Chapter 3

The result of Leopold’s inattentiveness was this: rather than dashing off to capture the tennis ball, Freckles became aware of a new interest, and that was Fortissimo, a Boston terrier owned by neighbors down the street whom Leopold happened to have been long-time acquaintances of. This connection had nothing to do with the frenzied commiseration Freckles set off for, as Fortissimo addled along to the step of the mother in this family unit. The approach brought noses to work, and soon enough those noses were going where no nose legally should, and off in the distance, in the yard of Leopold’s more immediate neighbor, Sam, who had aged less gracefully than Freckles, dozed away, hidden among bushes and oblivious to such gaiety. “You see Sam,” Leopold attempted, “she’s being a good dog.” He ran after Freckles, flushed and embarrassed, knowing he was terrible in these situations.

Fortissimo and his owner were sort of paralyzed, as if it were Leopold’s responsibility to clean up this mess, and he did so by roughly grabbing at Freckles, hoping he’d at least brush him away, leaving enough time to wrap his arms around the straying dog and allowing matters to return to how they had previously been proceeding. Once the terrier had moved on, Leopold continued his guarding of Freckles, who remained as intrigued as ever, and not a bit deterred. Leopold tried turning his dog around, hoping that would work. Freckles only twisted around again, fidgeted to reposition himself, and continued his longing gaze. When the terrier had gone a sufficient distance, and Freckles no longer seemed as eager to pursue, Leopold returned his own attention to the tennis ball, abandoned in all this time as if it had never been important. The hound next door remained equally aloof, which if Leopold had brought Freckles to her would not really have made a difference.

But Freckles instead trotted up to Leopold and smelled him, as he sometimes did, as if in greeting after not having noticed or seen him in a while. It wasn’t to say he was suddenly interested in the ball again. Leopold was holding that behind his back, as a surprise, one this time meant more for the backyard than the front, but he made a survey of the street just in case. Fortissimo was once again tucked away, and the only signal of her existence after that would be to see her again. There was an old dog house in her yard, but that belonged to a prior dog. Dogs sometimes cycled through faster than neighbors, and Leopold wasn’t sure which was harder to keep track of.

Looking down at Freckles, he happened to glimpse some anthills dotting along the perimeter of the driveway, and scurrying about some ants themselves. He’d always been told ants were best known for their extraordinary hefting capabilities, but the only way he’d ever seen them was scurrying, always scurrying, as if they had busy schedules and were always behind them, and that’s what they were pushing around. They had to be the only other species on earth so concerned with time. But Leopold had all the time in the world, at east for the moment. He forgot about Freckles and took a moment to watch the scurrying, and Freckles, having spied the tennis ball, fidgeted impatiently beside him.

Traffic, that’s what it was beginning to look like, not just random travel patterns but specific paths in specific directions. If there were no roads visible to Leopold, he reasoned they weren’t necessary to creatures unlikely to be crashing into each other. In fact, there was so little social element to it, aside from casual convergences, like asking for directions, that Leopold became all the more strangely convinced of his interpretation. It wasn’t so much that he believed this as it was becoming natural to assume, as if he was understanding what he was seeing for the first time. The anthills were less doorways to homes than junctions on this highway of incessant campaigning. Leopold had stumbled upon a purpose.

He blinked, and looked away, and then tossed the tennis ball into the backyard, as he’d previously been thinking about, and Freckles romped after it. Sam, who was sometimes called Aggie, lifted her weary head and Leopold gave her a polite nod before going to meet Freckles, who would expect another toss, then another, and still more after that, until he became bored and wanted to go back inside again, as he’d signal by trotting to the door, summarily abandoning the ball and Leopold. Except, as sometimes happened conversely, Leopold decided he was done instead, and Freckles remained behind, sitting on his haunches in the backyard, like there was something out there calling him to stay and wait upon. There was one time Leopold’s dad had taken Freckles out to accompany him while he did some work in the yard, and after having come back in while several hours passed, realized Freckles was still out there. He had not strayed from the backyard. It might have been that he was faithfully waiting for his master to come back for him. Or perhaps he had reason to expect something else out there.

At any rate, on this day Leopold was not having any of it. This was always his reaction. He ventured to retrieve the ball, hoping this would entice Freckles, but it didn’t. Freckles perked his head, but remained firmly ensconced in the scraggly grass and gravel. Leopold would then normally venture again and pick Freckles up, saying along the way, menacingly or not, “I’m going to pick you up! I’m going to pick you up!” Something told him not to this time. He instead observed the dog for a moment, and saw in his always-pleading eyes a longing for something, and it had nothing to do with tennis balls or treats or any scraps of food he might claim within his jaws greedily.

Finally, Leopold had had enough, and so he followed through with his routine. “I’m going to pick you up,” he said as he approached. “I’m going to pick you up!” And as he did, he tried not to look into Freckles’ eyes again, because he was more than a little disturbed, and didn’t care to give it any more thought just then. “Now,” he started as he placed the dog in the house, “you’d better not have had to pee, or we’ve just wasted a trip outside. And I’m not taking you out again, even if you sit by the door, wanting to go out again.”

His father, having woken up from his night-time job, day-time sleep, took Freckles for a walk around the house anyway, after finding the dog by the door. Later in the evening, after the post-feeding walk, Freckles once more begged to go, as he sometimes wanted to, and since his father had gone back to bed for one last time before work, Leopold was confronted with the matter once more by himself. His mother urged him to comply, periodically, when she noticed, but Leopold had made up his mind not to bend. There was no reason for Freckles to go out again. He should be fine. He doesn’t need to go again. It must be so he can socialize, see who’s out, who’s been out since the last time. Was he expecting someone?

No. That’s crazy, Leopold thought. There was no logic behind Freckles’ motives. They were as transparent as the water in his dish, pumped automatically as it was, as needed, by the bottle set in it. Nothing complicated there. Nothing complicated going on in Freckles’ mind. Leopold would definitely be crazy to think otherwise.

This did not deter Freckles from staring at him, to let him know he had an obligation to fulfill. “You’ve already gone,” Leopold noted. “You don’t need to go again. Stop looking at me. You can’t change my mind. In fact,” he decided, switching subjects, “I was thinking, mom. I’m probably ready to go back home.” He was defeating Freckles, all right. The best way to beat something like this was to avoid it, and that was Leopold’s decision. His mother, having fallen asleep, didn’t acknowledge him, but that didn’t really affect the decision. Armed with a course of action, Leopold continued to ignore Freckles, who nonetheless later made the journey to sleep below him for at least part of the night. Whatever it was he had been denied, he was not going to hold it against Leopold. It was as if he was used to it.

There were times in the past Leopold had actually bent under and given Freckles another walk, and this weighed heavily on his mind, heavy as guilt, as he prepared to return to the apartment, his sister, and Boo. He was admiring the cat on the way back, since she acted entirely different from Freckles, and made no such quiet demands. She was good at amusing herself, and choosing her own times to impart affection, and that would be a relief, Leopold realized, before suffering a stab of betrayal. The problem with sharing your life with two disparate pets was that the line between them was far too clear, and it could either make it easier to appreciate each in kind, or eventually drive a wedge into that line, and threaten permanent separation from one or the other. Leopold was frightened at the prospect, but glad to know he did not always have to think about it.

As was her custom, Boo greeted Leopold by attempting an escape from the apartment, which meant either that she thought the hallway and the common laundry room were as open to her as any spot inside the apartment, or she valued a taste of freedom as often as she could take it. Leopold, at this moment, tried very hard not to think about it.