Maximus (continued)
Maximus would hardly fit under King-Kong’s arm.
“I was just in there, and there are two dogs in there. Go ahead,” I assure
him. “That one over there by the refrigerator is named Mikey,” I tell him while
pointing through the crowded store’s wide front window.
“Go ahead and take Maximus in there. What’s the worst that can happen?” I
urge him.
“Maximus don’t want to go in there. He’d rather stay out here with me.”
“Maybe he’ll start a fight with the mini-Pug with the orange sweater vest?” I
throw out.
“Maximus don’t fight. Right, Maximus? You’re a good dog, right boy?”
He’s back on the cell now and spots his wife at the same time across 3rd. He’
s yelling across the street and into the phone at the same time. There are many
loud noises we get used here but yelling across the street is not a Manhattan
thing to do—it’s usually reserved for crazies and Friday night’s drunken college
boys from bars. His wife struggles the stroller with things dangling off of it
across 3rd towards him and Maximus in the increasing rain.
“The store I found with the narrow shoes, Honey, is right there, right there.
Do you see it?”
“Yeah, I do,” she says.
“Hold Maximus,” he orders. “I’m starving.”
“Oh, look at that cute little dog with the orange coat in there,” she says.
Struggling with stroller and baby in the rain she takes Maximus by the leash.
The hefty husband shakes his head about the whole damn scene.
“I’ll get bagels and coffee,” he says. She nods while rearranging all the
stroller stuff; baby’s in there somewhere.
“Maximus, you stay here. You’re a good boy right?” he says, leaving his
brood. Maximus gets a nice sturdy pat on the head and stays on the sidewalk
while his master goes into the bagel store with the Manhattan people and the
pee-wee dogs who are NOT ALLOWED.
© 2007 by Michael Domino
