Cary Grant dragged me across the street.
Not that Cary Grant.
Because that would be weird. You know, since he’s dead, and because a super famous movie star would never in a million years hang out with someone as lame as me.
No, Cary Grant the 80 pound black Labrador retriever, dragged me across the street to greet a friend of his.
Well, he wasn’t much of a friend, more of an acquaintance, really. He’d only ever met Petey the chubby American Bulldog once before. And here he was acting like they were best friends. Dogs are simple like that. I wish that happened more often with people.
I ran behind him to keep from having my right arm pulled out of its socket.
“Dammit, Cary Grant! You could’ve killed us!” I heard a laugh and looked up at Petey’s owner. I blushed and was suddenly reminded of the fact that I was just wearing a t-shirt and no bra on this late night walk. “Hi.” Instinctively I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“Your dog has a full name. That’s kinda funny.” He said while the doggies sniffed at each other.
“Well your dog doesn’t. I’m sure he feels incomplete.”
“How do you know he doesn’t?”
“I don’t know, you’re making fun of my dog’s name I’m assuming yours doesn’t then.” I felt one of the leashes start to wrap around my legs.
He bent down to untangle me. “You know what they say about people who assume?”
“I don’t know, but looks like your dog is starting to wrap himself around you too.” I bent down to try and help him. He laughed again as the dogs kept circling around us while we worked on untangling ourselves.
After much maneuvering we were free.
“So what’s your name then?” He asked.
“I’m Arty.”
“Arty?”
“Um, like Artemis?”
“are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! Why wouldn’t I be sure of my own name?”
“Well, it sounded like a question.”
“Oh. Um. No, it was a declarative statement. Not a question. Arty, short for Artemis.”
“That’s a cool name. Not as cool as your dog’s, but still.”
“Gee thanks. What’s yours?”
“Jason.”
“Hi Jason, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, again, don’t you remember, we’ve already met.”
We had, once, about a week earlier. I had just finished running to the river with Cary Grant and I was exhausted and sweaty and trying to rush home so I could watch an episode of Doctor Who on Netflix, shower and sleep. We bumped into Petey and Jason as we walked back to the house.
“That’s a nice dog,” He had said. I nodded and said “thanks, so is yours” and kept walking.
I am not very good at talking to men who are even remotely attractive, much less one that was actually pretty hot.
I smiled, thinking how cool I played it the first time around. “Yes, we’ve met, but there were no actual introductions. So it doesn’t count.”
“Of course not, you didn’t look at me and just kept walking. How was I going to introduce myself?”
Maybe I wasn’t as cool as I thought.
I let go of the leash and let Cary Grant wander around freely.
He looked surprised.
“Oh yeah, he’s pretty well trained, he won’t run off,” I say at the exact moment that my dog decides to run down the block. I feel my face get hot. “Cary Grant!” I scream. “Get back here!” I swear that dog lives to shame me in public.
He stopped mid stride, turned around and looked at me.
“Yes, you. Here.” I stomped my foot and pointed to my side. He looked at the direction he’d been running a moment before, torn between following his instincts or obeying me, before galloping back. I looked at Jason, “See? Totally obedient. Sorta.” I petted Cary Grant.
“I see. Well Petey would’ve probably kept running.”
I laughed, “Cary Grant knows he’s got a good thing going. Maybe Petey’s on the lookout for something better?”
“Hey, he’s got it good here too.” He looked down at Petey who’d laid down on the sidewalk between us. “He’s a rescue dog. Picked him up from the shelter. Turns out his owner didn’t want him because he was too gassy.”
“Aw, poor Petey. So was his name Petey when you adopted him or did you name him that?”
“His name was Rex when I got him. But that didn’t have enough personality. So I named him Peter. But I call him Petey for short.”
Petey’s not any shorter than Peter, but I didn’t feel like bringing that up.
“Looks like a Petey, doesn’t he?”
I smiled. “Yeah, definitely a Petey.”
“So what’s with Cary Grant?”
“Cary Grant was a dashing and debonair, Hollywood legend. Naturally my dog, who is also a dashing and debonair pup, should be named after one of the most handsome men in history. Don’t you think?”
At that moment Cary Grant laid down at my side and looked up at Jason.
“Look, he’s waiting for you to agree.”
“He is a handsome dog, not very modest though.” He said.
“it’s hard being that handsome, Jason. “
“I wouldn’t know.”
I laughed. “Neither would I, the dog has all the looks in the relationship.”
“Aw, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Shush, you’re going to make me blush.”
I looked at Cary Grant sitting by my side like a freaking dog prince. I never thought it’d be possible for a dog to be cooler than me.
“Just pointing out the truth.”
I shrugged.
“So, Arty, are you heading home now?”
“Um, yeah, Cary Grant’s pooped so we’re good to go. Need to get to sleep, I have to be up early. You?”
“Yeah, I mean, I need to walk this guy a little longer before heading in.”
“Well, I’ll see you around.” I turned and practically jogged away towards the apartment when I felt a sudden urge to be more aggressive than I generally am with men. “Hey, Jason!” I said from across the street.
He turned and smiled at me. “What’s up?”
“I…” I turned back around.
“Arty?” I heard him call.
Ignore it, you can never go back outside again. Keep walking.
“Arty!”
Dammit, turn around. “Yes, sorry. I got distracted.”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“Why are you saying what?”
“why are you standing across the street? You called me and then turned around.”
“Yes. Um, Are you busy on Saturday?”
A car passed by between us.
“I don’t think so, why?”
“That’s cool, neither am I.”
“What?”
He and Petey started to cross the street towards me.
“Um, I mean…” Okay go for it.”I’m having a party, you should come!” I blurted out. “It’s this saturday, around nine.” I looked at Cary Grant for moral support but he was busy sniffing some leaves. This dog is useless.
“So where’s the party?” He asked while I searched my hands for a way to not sound like a teenage girl asking a boy or for the first time. A scenario that wasn’t too far from the truth. Romantically I hadn’t made any progress since I was about 17.
“My house.”
He laughed, “I figured that much. I mean where do you live?”
I looked at him. “Oh yeah, um, one street West, on Rockwell, two houses in. 2609. We’re on the first floor.”
“That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“I live across the street.”
That’s convenient. “Oh really? Well then, you won’t get lost.”
“There’s always a chance, you never know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I should be going. Nice to meet you, Jason. Hopefully I can you Saturday!” I ran off towards my place.
“Okay!” I heard him yell behind me.
I waved my hand behind me and gave him a thumbs up as I kept jogging.
I reached my building and pulled out my keys. “Cary Grant, I do believe we invited a gentleman over to our house tonight.” I looked at him as I let him into the hallway. “And, the best part is that we didn’t embarrass ourselves–I don’t think. ”
We reached the door, “And that, my dear pup, is what I call a success. Now let’s see if he actually shows up. “
The Secret Life of Pandas 