ALLY lived in Santa Monica. A mutual friend had fixed us up on a blind date. She said Ally was smart and fun. I said I appreciated the gesture, but I had my hands full. The mutual friend lowered her voice and added, "She has a terrific body." With that, my schedule cleared up, and I made a date.
I found Ally's condo and rang her doorbell. A pretty woman with a bounty of dark curls greeted me. She stuck out her hand, introduced herself and smiled. She had a great set of Chiclets.
As we shook, a little ball of fur sprang out of the shadows and barreled toward me. The dog was caramel-colored and not much bigger than a football. He hopped on his hind legs, barking at me in a high-pitched tone that sounded like a rubber sole squeaking on a basketball court. Oh, great, I thought. Another single girl over 30 with a drop-kick dog.
Ally picked him up and cradled him, speaking in a baby voice. "This is Rusty."
"What kind of dog is he?" I said, feigning enthusiasm.
Continue reading the main story
"A toy poodle."
Rusty looked more marmot than dog, the kind you'd feed to larger critters. He flicked his tongue as he sized me up. I'd never had a pet growing up, but I knew how to play nice. I held out my hand. "Hey, little fella," I said.
Thanks for reading The Times.
Rusty leaned forward to sniff. Then he growled, a low menacing rumble from some dark, evil place in his furry chest. I jerked my hand back.
Ally went upstairs to get her purse. I watched her walk. She did have a terrific body. Rusty snarled at me. I gave him the finger.
Ally returned with her purse. "Goodbye, Rusty-pooter," she said, bending down to pet the little bugger. And then, to my horror, he licked her mouth and face. Marking his territory, I suppose. I tried to pet Rusty goodbye to show what a good guy I was, but he backed away. I half-expected him to open his mouth and say, "Bring her back before 11 or else."
Continue reading the main story
Ally and I had cocktails and dinner. I liked her. I felt a connection. It was the drop-kick dog, I decided, that had to go. I drove her home and kissed her goodnight. It wasn't until after we'd kissed that I remembered her pooch slobbering all over her face only a few hours earlier.
ALLY and I spent a lot of time together over the next month. One night at Paco's Tacos I realized I'd fallen for her. Melted cheddar hung off her chin, and I reached over and wiped it off. Grooming, as I knew from the Discovery Channel, was a sure sign of affection in the animal kingdom. They say we're granted only one great romance in a lifetime. I wondered if this was it.
Ally invited me back to her apartment. I had a feeling this was the night we would consummate our relationship. I could barely contain myself. I attacked as soon as we got to her door, kissing and groping her like a 16-year-old. She smelled like quesadillas. She opened the door, and Rusty charged at us, bouncing in greeting.
"Back off," I said, swatting him away. "I paid for dinner."
Up in Ally's bedroom, it was finally just the two of us. A dozen candles burned, casting shadows across our naked limbs. I held her terrific body close to mine and whispered filthy things. Then I got a strange feeling we were not alone. I looked up. Rusty stood on the bed in rapt attention, tongue out, tail wagging.
Continue reading the main story
"What's wrong?" Ally asked.
"I'm not doing this with him in the room!"
Ally laughed, then picked up Rusty and carried him to the door. "Rusty-pooter," she cooed. "You have to let Mommy alone right now." She put him down and closed the door. She smiled seductively and climbed back in bed. I wrapped my arms around her. Who's the master now, Rusty?
Rusty began to whine and scratch the door. I tried to block it out, but he wouldn't stop. He got louder and louder. "Ah-roooo! Ah-roooo!"
"Ignore him," she said, nibbling my ear.
It wasn't easy, but I soldiered on.
The next morning, I rolled over to kiss Ally and stared instead into a pair of chocolaty brown eyes set off by a hairy mug. Rusty lay on the pillow. He stuck out his tongue at me and yawned. Then he leapt off the bed and trotted out of the room. I don't know how he'd opened the door in the middle of the night. I didn't care. I'd slept with a dog.
Ally dragged Rusty along with us whenever she could. I was embarrassed to be seen in public with him. Women loved him, bending down to fawn over him while their male companions smirked at me. Why couldn't Ally own a real dog, like a golden retriever or a pit bull? The kinds of dogs we regularly encountered on our walks down Montana Avenue, tugging their owners behind them like water-skiers?
But over the next few weeks something amazing happened: that yappy sack of fluff began to break me down. I was over at Ally's nearly every night, but my time there increasingly was spent not with Ally but with Rusty.
First I discovered that petting him soothed me after a hard day. Then I learned how, after a large meal, it helped to sling him across my belly like a warm water bottle. Before long I was talking baby talk to Rusty and feeding him scraps from the dinner table despite Ally's objections. I even volunteered to walk him and pick up his poop. Ally was stunned.
So was I. I'd fallen for Rusty. I knew it, of course, when I began grooming him -- picking food out of his beard, blow-drying him after it rained.
As my relationship with Rusty blossomed, cracks emerged in my romance with Ally. She was nosy. She was cheap. She never flossed.
I was no saint. I put myself first. I corrected her grammar. And when I felt my freedom threatened, I lashed out with mean-spirited remarks. But whenever I considered the prospect of ending our relationship, I broke into a cold sweat. It wasn't just about the two of us anymore. There was Rusty to consider.
I'm not sure when Ally suspected my affection had shifted. Was it the fact that whenever I visited her apartment, I greeted Rusty with a big hug before her? Or was it the time I returned from New York with Schlep the Camel, a toy for Rusty, but nothing for her?
Plus now I was the one trying to include Rusty in all of our plans, suggesting restaurants that allowed dogs, urging us to take long walks on the beach at sunset. At work, I found myself daydreaming about Rusty and wondering what he was doing at that very moment. I watched dog shows on cable.
I guess the real turning point came when I left the bedroom door open one night, eager for that wooly bundle of joy to race in and join us. I patted the spot next to me, inviting him to lie on me. Ally sat up in the dark and hissed, "Don't do that! He'll keep us up!"
"O.K.," I said. But once Ally began to snore, I patted the bed again. Rusty trotted up and laid his head on my chest. I slung my arm around him and fell asleep, arm in paw. The passion in my sex life with Ally had cooled, but I didn't care. I had Rusty.
One night Ally and I were watching TV in my apartment. Rusty was there, too, curled in my lap. I was drumming his paws when I felt Ally's eyes on me.
She asked, "Do you ever see us living together?"
"Sure," I said, trying to make the conversation go away.
"You know we've been together for a year now."
Had it been that long? It seemed like just yesterday I'd met Rusty. I scratched behind his ear. Boy, he's cute. I picked up Schlep the Camel and threw it. Rusty retrieved it. I was about to throw it again when Ally shouted, "Stop it!" She looked me right in the eye and said, "I need to know how you feel about me."
Continue reading the main story
I didn't say anything for a good long time. I looked at Rusty. He rolled over for me to scratch his belly. I pictured life without him. It felt empty.
"I care deeply about you," I said.
"But you don't love me?"
"I don't know."
She nodded. Tears streamed down her face.
I felt sad, but my own tears wouldn't come. I watched in silence as Ally packed her things. Rusty looked on, too, wagging his tail, confused. Out came T-shirts, sweatshirts and slippers. Earrings, bracelets and hair clips. From the bathroom came hairbrushes, 20 different types of hair product, saline contact solution, even her toothbrush.
SHE had a lot of stuff. She had more stuff at my apartment than I did.
I tried to stay strong, but when she packed Rusty's food and water bowls, I started to question my decision.
ADVERTISEMENT
Continue reading the main story
"Maybe we shouldn't do this right now," I said, unpacking the bowls.
"Why?"
"We should wait," I said. "Give this more time."
Ally stuffed the bowls back into her bag and gathered her keys. Then she attached Rusty's leash, and to my chagrin he jumped with joy. He must've thought he was going for a walk.
I knelt and hugged Rusty. "Goodbye, buddy," I said. He licked my face.
They left the apartment. As they walked away, Ally stopped and turned around. She picked up Rusty and cradled him. She blinked away tears and said, "I really loved you."
I stared at Rusty, and then the tears that wouldn't come for so long finally erupted, spilling down my cheeks. I called out, "I loved you, too."
MODERN LOVE Peter David Marks is a screenwriter and documentary producer from Chicago. He lives in Los Angeles; E-mail: modernlove@nytimes.com
Looking for a Diversion?
If you’re in need of a little mental break, these are some of our all-time favorite quizzes, puzzles and more:
Y’all, youse and you guys: What does the way you speak say about where you’re from? See your personal dialect map or try this British-Irish dialect quiz.
These 36 questions could be the key to falling in love.
Intimidated by crossword puzzles? Try this mini on for size. Or build words out of 7 letters with Spelling Bee.
Now, get up! It’s time for a very, very short workout.
ADVERTISEMENT
Continue reading the main story
Your tracker settings