Razor's Return

Daniel waved goodbye and pulled away from the curb, starting the drive home. As he left the sunny neighborhood and joined the through street he heard a familiar sigh coming from the dog crate on the passenger seat. Glancing to the side, he saw the grayed whiskers, panting tongue, and eager eyes of his Yorkshire terrier. Well…now it was his. He wouldn’t be able to say anymore, “Oh, that’s Allie’s dog.”  

“I’m happy to see you too, buddy.” He inhaled deeply, and put a hand to his forehead. Silence resumed as he continued the drive.  

Daniel and Linda had given their daughter the new puppy when Allie was young, about the time she started shaving. His name, Razor, was first a product of her self assurance and wit, but then became even more fitting as he began acting as her bodyguard. 

Simply trying to put his hand on Allie’s shoulder, Daniel sometimes had to defend himself from Razor’s attack. A goodnight kiss intended for Allie’s sleeping forehead might instead be met with a mad lunge of snarling teeth, followed by a tiny growl. 

“Dammit dog!” Daniel’s complaints were frequent and fruitless.

“Be patient, Daniel!” Linda scolded, “it’s good that he’s protective of her. The world’s not safe.”

“Well, I’m safe! He needs to get that through his head!”

“Shouting the way you are, I can see why he gets confused.”

He wouldn’t respond to that. Marriage had taught him a few things.

Whenever Allie was at home, Razor kept his vigil at her side. When she left the house for work or to go out with friends, he’d look out the front window and continually sigh until she returned. He’d reluctantly settle in beside Linda or Daniel – in that order – only when he perceived Allie wasn’t soon coming back. As her faithful protector, he was on duty whether she was awake or asleep, nearly his entire life, from when he was first housebroken.

“Housebroken! My left foot!” thought Daniel. How many times had he cleaned up the little dog’s poop from under the piano or behind the treadmill? Or the pee puddle right in front of the bathroom door, or the little splash where Razor marked the corner of a random Amazon box that was left on the floor for one hour too long? 

Linda had a pat explanation. “He’s short. He doesn’t like the long wet grass on his belly. That’s why he doesn’t go outside consistently. You have to keep the grass short.”

“I can’t mow when it’s wet! Have to wait for a dry day.”

“Well, then be patient with him. He’s little.”

“He gets away with everything just because he’s little.” 

Daniel still believed that. A little dog jumping on people's legs doesn’t knock them over. His little bark in the back yard doesn’t get the police called. His picky eating? Not related to his size, but somehow, the women in Razor’s life – and Daniel’s – gave him a pass. They’d put the food in his bowl and stand back to watch while he came to inspect. He’d sniff, then wag his little butt happily back away from the bowl. Looking up with clear eyes he’d ask them to read his tiny mind. “I want something else.”  

Daniel wanted no part in this game. “Just give him dog food. He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”

“Daddy, how’d you like to eat the same thing every day of your life? Have some compassion!”

Her defiance was irrational, and completely endearing. She had his heart strings, just like her mother.

Daniel guided the car into the turn lane and rounded the corner. Razor was beginning to whimper. 

“Almost there, buddy. Hold on a bit longer.”

The house was ready. A couple of Linda’s church friends had spent days sorting and decluttering the house. It was never a dirty home, but small things do accumulate. Their work had made the house simpler, somehow, and he would need that. They hadn’t prepared for Razor intentionally. It hadn’t even occurred to Daniel to bring him back. But in the cleaning, they had already eliminated the two things that Daniel knew could bring disaster.

First, the trash from both bathrooms had been emptied, and second, Allie’s stuffed animals were taken from her bed and displayed high on a shelf. Among all Razor’s bad behavior that his wife and daughter tolerated, there were only two ways the dog could send them over the edge. 

Daniel had long ago put child-proof locks on the bathroom garbage cans. But if left unlocked, sometimes the dog would get into a can, homing in on the used menstrual products. He’d carry them to the center of the rug on Daniel’s music room floor, lick and shred them, and leave them there. He had no regard for his human family’s sensitivities.

“Are you KIDDING me! Linda! Look what he did now!”  

“Razor you little monster! I’m so sorry Daniel. That is gross. I’ll take care of it.” And she always did.

Sometimes on a summer day, Razor would capture one of Allie’s stuffed toys by the nape of its neck and drag it outside to the grass. When she would go to investigate, Allie would catch him humping her “stuffy,” his tiny butt gleaming in the sun. 

“Razor! Stop it!” With an angry shout and a reddened face, she’d chase off the assailant and whisk the victim off to the laundry room.

Daniel smiled as he thought of those rare occasions when Razor’s behavior had gotten under Linda’s or Allie’s skin. The boundaries of their tolerance were much higher than his. He knew it was only himself that hadn’t mentally integrated the dog into the family. That’s why he had found a new home for Razor. He thought he couldn’t share his home with the dog without Linda and Allie there to buffer his frustrations.  

His two beautiful girls were gone. The accident, the hospital, the visitors – now were all a blur. Daniel had cried all day every day for the first week. How many weeks had it been since the funeral? Gradually, friends and relatives stopped checking in, and the house had become a quiet, aching void. Surprising himself, he began to miss the dog. His noise, his chaos, his watchful eye, and the occasional cuddles – given to Daniel only when there was no other option.

Jill and Ron had instantly agreed to his request to return Razor to his original home, even though the arrangement had been intended to be permanent. Sure, they were kind people. But maybe, too, they had already experienced more than enough of Razor in their life? That idea brought a laugh.

They reached the driveway of their home. Daniel turned off the car and held onto the wheel. The afternoon breeze gently caressed the branches of the trees and jingled Linda’s chimes on the porch.

He heard her say it again: “I know you don’t love him, Daniel. But you love me, and you love Allie, and we both love him. And he loves all of us, including you! So please try.”

The dog barked. Daniel reached over and unlocked the crate door. Razor bounded out and onto Daniel’s lap and jumped over to the door. His hind legs on Daniel’s leg, he put his front paws to the window and eagerly looked out at the house, wagging his tail and his whole backside. Daniel scratched his back. Razor leaned into it, turned and licked Daniel’s face.

“Well, buddy, it’s just you and me. We have to get by without them. It might be hard sometimes. Are you ready?”

Looking at the front door, Daniel knocked a tear away with one finger. They left the car and walked toward the house. With a happy trot, Razor led the way.