratch. Scratch. Unwilling to pick up dog droppings. Unwilling to pick up dog droppings. Scratch. Scratch. Eventually, we were left with just one name. Kathy worked in my office and was single and unattached. She grew up in the rural Midwest, loved animals, and longed to someday trade in her small apartment for a house with a yard. She was athletic and liked to walk. True, she was shy and a little on the meek side, which could make it hard for her to impose her will on alpha Marley, but otherwise she would be perfect. Best of all, she said yes. Eventually, we were left with just one name. Kathy worked in my office and was single and unattached. She grew up in the rural Midwest, loved animals, and longed to someday trade in her small apartment for a house with a yard. She was athletic and liked to walk. True, she was shy and a little on the meek side, which could make it hard for her to impose her will on alpha Marley, but otherwise she would be perfect. Best of all, she said yes.

The list of instructions I prepared for her couldn't have been more painstakingly detailed were we leaving a critically ill infant in her care. The Marley Memo ran six full pages single-s.p.a.ced and read in part: FEEDING: Marley eats three times a day, one two-cup measure at each meal. The measuring cup is inside the bag. Please feed him when you get up in the morning and when you get home from work. The neighbors will come in to feed him mid-afternoon. This totals six cups of food a day, but if he's acting famished please give him an extra cup or so. As you're aware, all that food has to go somewhere. See p.o.o.p PATROL below. Marley eats three times a day, one two-cup measure at each meal. The measuring cup is inside the bag. Please feed him when you get up in the morning and when you get home from work. The neighbors will come in to feed him mid-afternoon. This totals six cups of food a day, but if he's acting famished please give him an extra cup or so. As you're aware, all that food has to go somewhere. See p.o.o.p PATROL below.VITAMINS: Each morning, we give Marley one Pet Tab vitamin. The best way to give it to him is to simply drop it on the floor and pretend he's not supposed to have it. If he thinks it's forbidden, he will wolf it down. If for some reason that doesn't work, you can try disguising it in a snack. Each morning, we give Marley one Pet Tab vitamin. The best way to give it to him is to simply drop it on the floor and pretend he's not supposed to have it. If he thinks it's forbidden, he will wolf it down. If for some reason that doesn't work, you can try disguising it in a snack.WATER: In hot weather, it's important to keep plenty of fresh water on hand. We change the water next to his food bowl once a day and top it off if it's running low. A word of caution: Marley likes to submerge his snout in the water bowl and play submarine. This makes quite a mess. Also his jowls hold a surprising amount of water, which runs out as he walks away from the bowl. If you let him, he'll wipe his mouth on your clothes and the couches. One last thing: He usually shakes after taking a big drink, and his saliva will fly onto walls, lampshades, etc. We try to wipe this up before it dries, at which time it becomes almost impossible to remove. In hot weather, it's important to keep plenty of fresh water on hand. We change the water next to his food bowl once a day and top it off if it's running low. A word of caution: Marley likes to submerge his snout in the water bowl and play submarine. This makes quite a mess. Also his jowls hold a surprising amount of water, which runs out as he walks away from the bowl. If you let him, he'll wipe his mouth on your clothes and the couches. One last thing: He usually shakes after taking a big drink, and his saliva will fly onto walls, lampshades, etc. We try to wipe this up before it dries, at which time it becomes almost impossible to remove.FLEAS AND TICKS: If you notice these on him, you can spray him with the flea and tick sprays we have left. We've also left an insecticide that you can spray on the rugs, etc., if you think a problem is starting. Fleas are tiny and fast, and hard to catch, but they seldom bite humans, we've found, so I wouldn't be too concerned. Ticks are larger and slow and we do occasionally see these on him. If you spot one on him and have the stomach for it, just pick it off and either crush it in a tissue (you may need to use your fingernails; they're amazingly tough) or wash it down the sink or toilet (the best option if the tick is engorged with blood). You've probably read about ticks spreading Lyme disease to humans and all the long-term health problems that can cause, but several vets have a.s.sured us that there is very little danger of contracting Lyme disease here in Florida. Just to make sure, wash your hands well after removing a tick. The best way to pick a tick off Marley is to give him a toy to hold in his mouth to keep him occupied, and then pinch his skin together with one hand while you use your fingernails of the other hand as pincers to pull the tick off. Speaking of which, if he gets too smelly, and you're feeling brave, you can give him a bath in the kiddie pool we have in the backyard (for just that purpose), but wear a bathing suit. You'll get wet! If you notice these on him, you can spray him with the flea and tick sprays we have left. We've also left an insecticide that you can spray on the rugs, etc., if you think a problem is starting. Fleas are tiny and fast, and hard to catch, but they seldom bite humans, we've found, so I wouldn't be too concerned. Ticks are larger and slow and we do occasionally see these on him. If you spot one on him and have the stomach for it, just pick it off and either crush it in a tissue (you may need to use your fingernails; they're amazingly tough) or wash it down the sink or toilet (the best option if the tick is engorged with blood). You've probably read about ticks spreading Lyme disease to humans and all the long-term health problems that can cause, but several vets have a.s.sured us that there is very little danger of contracting Lyme disease here in Florida. Just to make sure, wash your hands well after removing a tick. The best way to pick a tick off Marley is to give him a toy to hold in his mouth to keep him occupied, and then pinch his skin together with one hand while you use your fingernails of the other hand as pincers to pull the tick off. Speaking of which, if he gets too smelly, and you're feeling brave, you can give him a bath in the kiddie pool we have in the backyard (for just that purpose), but wear a bathing suit. You'll get wet!EARS: Marley tends to get a lot of wax buildup in his ears, which if left untreated can lead to infections. Once or twice while we're gone, please use cotton b.a.l.l.s and the blue ear-cleaning solution to clean as much gunk out of his ears as you can. It's pretty nasty stuff so make sure you're wearing old clothes. Marley tends to get a lot of wax buildup in his ears, which if left untreated can lead to infections. Once or twice while we're gone, please use cotton b.a.l.l.s and the blue ear-cleaning solution to clean as much gunk out of his ears as you can. It's pretty nasty stuff so make sure you're wearing old clothes.WALKS: Without his morning walk, Marley tends to get into mischief in the garage. For your own sanity, you may also want to give him a quick jaunt before bed, but that's optional. You will want to use the choker chain to walk him, but never leave it on him when he's unattended. He could strangle himself, and knowing Marley he probably would. Without his morning walk, Marley tends to get into mischief in the garage. For your own sanity, you may also want to give him a quick jaunt before bed, but that's optional. You will want to use the choker chain to walk him, but never leave it on him when he's unattended. He could strangle himself, and knowing Marley he probably would.BASIC COMMANDS: Walking him is much easier if you can get him to heel. Always begin with him in a sitting position at your left, then give the command "Marley, heel!" and step off on your left foot. If he tries to lunge ahead, give him a sharp jerk on the leash. That usually works for us. (He's been to obedience school!) If he's off the leash, he usually is pretty good about coming to you with the command "Marley, come!" Note: It's best if you're standing and not crouched down when you call him. Walking him is much easier if you can get him to heel. Always begin with him in a sitting position at your left, then give the command "Marley, heel!" and step off on your left foot. If he tries to lunge ahead, give him a sharp jerk on the leash. That usually works for us. (He's been to obedience school!) If he's off the leash, he usually is pretty good about coming to you with the command "Marley, come!" Note: It's best if you're standing and not crouched down when you call him.THUNDERSTORMS: Marley tends to get a little freaked-out during storms or even light showers. We keep his sedatives (the yellow pills) in the cupboard with the vitamins. One pill thirty minutes before the storm arrives (you'll be a weather forecaster before you know it!) should do the trick. Getting Marley to swallow pills is a bit of an art form. He won't eat them like he does his vitamins, even if you drop them on the floor and pretend he shouldn't have them. The best technique is to straddle him and pry his jaws open with one hand. With the other, you push the pill as far down his throat as you can get it. It needs to be past the point of no return or he will cough it back up. Then stroke his throat until he swallows it. Obviously, you'll want to wash up afterward. Marley tends to get a little freaked-out during storms or even light showers. We keep his sedatives (the yellow pills) in the cupboard with the vitamins. One pill thirty minutes before the storm arrives (you'll be a weather forecaster before you know it!) should do the trick. Getting Marley to swallow pills is a bit of an art form. He won't eat them like he does his vitamins, even if you drop them on the floor and pretend he shouldn't have them. The best technique is to straddle him and pry his jaws open with one hand. With the other, you push the pill as far down his throat as you can get it. It needs to be past the point of no return or he will cough it back up. Then stroke his throat until he swallows it. Obviously, you'll want to wash up afterward.p.o.o.p PATROL: I have a shovel back under the mango tree that I use for picking up Marley's messes. Feel free to clean up after him as much or as little as you like, depending on how much you plan to walk around the backyard. Watch your step! I have a shovel back under the mango tree that I use for picking up Marley's messes. Feel free to clean up after him as much or as little as you like, depending on how much you plan to walk around the backyard. Watch your step!OFF-LIMITS: We do NOT allow Marley to: We do NOT allow Marley to: Get up on any piece of furniture.

Chew on furniture, shoes, pillows, etc.

Drink out of the toilet. (Best to keep lid down at all times, though beware: He's figured out how to flip it up with his nose.) Dig in the yard or uproot plants and flowers. He usually does this when he feels he's not getting enough attention.

Go in any trash can. (You may have to keep it on top of the counter.) Jump on people, sniff crotches, or indulge in any other socially unacceptable behavior. We've especially been trying to cure him of arm chewing, which, as you can imagine, not a lot of people appreciate. He still has a way to go. Feel free to give him a swat on the rump and a stern "No!"

Beg at the table.

Push against the front screen door or the porch screens. (You'll see several have already been replaced.) Thanks again for doing all this for us, Kathy. This is a giant favor. I'm not quite sure how we could have managed otherwise. Hope you and Marley become good pals and you are as entertained by him as we are.

I brought the instructions in to Jenny and asked if there was anything I had forgotten. She took several minutes to read them and then looked up and said, "What are you thinking? You can't show her this." She was waving them at me. "You show her this and you can forget about Ireland. She's the only person we could find willing to do this. If she reads this, that's it. She'll start running and won't stop until she hits Key West." Just in case I had missed it the first time around, she repeated: "What on earth were you thinking?"

"So you think it's too much?" I asked.

But I've always believed in full disclosure, and show it to her I did. Kathy did flinch noticeably a few times, especially as we went over tick-removal techniques, but she kept any misgivings to herself. Looking daunted and just a little green, but far too kind to renege on a promise, she held fast. "Have a great trip," she said. "We'll be fine."

Ireland was everything we dreamed it would be. Beautiful, bucolic, lazy. The weather was gloriously clear and sunny most days, leading the locals to fret darkly about the possibility of drought. As we had promised ourselves, we kept no schedules and set no itineraries. We simply wandered, b.u.mping our way along the coast, stopping to stroll or shop or hike or quaff Guinness or simply gaze out at the ocean. We stopped the car to talk to farmers bringing in their hay and to photograph ourselves with sheep standing in the road. If we saw an interesting lane, we turned down it. It was impossible to get lost because we had no place we needed to be. All of our duties and obligations back home were just distant memories.

As evening approached each day, we would begin looking for a place to spend the night. Invariably, these were rooms in private homes run by sweet Irish widows who doted on us, served us tea, turned down our sheets, and always seemed to ask us the same question, "So, would you two be planning to start a family soon?" And then they would leave us in our room, flashing back knowing, oddly suggestive smiles as they closed the door behind them.

Jenny and I became convinced there was a national law in Ireland that required all guest beds to face a large, wall-mounted likeness of either the pope or the Virgin Mary. Some places provided both. One even included an oversized set of rosary beads that dangled from the headboard. The Irish Celibate Traveler Law also dictated that all guest beds be extremely creaky, sounding a rousing alarm every time one of its occupants so much as rolled over.

It all conspired to create a setting that was about as conducive to amorous relations as a convent. We were in someone else's home-someone else's very Catholic very Catholic home-with thin walls and a loud bed and statues of saints and virgins, and a nosy hostess who, for all we knew, was hovering on the other side of the door. It was the last place you would think to initiate s.e.x. Which, of course, made me crave my wife in new and powerful ways. home-with thin walls and a loud bed and statues of saints and virgins, and a nosy hostess who, for all we knew, was hovering on the other side of the door. It was the last place you would think to initiate s.e.x. Which, of course, made me crave my wife in new and powerful ways.

We would turn off the lights and crawl into bed, the springs groaning under our weight, and immediately I would slip my hand beneath Jenny's top and onto her stomach.

"No way!" she would whisper.

"Why not?" I would whisper back.

"Are you nuts? Mrs. O'Flaherty is right on the other side of that wall."

"So what?"

"We can't!"

"Sure we can."

"She'll hear everything."

"We'll be quiet."

"Oh, right right!"

"Promise. We'll barely move."

"Well, go put a T-shirt or something over the pope first," she would finally say, relenting. "I'm not doing anything with him staring at us."

Suddenly, s.e.x seemed so...so...illicit. It was like I was in high school again, sneaking around under my mother's suspicious gaze. To risk s.e.x in these surroundings was to risk shameful humiliation at the communal breakfast table the next morning. It was to risk Mrs. O'Flaherty's raised eyebrow as she served up eggs and fried tomatoes, asking with a leering grin, "So, was the bed comfortable for you?"

Ireland was a coast-to-coast No s.e.x Zone. And that was all the invitation I needed. We spent the trip bopping like bunnies.

Still, Jenny couldn't stop fretting about her big baby back home. Every few days she would feed a fistful of coins into a pay phone and call home for a progress report from Kathy. I would stand outside the booth and listen to Jenny's end of the conversation.

"He did?...Seriously?...Right into traffic?...You weren't hurt, were you?...Thank G.o.d.... I would have screamed, too.... What? Your shoes?...Oh no! And And your purse?...We'll certainly pay for repairs.... Nothing left at all?...Of course, we insist on replacing them.... And he what?...Wet cement, you say? What's the chance of that happening?" your purse?...We'll certainly pay for repairs.... Nothing left at all?...Of course, we insist on replacing them.... And he what?...Wet cement, you say? What's the chance of that happening?"

And so it would go. Each call was a litany of transgressions, one worse than the next, many of which surprised even us, hardened survivors of the puppy wars. Marley was the incorrigible student and Kathy the hapless subst.i.tute teacher. He was having a field day.

When we arrived home, Marley raced outside to greet us. Kathy stood in the doorway, looking tired and strained. She had the faraway gaze of a sh.e.l.l-shocked soldier after a particularly unrelenting battle. Her bag was packed and sitting on the front porch, ready to go. She held her car key in her hand as if she could not wait to escape. We gave her gifts, thanked her profusely, and told her not to worry about the ripped-out screens and other damage. She excused herself politely and was gone.

As best as we could figure, Kathy had been unable to exert any authority at all over Marley, and even less control. With each victory, he grew bolder. He forgot all about heeling, dragging her behind him wherever he wished to go. He refused to come to her. He grabbed whatever suited him-shoes, purses, pillows-and would not let go. He stole food off her plate. He rifled through the garbage. He even tried taking over her bed. He had decided he was in charge while the parents were away, and he was not going to let some mild-mannered roommate pull rank and put the kibosh on his fun.

"Poor Kathy," Jenny said. "She looked kind of broken, don't you think?"

"Shattered is more like it."

"We probably shouldn't ask her to dog-sit for us again."

"No," I answered. "That probably wouldn't be a good idea."

Turning to Marley, I said, "The honeymoon's over, Chief. Starting tomorrow, you're back in training."

The next morning Jenny and I both started back to work. But first I slipped the choker chain around Marley's neck and took him for a walk. He immediately lunged forward, not even pretending to try to heel. "A little rusty, are we?" I asked, and heaved with all my might on his leash, knocking him off his paws. He righted himself, coughed, and looked up at me with a wounded expression as if to say, You don't have to get rough about it. Kathy didn't mind me pulling. You don't have to get rough about it. Kathy didn't mind me pulling.

"Get used to it," I said, and placed him in a sit position. I adjusted the choke chain so it rode high on his neck, where experience had taught me it had the most effect. "Okay, let's try this again," I said. He looked at me with cool skepticism.

"Marley, heel!" I ordered, and stepped briskly off on my left foot with his leash so short my left hand was actually gripping the end of his choke chain. He lurched and I tugged sharply, tightening the stranglehold without mercy. "Taking advantage of a poor woman like that," I mumbled. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself." By the end of the walk, my grip on the leash so tight that my knuckles had turned white, I finally managed to convince him I wasn't fooling around. This was no game but rather a real-life lesson in actions and consequences. If he wanted to lurch, I would choke him. Every time, without exception. If he wanted to cooperate and walk by my side, I would loosen my grip and he would barely feel the chain around his neck. Lurch, choke; heel, breathe. It was simple enough for even Marley to grasp. Over and over and over again we repeated the sequence as we marched up and down the bike path. Lurch, choke; heel, breathe. Slowly it was dawning on him that I was the master and he was the pet, and that was the way it was going to stay. As we turned in to the driveway, my recalcitrant dog trotted along beside me, not perfectly but respectably. For the first time in his life he was actually heeling, or at least attempting a close proximity of it. I would take it as a victory. "Oh, yes," I sang joyously. "The boss is back."

Several days later Jenny called me at the office. She had just been to see Dr. Sherman. "Luck of the Irish," she said. "Here we go again."

CHAPTER 11.

The Things He Ate.

This pregnancy was different. Our miscarriage had taught us some important lessons, and this time we had no intention of repeating our mistakes. Most important, we kept our news the most closely guarded secret since D-day. Except for Jenny's doctors and nurses, no one, not even our parents, was brought into our confidence. When we had friends over, Jenny sipped grape juice from a winegla.s.s so as not to raise suspicions. In addition to the secrecy, we were simply more measured in our excitement, even when we were alone. We began sentences with conditional clauses, such as "If everything works out..." and "a.s.suming all goes well." It was as though we could jinx the pregnancy simply by gushing about it. We didn't dare let our joy out of check lest it turn and bite us.

We locked away all the chemical cleaners and pesticides. We weren't going down that road again. Jenny became a convert to the natural cleaning powers of vinegar, which was up to even the ultimate challenge of dissolving Marley's dried saliva off the walls. We found that boric acid, a white powder lethal to bugs and harmless to humans, worked pretty well at keeping Marley and his bedding flea-free. And if he needed an occasional flea dip, we would leave it to professionals.

Jenny rose at dawn each morning and took Marley for a brisk walk along the water. I would just be waking up when they returned, smelling of briny ocean air. My wife was the picture of robust health in all ways but one. She spent most days, all day long, on the verge of throwing up. But she wasn't complaining; she greeted each wave of nausea with what can only be described as gleeful acceptance, for it was a sign that the tiny experiment inside her was chugging along just fine.

Indeed it was. This time around, Essie took my videotape and recorded the first faint, grainy images of our baby. We could hear the heart beating, see its four tiny chambers pulsing. We could trace the outline of the head and count all four limbs. Dr. Sherman popped his head into the sonogram room to p.r.o.nounce everything perfect, and then looked at Jenny and said in that booming voice of his, "What are you crying for, kid? You're supposed to be happy." Essie whacked him with her clipboard and scolded, "You go away and leave her alone," then rolled her eyes at Jenny as if to say, "Men! They are so clueless."

When it came to dealing with pregnant wives, clueless would describe me. I gave Jenny her s.p.a.ce, sympathized with her in her nausea and pain, and tried not to grimace noticeably when she insisted on reading her What to Expect When You're Expecting What to Expect When You're Expecting book aloud to me. I complimented her figure as her belly swelled, saying things like "You look great. Really. You look like a svelte little shoplifter who just slipped a basketball under her shirt." I even tried my best to indulge her increasingly bizarre and irrational behavior. I was soon on a first-name basis with the overnight clerk at the twenty-four-hour market as I stopped in at all hours for ice cream or apples or celery or chewing gum in flavors I never knew existed. "Are you sure this is clove?" I would ask him. "She says it has to be clove." book aloud to me. I complimented her figure as her belly swelled, saying things like "You look great. Really. You look like a svelte little shoplifter who just slipped a basketball under her shirt." I even tried my best to indulge her increasingly bizarre and irrational behavior. I was soon on a first-name basis with the overnight clerk at the twenty-four-hour market as I stopped in at all hours for ice cream or apples or celery or chewing gum in flavors I never knew existed. "Are you sure this is clove?" I would ask him. "She says it has to be clove."

One night when Jenny was about five months pregnant she got it in her head that we needed baby socks. Well, sure we did, I agreed, and of course we would lay in a full complement before the baby arrived. But she didn't mean we would need them eventually; she meant we needed them right now. "We won't have anything to put on the baby's feet when we come home from the hospital," she said in a quavering voice.

Never mind that the due date was still four months away. Never mind that by then the outside temperature would be a frosty ninety-six degrees. Never mind that even a clueless guy like me knew a baby would be bundled head to toe in a receiving blanket when released from the maternity ward.

"Honey, c'mon," I said. "Be reasonable. It's eight o'clock on Sunday night. Where am I supposed to find baby socks?"

"We need socks," she repeated.

"We have weeks to get socks," I countered. "Months to get socks."

"I just see those little tiny toes," she whimpered.

It was no use. I drove around grumbling until I found a Kmart that was open and picked out a festive selection of socks that were so ridiculously minuscule they looked like matching thumb warmers. When I got home and poured them out of the bag, Jenny was finally satisfied. At last we had socks. And thank G.o.d we had managed to grab up the last few available pair before the national supply ran dry, which could have happened at any moment without warning. Our baby's fragile little digits were now safe. We could go to bed and sleep in peace.

As the pregnancy progressed, so did Marley's training. I worked with him every day, and now I was able to entertain our friends by yelling, "Incoming!" and watching him crash to the floor, all four limbs splayed. He came consistently on command (unless there was something riveting his attention, such as another dog, cat, squirrel, b.u.t.terfly, mailman, or floating weed seed); he sat consistently (unless he felt strongly like standing); and heeled reliably (unless there was something so tempting it was worth strangling himself over-see dogs, cats, squirrels, etc., above). He was coming along, but that's not to say he was mellowing into a calm, well-behaved dog. If I towered over him and barked stern orders, he would obey, sometimes even eagerly. But his default setting was stuck on eternal incorrigibility.

He also had an insatiable appet.i.te for mangoes, which fell by the dozens in the backyard. Each weighed a pound or more and was so sweet it could make your teeth ache. Marley would stretch out in the gra.s.s, anchor a ripe mango between his front paws, and go about surgically removing every speck of flesh from the skin. He would hold the large pits in his mouth like lozenges, and when he finally spit them out they looked like they had been cleaned in an acid bath. Some days he would be out there for hours, noshing away in a fruit-and-fiber frenzy.

As with anyone who eats too much fruit, his const.i.tution began to change. Soon our backyard was littered with large piles of loose, festively colored dog droppings. The one advantage to this was that you would have to be legally blind to accidentally step in a heap of his p.o.o.p, which in mango season took on the radiant fluorescence of orange traffic cones.

He ate other things as well. And these, too, did pa.s.s. I saw the evidence each morning as I shoveled up his piles. Here a toy plastic soldier, there a rubber band. In one load a mangled soda-bottle top. In another the gnawed cap to a ballpoint pen. "So that's where my comb went!" I exclaimed one morning.

He ate bath towels, sponges, socks, used Kleenex. Handi Wipes were a particular favorite, and when they eventually came out the other end, they looked like little blue flags marking each fluorescent orange mountain.