I met Tom in a taxi line outside a night club at 2.30am on a cold and wet morning. He asked the crowd if anyone wanted to share a taxi to the suburb next to mine. I eagerly waved and shouted, “I do!”
I had been waiting for over an hour and just wanted to get home to my warm bed. I could not help but notice his good looks and unusually good manners as he opened the door for me. “Where do you live?” he asked and I told him. “Gosh! We are almost neighbours,” he said.
We exchanged a few personal details. He was an accountant, I was a legal secretary. He lived with his parents, I had my own house. He liked jazz fusion and so did I. We felt like old friends when we reached my house. I got out of the car and waved goodbye.
A couple of days later I was curled up in front of a TV game show, winding down after work, when there was a knock at the door. I was surprised to see Tom and with him, a large, black dog. I could not help thinking it was glaring at me. I glanced nervously at the dog and said, “Hi Tom, how nice it is to see you and your friend.”
“This is Max,” he said patting the dog on the head. “We were wondering if you would like to come for a walk with us.”
I stammered, “Oh … err … yes, I would love to.” I thought I heard Max growl, “But does Max want me to come, too?”
“Of course he does, he loves people,” Tom assured me.
“That may be the case,” I thought to myself, “But I don’t like dogs.”
Despite this, the walk was the start of everything. Tom and I dated for three months and then he and Max moved in. The problem was that I was deeply in love with Tom but Max hated me and I hated him. I never discussed Max with Tom; I just pretended to like him as much as Tom.
When they came to stay, so did the photos of Max. My walls were graced with Max as a puppy, as a teenager, dressed in a Christmas paper hat, with sunglasses, in the bath and catching a Frisbee.
A few months later Tom got a job with a mining company. It was a fly-in, fly-out job in the north of the state. I was shattered. But Tom had other ideas.
“Now that I am earning better money I am going to save for a house,” he told me one evening over dinner he had cooked. The candle flame flickered and then he popped the question. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” was my reply but Max growled under the table and I knew that there was one dog too many in this relationship. As I said “yes” to Tom, a plan became clear — I was going to say “no” to Max.
The first week Tom was away I put an advertisement in the Weekly Trader: Good home wanted. Large friendly dog requires a loving home. Owner moving overseas.”
The phone rang early on the morning the Weekly Trader is published. A male voice asked if he could come and see the dog. Bill was a truck driver and wanted a dog to accompany him on long trips. He was delighted when he saw Max and declared he was just what he was looking for. We shook hands and Max was led away out of my life for good.
I rushed to my computer and quickly made some “Lost dog” posters, complete with a photo of Max with a Christmas paper hat on his head — “Lost! Lost! Lost! Owner distressed! Reward for information.”
I jumped in my car and plastered the area with posters. Later I rang Tom and managed to burst into tears as I told him the sad news. How Max had gone missing I couldn’t imagine. One of the neighbours had contacted me to say that he had seen Max getting into a car with a large bearded man, but what this meant I could not understand. “Why would anyone want to steal Max?” I sobbed.
Tom was devastated. He would never have another dog he told me. He could never replace Max. I was secretly relieved — I didn’t like dogs, especially Max. I knew I would never have to share my life with Tom again.
Picture posed by models.
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