Second Chance

NINE

Neil left for work without another word to me. The kids had also made a hasty departure, walking the six blocks to school. They usually begged me to drive them. I usually did. But this morning, they’d dashed out without a word.

Now it was just me and Heloise. She was sniffing around the kitchen. I was sitting at the desk, staring sightlessly ahead, my hands wrapped gratefully around a mug of coffee. Heloise made her way over to the baby gate I’d put across the entrance to the living room. The other entrance to the kitchen, the front hallway, had a door, which was now securely closed. I’d found out the hard way that Heloise could push open doors if they weren’t fully latched. She’d nosed her way out of our bedroom, and I’d had a few panicked moments looking for her, again worried she might fall down the stairs. I’d found her in the kids’ bathroom, enthusiastically snacking from Hairy’s litter box. If I was to last with this puppy, I was going to have to work on my gag reflex.

I’d put three chew toys on the kitchen floor for her to choose from, but she was too busy exploring. I smiled at her concentration, her whole body involved in reconnaissance. I turned back to my coffee, sipping slowly, needing the gestalt of the coffee – the smell, the warm ceramic in my hands, looking into its quiet blackness – as well as the drug. I raised the mug to my lips, just about to take a sip, when I heard a horrible scraping sound. I spun back around.

‘No, Heloise!’ I pulled her off a cabinet, wincing at the tooth gouges in the wood. I set her in the center of the floor and put the little blue rubber bone in her mouth. She placed one of her big paws over it and began chewing, her teeth squeaking against the rubber. I sank with a thud into the desk chair and took a sip of coffee. I pulled the note pad toward me and began a list of chores for the day: #1 – Vacuum upstairs spots. I’d gotten more trophies, and now little gold swimmers guarded both of Heloise’s spots, each covered with carpet foam.

I’d just put pencil to pad to write another chore, when I heard it again. Gnawing on wood. I spun around. This time she was working on the sink cupboard.

‘Heloise! No – er, stop!’ I tucked her under my arm and dug out the bottle of bitter spray that had come in my starter kit. I sprayed all the cabinets at her level, using almost half the small bottle.

‘Okay. That ought to do it,’ I told her, setting her back down in the middle of the kitchen with her bone.

I added some hot coffee from the pot to my mug, took a sip, then finished my list of chores. When I looked up, Heloise had fallen asleep, on her side, in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her little ear flopped over backward and her toes were twitching. She looked completely innocent and darling. I looked at her and sighed.

I suddenly realized there was no time to waste. Nap time is a mom’s most productive time. I couldn’t vacuum, that would wake her, so I quietly grabbed the dust mop from the closet and stepped over the baby gate. Heloise immediately woke up and rushed to the gate.

‘Oh, baby,’ I said, stepping like a large wading bird over the gate, picking her up and stepping back over again. ‘Why couldn’t you stay asleep?’ She licked my chin. I smiled. ‘Okay, you stay here with me, where I can keep an eye on you.’

I set to dust-mopping, Heloise set to sniffing. I watched her make her way over to the bookcase, trying to wedge herself in the space between it and the wall, but I knew it was too narrow, even for her sinewy little body. I slid the dust mop under my grandmother’s antique desk and pulled out a small wad of fur and dust. I had to admit, however, it appeared to be mostly Hairy’s fur. I got down on my hands and knees for a second pass.

My excavations were interrupted by a screeching meow, followed by Hairy streaking through the living room, hair on end and hotly pursued by a euphoric Heloise. Hairy’s ears were flattened against the back of his head, his tail straight out behind him. Heloise’s ears couldn’t have been any more forward, her tail high.

‘Stop!’ I yelled, crawling bravely into their path, dust mop extended. Hairy, maintaining impressive speed, turned at the dust mop and dashed under the love seat. Heloise had to make a last-minute adjustment and came up short, her paws again slipping out from under her on the wood floor. She slid on her side, with enough momentum to upend the standing lamp. I lunged for it but was too late. The resulting crash sent Heloise scrambling in the other direction, but once she hit the throw rug, she made no progress whatsoever, as it merely bunched up under her. Finally, she jumped off the mound of rug and resumed her tear after the cat, who stupidly shot out from the relative safety under the love seat. The white and tan blurs then careened into the sunroom, with me bringing up the rear, yelling and shaking my dust mop.

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