A Storyby Casey Gentry Quinn
I convince myself I want to get laid, so I meet Girl on the corner of Fifty-Ninth and Fifth for a walk in the park. It’s late fall, just past the season for great romances. Girl brings her husky, which is too short to be a husky. I tell Girl that I imagine huskies to be more wolflike, and Girl laughs.
Girl, who is not less attractive than Sara, but is perhaps below my personal expectations for myself, says, That’s so funny, people often think huskies are taller, but really they’re short and stout. I say, Short and stout is fine.
My family’s golden retriever would tear this dog to shreds, but I don’t say this. I have known Girl for a few months as a friend, and she told me about Dog. In fact, I was excited to walk Dog. But even without Girl disrupting the estrogenic pull of Dog, her dog is not large enough to be a guy’s dog. At least Girl has Dog. Sara has never had a pet.
During our negotiations of a future together, Sara told me she wouldn’t let a dog sleep in her bed. Sara thought my family’s golden retriever was shabby, and when Raleigh developed a rash from salt water, she refused to rub his ears.