Stay by Allie Larkin Page B

front of me, looking back every few steps to see where I was going. When he got the idea that I was going to make a turn, he turned too. He was following me, except he was in front of me.
    When we got closer to the condo, he ran ahead, over to the mailboxes, lifted his leg, and peed on the Crosbys’ mailbox post. And of course, at that very moment, Gail Crosby came out to get her mail. In the two years I’d lived in my condo, I had never seen Gail do anything other than get the mail and go for power walks. Her husband, Mitch, brought groceries home with him, and I had a hunch that he was the one cooking, and doing the dishes too. Mail was Gail’s grand event. She curled and glossed and picked out a sweat suit that went well with the weather, and then she’d walk down the driveway like a runway model, sauntering back with her signature butt wiggle. The velour sweat suit of the day was flamingo pink. Joe finished his business and ran over to her, smelling the leg of her pants.
    Gail tipped back her head and screamed.
    “Oh, God, oh my God!” She hopped around and shook her hands. “He’s attacking me!”
    Joe ran around Gail, wagging his tail.
    “I’m calling animal control,” Gail yelled, scrambling for the door.
    “Wait,” I yelled, running to catch up with Joe. “He’s my dog.”
    She was still moving frantically. It didn’t even look like her feet were touching the ground, like when you’re a kid and you’re scared of monsters getting you at night so you don’t want to touch the floor.
    “That’s not a dog.” She pointed her finger at him. Her hand shook. “That’s a wolf.”
    “No. He’s not a wolf. He’s my dog. This is Joe. See? Watch.” I stepped in front of Joe, took a deep breath, and prayed he’d listen to me. “K Nohe!” He ran behind me and sat at my left side. “L’ahni!” His belly hit the pavement.
    “Look, I’m sorry he scared you,” I said. “He’s a nice dog.”
    “That is not a dog. Mr. Buggles is a dog. That is a beast! How could you bring that thing here?”
    “Gail, he’s nice. I don’t think he’d hurt anyone.”
    “You don’t think? You don’t think? You bring a lethal weapon- ”
    “He’s a dog!”
    “Mr. Buggles is a dog! That is a-”
    “Mr. Buggles is a leash-trained rat!”
    “Ah!” Gail clapped her hand to her cheek like I’d just slapped her. “You take that back, Savannah! You take that back!”
    “Take it back? Are you twelve?” Joe was still lying at my feet. “Come on, Joe. Let’s go.” I walked back into the house, with Joe following me. I slammed the door loudly behind us.
    Gail spent the rest of the afternoon crying in her kitchen, and I was pretty sure it was for my benefit. After I finished scrubbing the carpet in the upstairs hallway, opened every window in the condo even though it was freezing out, and lit every candle I owned to try to kill the smell, I dragged my comforter downstairs and spent the afternoon bundled up on the couch with Joe, watching TV with the volume up high enough to drown out Gail. My upper thigh was sporting the beginnings of a brutal bruise, so I sat on an ice pack.
    Joe barked anytime there was a dog, doorbell, or car horn on the TV screen, but the rest of the time, he lay there with his front paws on my lap, nudging my hand whenever I stopped scratching behind his ears. And if I talked to him, he did a great job of pretending he was interested, tipping his head from one side to the other, or making his ears stand up at full attention.
    We got up every hour on the hour to go outside, just in case. I wasn’t taking any more chances.

Chapter Ten
    T he next day, Joe must have been good and rested, because after breakfast he ran around the condo at warp speed. He ran up the stairs, into the bedroom, jumped on the bed, jumped off the bed, sped down the stairs and into the kitchen, then turned on a dime and raced into the living room to jump on the couch. Then he pushed some of the cushions off the couch