Katherine Schweitzer-Carney

Stifling Commitments

John was none too happy when he finally made it back to his apartment, yet regretful just the same for flying off the handle at Kara when she mentioned moving in together. At twenty-eight, John had never dated someone he considered attaching himself to. Kara was the first. Her body stunned and she was intelligent to boot. Still, the reality of sharing his life on a fulltime basis with anyone other than his golden retriever felt stifling.

Buddy greeted his owner at the door with a wagging tail and the cord from John’s plasma TV dangling from its mouth. Colored wires poked through its end from where the dog had chewed it free. “Damnit, you stupid dog,” he screamed. The dog pranced around him, its head and tail low. “What the fuck did you do?” He reconsidered his opinion about sharing his life with a dog.

John threw his cell phone and keys on the counter and inspected the damage. Not good, but manageable he convinced himself. He’d call Kara’s brother later and see what could be done to help him out. Maybe he could get him to talk some sense into his sister, as well.

The sun streaming through the window beside his television dulled then faded into the dark clouds of a cold front the radio weather report had promised was heading their way. “Come on,” John said. He grabbed a leash from a peg near the door. “We’re going to have to make this a quick because I’m not walking your stupid ass through the park in a thunderstorm.”

The dog wagged and slobbered, its pink tongue dangling loose out the side of its mouth as he trotted along the sidewalk toward the end of the block, a veteran at these daily trips to the park, though usually it was John and Kara walking with him. The dog didn’t seem to miss the lady’s presence as much as he missed the Frisbee John threw from a bench nearby. Kara kept a collapsible bowl and bottled water handy. The dog would miss this later.

“Sorry, dog. No Frisbee today,” John said to the wondering eyes of his companion staring up at him. “It’s going to rain,” he reasoned. “Look.” John pointed through a line of tall oaks along the asphalt path. It was darker than before. “Now go play,” he said unhooking the leash and coiling it up in his pocket.

The dog dashed, barking at a flock of pigeons roosting on the back of bench, the one John and Kara always occupied. It was at the quiet end of the park, far enough from the playground and skateboard ramps so as to keep Buddy from thinking he were a kid too.

The dog made chase of a squirrel and then another when the first escaped up a tree. He took chase after pigeons picking through trash, shifting from can to can heaped high. John took note of the bird poop covered bench that was his and opted for a seat at a picnic table chained to a tree. He would call Kara and at least apologize, he decided. Maybe explain to her how he just wasn’t ready to be tied down—or maybe not. Women are sensitive when guys say they aren’t ready. He had learned this from a girl he knew in college. “You guys always say that when you don’t want to be responsible,” she had said.

“Quit picking at the trash, you stupid dog,” John said. He walked across a path towards a distant can. The animal barked as he rummaged through fast food wrappers and newspapers spilling over its top. “We gotta get going before the lightening gets here. “Come on, boy,” he called, hoping the dog would listen and bound back his direction. Instead, the dog whined and ignored him, pawing at the can.

As John struggled to catch the loop on Buddy’s collar, he heard a squeak. Then, a black bag threatening to fall wiggled. The dog whimpered. “What stupid fucker leaves a bag of puppies in the trash,” John said, yanking it out and setting it on the ground at his feet. He untied the square knot sealing it shut and exposed a ragged bath towel with blue flowers on a crème-colored background. Blood stains were interspersed. His hands jittered in contradiction to the slow motion scene unfolding. The pigeons had returned to the bench where Kara wasn’t sitting, but where he wished she was. Some roosted and a few strutted across its seat.

“Damn,” he said, folding back the damp towel to a newborn squeaking through bluish lips. “Jesus.” The child’s body was filmy and its fists were clenched, flopping up and down on the umbilical cord and afterbirth stacked on its belly. The dog sniffed first then backed away, whining and barking in agitation over John’s discovery. It was a girl and the rain was getting closer.