It was Saturday morning . . . the day all kids should be playing with their dogs out on the back lawn. All except me, that is. The only dog I had was Trooper, a stuffed black and silver police dog that Dad had given me on my eighth birthday last year. He was okay to sleep with but he wasn't a real dog that could fetch a ball or roll over or lick my face, plus he took up almost half my bed.
I looked in the door mirror hung in my room pretending it was the kid in the mirror who didn't have the dog and not me, but I knew I was only kidding myself. As I made faces at the kid in the mirror I remembered the conversation I had with Mom after school last Friday: "But, Mom," I said in my most imploring tones. "Like, I'm the only kid in school who ain't never had a real dog in his whole, entire life! And, I'm almost eleven years old!" "'Ain't never' is bad English, Michael," Mom corrected. She was always correcting my grammar. "Aw, Mom, you know what I mean." "But, Mikey, it's not my fault that you don't have a dog. It's just that . . . " "Yeah, I know, Mom. It's just the same old excuse. We live in this dumb apartment house with a dumb landlord who hates dogs." "Mr. Williams doesn't hate dogs, Mikey. But if he allowed us to have a dog, all his tenants might want dogs, . Just think what that would mean." An image formed in my mind and I laughed out loud. "Yeah, Mom, I know. People would be stepping in do-do all over the front lawn, right?" "Oh, Mikey, what a terrible thought!" She turned her head but she couldn't hide her smile. While I still had her attention, I went into Phase Two of my dog-campaign. "All my friends that live in apartment houses have dogs, Mom. Tony Falco's got Blackie, his retriever, right? Petey Barnett's got Scamp, that terrier with the weak kidneys who lifts his leg on every car on the street. And even Fat Wilma McGee has a dog now." "Mikey, it isn't nice to call her Fat Wilma." "Okay, then, she's generously upholstered." Mom smiled. Maybe I was finally getting through."Now don't tell me Mrs. McGee finally bought Wilma a dog?" "No way, Mom! A little white poodle followed Wilma home and she hid it in her closet. It was there almost a month before her mother noticed the funny smell in Wilma's room. She named it 'Sweetums'. The name makes me want to puke! I hope it gets rabies or something!" "Michael Owens, what a horrible thing to say!" I laughed as an image of 'Sweetums' formed in my head, strutting around foaming at the mouth and biting everyone she came to, including Wilma. It was ridiculous because 'Sweetums' was a bigger wimp than Wilma was. "I can't help it, Mom. You should see how Wilma struts up and down the sidewalk showing it off. She shampoos it so often it's gonna get bald!" I snickered as an image of a bald-headed dog sitting in a barber's chair came into my head. Now there's one thing you should know about me right off. When I get an image, I get an image. It forms up there in my brain and stays there, almost like it was real. That's why I had so much trouble with nightmares when I was little. There'd be monsters chasing me in my dream. I'd be running in slow motion, like my feet were stuck in glue or something, and they'd be reaching out to grab me. And their image wouldn't go away when I woke up, either. Sometimes not until I got on the school bus. So every time I thought of something, an image formed in my head and stayed there as long as I kept thinking about it. When I told Mom about the images, she told me that everybody had nightmares. When I mentioned my nightmares to Miss Martino, my art teacher, she said maybe I should take up cartooning for a career. When I told Wilma about them, she said I must be psychic. And when I told my best friend, Jerry Snider, he told me I must be nuts and maybe I should ask my mom to take me to a shrink. Anyhow, their wise remarks don't bother me anymore. Sometimes I even experiment to see how long I can keep the good ones alive before they blow away like a puff of smoke. I'm getting better and better at it all the time. Anyhow, my discussion with Mom that day ended like it always did; a no-win situation. I hate when that happens because it makes Mom feel guilty and then I end up feeling guilty too. But, getting a dog is my main mission in life and I won't stop until I get one. I only hope I'm still around to enjoy it. I frowned as an image of myself with a long, gray beard, bald head and glasses still searching for a dog at the City Dog Pound came into my head. Dad had promised me he'd buy me a real dog as soon as we had a house of our own. I hope it's one with a big lawn and some woods out in back like Aunt Tess and Uncle Ralph have. But I think Dad's a dreamer just like me. I finally got tired at the faces the kid in the mirror was making at me, so I went and got a newspaper out of the closet and taped it over the mirror. Suddenly I remembered that Mom wouldn't be home to argue with today because Saturday is grocery shopping day. As I was putting on my jeans, trying to figure out what to do with my day, Stevie walked in. He's my nine year old, pain-in-the-neck, kid brother who shares my room. He was wearing his usual magician's costume, a tall, black hat and cape and a painted-on mustache. "Ah-hah! An audience!" he said in his phony foreign accent. "How vould you like to vitness a performance of pure magic?" I gave him my worst disgusting look. "Not now, Stevie! I ain't got time for your dumb magic tricks. Besides, they never work anyhow." "Ah-hah, but dis vun is spectacular! Marvelous Marvin the Magnificent Magician revealed it to me yesterday." "You mean Marvin Millburn, that retired magician that lives down the street?" "Ya. Dots the vun! He has a hat filled vit magic." "Yeah, I'll bet he does. Dad says he's just a big phony." Stevie frowned and dropped his accent. "Oh, yeah? Well, follow me, smart guy, and watch Jonah disappear before your very eyes." Jonah and Moby Dick were my two tropical fish. To amuse him I followed him down the stairs and watched as he threw his dumb "magic cape" over the aquarium and started reciting some weird mumbo-jumbo. When he finished he pulled the cape away with a flourish and shouted, "Ta Daaaa! See how easy that was?" Nothing had happened. Jonah and Moby Dick were still swimming tranquilly around the bowl blowing bubbles and chasing each other's tail-fins. I laughed. "See? I knew it wouldn't work." I pulled on my shoes and headed for the door. Stevie frowned. "Hmmm… I wonder what I forgot this time?"
"Keep working on it, Stevie. I got more important things to do." I closed the door and left.
