The Dog is Heaving

The Dog is Heaving

The dog is heaving and your husband wants to have sex. You have both spent the day teasing, insinuating, and layering the hours with glances and groundwork for what might come to be. But now the dog is heaving, wreaking havoc upon your intent.

It is close to nine pm. You are sitting on the living room floor beside your dog. Your husband has recused himself from responsibility and has assumed his position at the far end of the dining room table. He opens his laptop and waits.  Distressed, your dog groans as her belly heaves and contracts. She makes sharp inhalations, and like milky worms, ropes of saliva dangle from her jowls. You have tried to woo her onto the cool tile floor, but of course she prefers your new rug. This has always been the way; all your pets have done their worst on your rugs. You abandon yourself to this given, and gently stroke your dog’s sleek pelt, black flecked with gray. You wonder if her time has come. You hear your husband absentmindedly clear his throat. He will stay at his post till you release him.

Tears slide down your cheeks. You whisper soft, soothing words to your four-legged beloved. You tell her you are not ready, and that this is not her time. Not yet. You ask your husband to bring you paper towels. He does so without hesitation. In truth, he holds no particular love for this dog, but her suffering is your suffering becomes his suffering. With the towel you wipe your eyes and the dog’s muzzle.

The dog is heaving and your husband wants to have sex. Your kids are grown and gone. You are well into your 50’s, your husband well into his 60’s. Physical intimacy is less frequent than it was at the start of your romance. Yet these long years together have taught you both that intimacy can take many forms: holding hands for no reason, an unexpected kiss on the neck, pillow talk before sleep. Nevertheless, the tenderness expressed when your bodies join, that intimacy has a seamless depth. So when a moment is ripe, like this one was, it is difficult to deny. But the dog is heaving and the promise of sex is slipping away.

Your tears are for your dog. Your tears are for the timing. Your tears are for your trouble compartmentalizing. You know that when an apt opportunity presents itself your husband can transfer his concerns to a box, and shove them into the bedroom closet. But you have a harder time with that. You may be able to get your worries into a box, but they have a tendency to overflow. And if you see what is spilling out, you will be doomed to go to the box and abandon your husband. You have had to learn how to keep all eyes shut.

The dog is heaving and your husband wants to have sex. You don't want the dog to die. Not tonight. Why do your dogs wait till evening to manifest their misfortunes? Years ago your other dog, beloved first dog, became disoriented just after dinner, and was gone before dawn. You held her all night long. You are not ready to hold this dog all night long. You were planning on holding your husband all night long.

At last the dog’s heaving slows and calms. She rises, laps up some water, and begs for a treat. Relieved you offer her a bit of a biscuit, and she inhales it. Your husband is watching. He too is waiting for his treat. You however, are not quite ready to meet his desire. You are still shaken so you give yourself a bit more time to recover by suggesting a soak in the hot tub. The dog can lie on the deck while the two of you gaze up at the stars. And there are stars. The cloudy sky has cleared revealing a twinkling brilliance; Orion's belt, Ursa Minor, Cassiopeia. Even Jupiter’s glow is pulsing through the red oaks and birches. The world is quiet and dark. The dog is calm. The heat of the tub unhinges your joints. You relax, and begin to believe that the night might happen after all—and it does.