An Apple for the Creature

“Well, we still have to go in, I’m afraid,” Remy explained. “We have to see what we can do about helping Jackie.”

“Jackie scary,” Marlowe said.

“Yeah, a little, but she still needs our help.”

“Wait here?” Marlowe asked.

“No, I think you need to come in with me,” Remy said. “We have to pretend we’re here for school, so we can figure out who’s trying to hurt Jackie’s business.”

“Jackie scary,” Marlowe said again.

“Yes, I know she’s scary, but it doesn’t change the fact that she needs our help, all right?”

Marlowe didn’t respond.

“So are you getting out of the car?”

The big dog sighed heavily, and stood up on the backseat.

“There’s a good boy,” Remy said as he got out of the car, Marlowe leaping to the ground behind him.

“We’re gonna have to put this on you.” Remy showed Marlowe the leash, then leaned in to attach it to his collar. “Now remember, you’re going to have to help me out.”

The two walked side by side toward the large barn. The sound of dogs barking from the kennel at the back of the sprawling property was carried on the night wind.

Remy stopped to listen, hearing the panic in the raised voices of the kennel dogs. Yeah, they most definitely had to do something about that.

“So I know you’re a good dog, and you’re very smart, but you’re going to have to pretend that you’re not. Do you understand?” Remy asked as they started toward the barn again.

Marlowe stopped and stared at Remy as if he were crazy.

“We’re supposed to be going to classes to learn things that you already know, so you’re going to need to pretend not to know them.”

“Pretend stupid?” Marlowe asked.

“Exactly,” Remy said. “Pretend stupid.”

Several other dog owners and their pets were making their way down the path toward the barn, and Marlowe watched as they passed and went inside.

“Stupid dogs go school. Marlowe smart. Pretend stupid.”

“That’s it,” Remy said, giving the leash a slight tug as they headed toward the barn entrance. “We have to look like everybody else so we don’t stand out. Got it?”

“Got it,” Marlowe answered.

They reached the door to the barn and Remy took hold of the handle, pulling it open for the dog to enter.

Marlowe sat down, staring.

“What are you doing?” Remy asked.

“Being stupid,” Marlowe replied as he continued to stare at the open door.

“Okay, let’s pull back a bit on the stupid and get inside,” Remy said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

He could have sworn that the Labrador rolled his eyes as he passed by into the barn.

—

Marlowe trotted into the building with Remy close behind him.

The dog was immediately on alert as he took in his new surroundings. The smell of urine washed over his senses, and he suddenly realized how bad some of these dogs really were.

Following his nose, he glanced over to see a woman kneeling down with a handful of paper towels mopping up the floor as a white poodle stood innocently by, feigning disinterest.

“He does this when he’s frightened,” the middle-aged woman in the New England Patriots jacket tried to explain to Remy. “Guess it’s obvious why we’re here,” she said with a nervous laugh.

Marlowe knew that it wasn’t fear that made the dog pee inside the barn; it was the desire for his scent to be the strongest, marking his territory. He pulled Remy over toward the poodle as the woman quickly disposed of the damp towels, tossing them into a nearby plastic barrel. She kept the dog tight to her side, although he struggled to get closer to Marlowe.

“He isn’t very nice,” the woman said to Remy. “They say he needs to be socialized better. I hope these classes work.”

“What’s his name?” Marlowe heard Remy ask.

“Vincent,” she replied, still holding the poodle back.

Bad dog better name, Marlowe thought as he extended his muscular neck toward the defiant poodle.

He heard Remy making small talk with the woman as he fixed the poodle in his sternest of stares. “No pee,”

he growled at the white, curly-haired dog.

“I pee . . . mine,” the poodle retorted, his entire body quivering with excitement.

“Not yours,” Marlowe corrected.

“Mine!” the dog barked, straining on his leash.

With a harrumph, Marlowe went to the spot where the dog had just relieved himself, sniffed it, then positioned himself over the damp floor.

“Not yours,” Marlowe said again, letting a quick stream of his own urine spray upon the spot.

—

“Marlowe!” Remy yelled in horror as he watched his dog urinate on the barn floor.

The dog looked at him with an expression that said, What’s the problem?

“What the hell are you doing?” Remy asked, dragging him over to one of the many paper towel dispensers bolted to the walls around the barn.

“Teaching,” the dog explained.

“Yeah, this one escapes me,” Remy muttered softly. He pulled a handful of towels from the roll and returned to the scene of the crime.