PORTRAIT OF A DOG IN ISOLATION
In the cool hours of early mornings, in the lazy light of late afternoons, Sushi spends her time in front of the balcony door, sometimes raking her teeth against a hard plastic toy, sometimes with her jaw settled over folded paws and eyes half open, sometimes sitting up at attention, alert to the sound of the dog-park gate opening and closing below. The street outside hums with the occasional car passing or rings with ambulance sirens; across a bright gray sky, wispy gray clouds inch along, and every now and then birds flit in and out of the gray crowns of blooming trees.
“Doesn’t it make the apartment feel bigger?” the Long-Haired-Short-Human had said, after she’d installed the magnetic screen door that draws itself closed every time anyone walks through. “It does,” the Wide-Shouldered-Tall-Human had agreed. With nearly every slam of the park gate, Sushi noses the magnetic seam until it loosens and lets her through. She watches other pups lead their humans through the small park, peeing in their usual morning-pee spots, sniffing for that good grass to poop on. Sometimes she lets out a throaty growl or soft bark (“Talkin’ shit,” as the Short-Human calls it): Claudio, where’ve you been? or Did you hear about Edna’s back surgery? or maybe just Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!
It took a few days to adjust to her humans’ new routines. Tall-Human is home more often, which means more living room wrestles, more hide-a-treat games. “Sushi roll” is a new performance that never fails to delight them. Intermittently throughout the days, they listen to other humans talk in podcasts and interviews — they sigh loudly at large numbers or say “What the fuck” to each other or to themselves; when this happens, inevitably, Sushi grows tired of their negativity and Sushi-rolls around until they smile again.
Short-Human can’t seem to relax. “No COVID-19 pounds for us, right, my girl?” she says each day, dressing Sushi in her dark gray harness for runs — a horrifying addition to the morning routine which Sushi does not understand, as Short-Human doesn’t seem to enjoy it herself, huffing and puffing and cursing her too-small shoes. They pass other dogs and their humans, some humans off-leash and roaming the park unsupervised, some trotting on the grass alongside the pavement to maintain a leash-length of distance, some wearing cloth muzzles. On the way home, tired and bored and annoyed that the harness prevented her from chasing every brazen squirrel, Sushi picks a shady tree and stops, stubborn for a break, halting Short-Human’s pace. This both frustrates and charms Short-Human, who pulls out her phone and snaps photos and videos — “No, no, bad girl,” she says while grinning, as Sushi rolls playfully in the cool gray grass.
Around midday, after their run, after sit-ups and squats and a shower, Short-Human requires extra care and attention. She re-dresses into her pajamas and climbs back into bed, whining for Sushi to settle down beside her. Sometimes she scrolls through her phone or reads or watches Korean dramas and sniffles; other times she strokes Sushi’s back, tugs her ears, sings “My Girl” until Sushi falls asleep. Sometimes she calls her littermate on the phone and asks about every family member, and then, after they hang up, her eyes get leaky. Whatever she does, whether she’s tapping away on her laptop or laying still with her blanket stretched overhead, she begs Sushi to stay there beside her, slobbering on a toy or curled fox-like at her feet.
Months later, Sushi has the large cage to herself again most days. To pass the time, she makes her rounds from balcony door to couch to bed. When lonely, she curls her body in all the spaces where her humans’ scents still linger. When restless, she chases her elusive tail, circling herself like an ouroboros of fur, teeth, and tongue. In the late afternoons, Short-Human returns — kicks off her shoes, removes her muzzle, washes her hands in the kitchen sink. She bends down and says “Hello my girl” in a tired voice, holds out her clean, open palm, and Sushi rests her jaw there, the two of them growing sunnier with gratitude — grateful for someone to belong to, to flood love into, for a warm touch in a too-long time.
