Doghouse
Charles Coté
When your wife says, Hell no, I don’t want another dog, ever, visit the shelter without her, take your sons. Find a dog that reminds you of the word regret, all the dog’s you’ve lost, preferably one with all-or-nothing markings. If he won’t look you in the eye then pees on the floor; you’ve found your guy. If he’s been in eight homes before; start making plans. Think redemption for the times you failed to do right by your dogs, the time you thought it would be a good idea for your pup to see the fireworks at the park. Think panic. Long, scraggly fur and a nervous disposition will seal the deal. Spend too much on paraphernalia –– top grade collar, dual distribution bowl, alloy steel kennel, the extravagance of science diet. Let the boys call him Walter and promise to walk him daily. Give the girl who was hoping for a Springer a sympathetic smile as you leave the shelter. Let Walter yank you out to the car, and if it’s raining; all the better. Bring him home late Sunday afternoon and pretend to be surprised when your wife says, I hate you with her eyes. Tell her she’ll learn to love him, like she learned to love you, she won’t have to do a thing. Be patient when he soils the carpet and runs out the door into traffic. Praise him loudly when he comes back on his own. Put him in the dog house at bedtime.
Charles Coté is the author of a chapbook (Flying for the Window, Finishing Line Press, 2008) and is working on a full-length book of persona poems called Shrink, about a man in search of himself amidst the patients he tries to help. His poems have also appeared in: Upstreet, Salamander, The Cortland Review, Redactions, Free Lunch, Identity Theory, Blueline, Modern Haiku, Connecticut River Review and HazMat Review. He is a psychotherapist in private practice and teaches poetry at Writers & Books in Rochester, NY.
