Agency

In Which Henry Meets His New Family

Monday evening

If there was one benefit to the sudden appearance of an English Bulldog in his life, Berry thought, it was that he had to walk him occasionally during the day (to avoid making any more urine puddles on the Agency's wood floor).

And that meant getting out of the office sometimes.

Even times when he knew Allegra might be looking for him.

If she had intended Henry to link them more indelibly, he could also be used to distance them if Berry played it right. So, yes, he would definitely be bringing Henry into the office each day.

Still, there was the problem of what to do with Henry during non-working hours. There appeared to be no choice on that score. Henry would have to come home with him.

Berry had delayed leaving the office as late as he was able, but eventually, there was no work left to pretend to be doing. Now, he sat inside his dark car in the dark lane behind his brightly lit house, with the bulldog's breath fogging up the windows and considering for the hundredth time how he was going to introduce the idea of a pet to his family.

Well, not the idea exactly. An idea would take the form of a question: should we get a dog?  What he had here was a fully actualized reality: Hey, this is a dog.

He sighed and reached for Henry's leash as well as the bag of personal effects Henry had already accumulated through Allegra's generosity: food and water bowls; a fifty-pound bag of kibbles, individually the size of boulders; what looked like the knee bone of a dinosaur for chewing on; and some eco-friendly poo-bags. He'd decided to leave the dog bed in his office as it was all too much to carry, and Henry would need it tomorrow anyway.

"Come on then, boy. Let's face the music," he said heavily as Henry scuttled across the driver's seat, leaving claw marks in the leather seats.

He guided the dog around the crater-sized holes and entered the kitchen door quietly as if sneaking in could prevent the argument that was surely going to follow.

Sneaking turned out to be a wasted effort anyway. The entire family was sitting at the kitchen table. As he entered, they turned first to look at him, then immediately scanned downward to the source of the panting and grunting closer to the floor.

They each took a private moment to confront the inescapable fact of Henry.

"Well!" started his father, who looked a bit glassy, Berry noticed.

Noemi squealed, and Lucille clapped. They both left the table without asking and ran toward the dog -- hands outstretched. Fortunately, Henry wasn't the sort of dog to get scared by small children running at him, especially not small children with greasy fish-finger hands. He greeted them eagerly and, to their great squeamish delight, avidly licked their hands and faces.

Henry appeared almost as overwhelmed with delight as the girls were. Two small, food-coated humans to lick! Henry's day was looking up.

Over this heartwarming scene, Berry made eye contact with his wife, who appeared indecipherably neutral.

"I would have asked," he jumped to explain. "But... the dog was Otto's, and he couldn't keep him," he was making this up as he went along. "A sudden change in his tenant's agreement? At his condo? They can't have dogs in the building anymore. Someone was allergic."

Berenice's face seemed stuck in neutral. She didn't arch an eyebrow (which is what she generally did when she didn't quite believe him), and she didn't frown (which she generally did when she was about to yell). Berry decided he'd better keep explaining until he knew which way the wind was going to blow.

"Yeah, so. Otto brought him in this morning and was, like, who wants the best dog in the world? Well behaved. All that. Because if I can't find him another home, he's got to be... well, you know. Glue factory. And nobody put their hand up. Can you believe it? I mean, I couldn't let him--" he lowered his voice so the girls wouldn't hear "--be put down. So I took him. Only temporarily. Contingent on your agreement, of course."

"There is a dog in the kitchen," said Jim wondrously.

Berry looked again at his father. Was his father stoned? His pupils looked suspiciously dilated.

"What do you say, Berenice? He can stay the night at least, right? I'll return him to Otto tomorrow if he doesn't fit in here."

"Nooooo!" screeched the girls simultaneously. Lucille piled on with, "Puhleeeeze, can we keep him, Maman?"

Berenice looked from Berry to the girls to Henry and then did something entirely unexpected.

She smiled.

Just slightly, you understand. Not a grin. But not a frown. And there was no yelling.

"I suppose one night would be okay," she said. "To see how we get along."

The girls celebrated, and Berry released the breath he'd been holding since leaving the car. He didn't know how or why, but it seemed like Berenice was okay with this.

"Well, I read that dogs deter raccoons," she explained. "He might be just what Papa needs out there. What's his name, anyway?"

Berry replied, "Henry. But the girls can give him a new name if they like."

Noemi and Lucille consulted in whispers. Noemi, as the eldest, spoke up.

"We are calling him 'Mister Waffles'."

And that is how Henry ended up with a terrible case of canine identity disorder -- but that is another story entirely.