Tough Day for the Army Read Online Free PDF

her nose and looked at the placard. “Says here that it’s Fluffy.”
    â€œIt’s wrong,” I said. I pointed at Oscar. “I’ll take this one.”
    â€œWe have several other rooms,” she replied. But I couldn’t imagine wanting to walk through several other rooms of this.
    â€œHe’s perfect,” I said, but what I probably meant was, He’s good enough.
    I took him home and we began our lives together, and at least until I realized that he’s below par as a muse and/or savior, it was pretty good. We had Jeopardy. We had walks in the morning and afternoon where people would often look at him and smile and then their eyes would reach up to mine and they’d still be smiling. It was all very How bad can a guy be with a nice dog like that?
    When I’d weep inexplicably at something showing on the television, he’d leave the room, which I thought I appreciated, as it allowed me a little dignity and privacy, until I realized this behavior was inconsistent with him saving me. I yelled at his retreating back, “You’re not doing the job, pal! Not acceptable! You’re not showing me anything about how to live life with this walking away business,” but nothing stopped the clack of his nails on the wood floor as he retreated to our bedroom.
    So this afternoon, after the walk, and before Jeopardy , I decide to read one of the dog books aloud to Oscar, to see if maybe it will provide some inspiration. This one is a real doozy. It’s about a man trapped in his house by Hurricane Katrina, and because of swelling in his legs due to the diabetes he can’t get out or go for help. For seven days, while he waits for rescue, his two Dobermans scavenge for food and bring it back to the man. It’s the perfect kind of book because even in the most desperate parts you sense it’s all going to be OK, since no one would publish this book if the man died horribly, maybe even urging the Dobermans to feed on his corpse so they could live.
    When Oscar looks like he’s about to fall asleep I read louder. When one of the many amazing things happens, I mark my place with a finger and look directly at him and say, “Can you believe this? This is fucking amazing.” He seems unimpressed, like he’s heard it all before, like in the dog world this story is cliché, mundane.
    â€œWould you rather I read about Marley?” I say.
    It‘s a pretty short book, and reading doesn’t take all that long. There’s a happy ending, just as I suspected. The man had to have a leg amputated because the dogs couldn’t scavenge insulin, but he lived, which is what we’re told counts above everything else. He refused to leave the house until the rescuers promised to bring the dogs with. They all live in Alabama now.
    After finishing, I look up, and Oscar is indeed sleeping on his side in the daylight slanting through the windows. Almost time for his dinner, then his walk, then Jeopardy , then more television, then bed.
    â€œIt’s about the loyalty, pal,” I say. “Man’s best friend.” Still on his side, Oscar stretches and grunts and blows air out of his cheeks, which is one of the more endearing things he does. He rolls from his side to his belly and rises to his haunches like a yogi.
    â€œWould you do for me what those dogs did for that man?” I say. “Would you save me like I saved you?” He stands and yawns and shakes the sleep out of his head, his ears thwapping.
    Oscar has also noticed that it is near dusk. He walks into the kitchen area and sits next to the cabinet where we keep the food. He does this sometimes.
    Who am I kidding? He does this every day.
    â€œHave I ever forgotten?” I say. He looks back at me with those bottomless eyes.
    â€œExcept the one time, I mean, which I’ve apologized for.” He lies down in front of the cabinet, chin on his paws. I see myself on the couch