Dog Lived (and So Will I) Read Online Free PDF Page B

been worse, I tried telling myself. I wondered, though, had I given the dog the sense that Chris was temporary, whereas the dog himself intended to be a permanent part of my life? Had I created an accomplice in my charade already?
    While Seamus and I established a routine for the two of us during the week—walks, cuddles, sharing our meals (well, my meals; I let him have his kibble all to himself), Chris and I continued with our Friday night tradition—wine or chilled champagne, fire going, music playing. And Seamus continued to ruin it all by howling and growling at Chris when he arrived and lunging for the food. Shrimp cocktail, cheese, crackers, strawberries, pizza, stuffed mushrooms, quesadillas, and éclairs all became a Friday night staple for Seamus.
    Although I never again left a plate of food in a room without me, the beagle was a quick study. He easily figured out that there were certain moments when Chris and I, while physically present in the room with the appetizers, were decidedly not paying any attention to the food. If we leaned toward each other for a kiss, Seamus made his move too, deftly sweeping in and inhaling whatever happened to be on the plate. I so frequently lost the battle that I began to plan the menu so it didn’t include any foods dangerous to a dog. Even a dog that was part garbage disposal could get poisoned by chocolate, macadamia nuts, grapes, onions, or garlic.
    When Chris eventually started doing most of the weekend cooking, he’d either arrive with bags of groceries or head out on Saturday mornings, returning with bags of groceries. As my every-other-weekend rule began to slip and Chris visited more often, eventually Seamus concluded that Chris = food. He stopped growling and began to look forward to Chris’s arrival as much as I did, anxiously pacing about after dark on Friday and looking at me with that “Food guy here yet?” face. If Chris was later than normal, Seamus waited at my front courtyard gate.
    I knew it wasn’t Chris’s winning personality the dog was waiting for, but Chris seemed flattered that he’d been able to win the dog over. Until Seamus made it obvious what he was about.
    One Saturday evening, as Chris began cooking dinner, he found he was missing an ingredient.
    “Baby, did you put the sourdough bread anywhere?”
    “No, I haven’t seen it.”
    We opened cupboards and checked the countertops, and Chris double-checked the trunk of his car, thinking he’d left a bag of groceries there. Nothing.
    He walked around the kitchen counter to the other side, in the dining room.
    The bread wrapper and a few—but not many—crumbs were on the floor. Telltale paw prints were on the wall below the counter.
    “You won’t believe this,” Chris said.
    “Oh, crap. Seamus got it?”
    “So much for bread with dinner.”
    “There’s no way he can eat an entire loaf of bread,” I said. I looked around but didn’t see a beagle in any of his usual spots. “Seamus? Seamus?”
    Seamus declined to respond. I went upstairs. He wasn’t on my bed. And he wasn’t in the recliner in the library—his other favorite spot, especially when Chris was with us. I went back to the corner of my room where Seamus’s upstairs bed was.
    He was there, on his side looking every bit like one of those snakes in nature films with their bellies extended in the exact shape of a mouse or a giant egg recently consumed whole. Seamus’s belly was extended in the shape of a sourdough bread loaf.
    I rubbed his belly. It felt tight—stretched to its limit. I worried what would happen if he drank water. Should I take the water away from him? Would that make it harder to digest an entire loaf of bread? I was also sure he’d eaten the bread in three seconds flat. Should I take him to the emergency room?
    Chris was calmer. “He just seems uncomfortable but not in pain. He didn’t choke, so let’s just wait it out.” And then he laughed.
    “This isn’t funny!”
    “Are you kidding me? Look