Stepdog by Mireya Navarro Page B

down the canyon we went jogging every other day or so, with no breaks for sniffing or getting in trouble. He soon looked more toned than I did.
    But after several months, the dog still was not any more accepting of me. I pinned my hopes on Jim’s upcoming trip for work. For the first time, I’d be all Eddie had for a few days.
    â€œWoo, baby, woo,” Jim said, confident that if I courted favor with his dog with scratches and biscuits I’d win him over. He kissed me good-bye and left me in charge.
    I wasn’t sure what to expect. The house was big enough for four of us not to run into one another for hours, at times. I thought Eddie would surely jump on one of the kids’ beds and stay out of sight until I had to walk him. But the minute Jim left the house I couldn’t shake the stinker. At first he took a nap by the garage door, convinced Jim would soon come back. But after a while, a bubble appeared over his head. It read: “Uh-oh.” Alone with me, Eddie quickly transformed himself into a normal pet. He waited silently for me by the bedroom door in the morning. He clung to me all day long. We walked, we worked, we watched TV. There was no barking, no alligator stares. In reciprocity, I pet him and talked to him and left the kitchen’s glass door open so he could sunbathe at will, even if I had to put aside my own fears of home invasion. The neighborhood was always teeming with gardeners, leaf blowers, painters, remodelers, cable installers, and taco trucks, but I locked up doors and windows as if Charles Manson were still on the loose. Just for this new, improved Eddie, I kept the kitchen’s glass door open.
    â€œWe’re in the midst of a breakthrough!” I reported back to Jim over the phone that night.
    The next morning, I came down for my breakfast and let Eddie out in the backyard. “You do your thing, mister, and I’ll do mine.” I walked him after I ate and got back to my office to work. Not an hour went by before Eddie stopped by the doorway, looking intently at me. He looked kind of crazed. I ignored him, but he didn’t move. I tried not to make eye contact. Still there. It was hard to concentrate.
    â€œI just walked you. Go back to your tanning. Go! Scram!”
    Eddie was going to have to adjust to me, not the other way around. Somehow he was not getting the message. He left with a long whimper at one point but was back at my door in less than half an hour. And after another half hour. And another.
    I called Jim.
    â€œBaby, Eddie is stalking me.”
    â€œYou should walk him.”
    â€œI just did! After breakfast. His next walk is not due until after lunch.”
    â€œWell, I walk him whenever I go out for fresh air. It helps me think.”
    â€œI think just fine indoors. He’ll have to wait. He has to fit my schedule, not the other way around. Do you want to talk to him? Maybe it’ll calm him down.”
    â€œSure.”
    I took the phone to Eddie’s ear, and we both could hear Jim talking nonsense (“You’ll go out, don’t worry”), but Eddie was not interested. He was jumping in place, jerking his body as if we were about to set off on a sprint to the door. What a nag. I hung up, yelled at him “No!” and closed my office door.
    Scratch-scratch-scratch.
    That fingernails-on-chalkboard sound was the sound of me losing.
    When Jim came home, I was relieved but satisfied that my relationship with Eddie had been forever changed. But after rushing to greet my husband and getting his full dosage of ear and butt scratches, what did Eddie do? He turned to bark at me! By the time Jim approached to kiss me, the dog was in hysterics. Before Jim had a chance to bend down to calm him, I grabbed Eddie by the collar and threw him out in the backyard, slamming the glass door behind me.
    â€œWhere were we?” I said to Jim, leading him upstairs so we could greet each other in peace.
    Jim eventually let Eddie