John D. MacDonald

A Matter of Life and Death

Several times in five minutes Norris Vayne stared around the edge of the evening paper at the sleepy heap called Yo-Boy which filled up most of the hearth. The small crackling fire made highlights on his matted red coat. Each time he looked over, Yo-Boy would close one amber eye.

Finally Norris Vayne folded the paper and stared at the tightly dosed eye. “Too tired to say hello, my rumpled friend?”

Yo-Boy groaned softly. He opened his eye. The tail flopped once, He groaned again. Then, in sections, like an ancient camel, he heaved himself to his feet. He stood weaving for a moment and then plodded over.

Norris held his hand within reach. Yo-Boy made a half-hearted tongue-swipe at the extended hand as part of a half circle that would take him back to the hearth. He paused, realizing he had missed, turned back and connected this time. He went over and fell on his side on the hearth, sighed, flopped his tail once more and closed his eyes.

“Very touching,” Miriam said, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Keep them on a regular routine and they stay in shape,” Norris Vayne said defensively.

“Using the word loosely. Honestly. Norris, we’ve got to do something.”

He had started to lift the paper again. He dropped it back in his lap. “Huh? What?”

She came over and sat on the arm of his chair, her hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw that she was staring at Yo-Boy with a look of exasperated disgust.

“He smells,” she said.

“Well, he’s a pretty old dog.”

“I let him out and he comes in damp and honestly he smells like five Egyptian mg merchants. You ought to have seen Eloise the other day, taking a different chair so she wouldn’t have to sit near him.”

“Darling, he’s always had the run of the house. I don’t think we should start turning him into a cellar dog at this late date.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that.”

“The garage! It isn’t even heated.”

Miriam had an ominous set to her jaw. “I wasn’t thinking of the garage either. I was thinking we ought to take him to the vet.

“I mean, Norrie, that there has to be an end to sentimentality. There’s no pleasure in him. It’s been years since he played with the children. They pet him about once a month. He’s got about three teeth in his head. I think it would be the kind thing to do. Really.”

Norris felt righteous indignation. “That sounds fine, I guess. But it doesn’t sound so fine to me. His mother was Yo-Girl, and I got her when I was nine. And we kept Yo-Boy out of her last litter, the one she had when I was seventeen, the year before she got run over. Lord, I’ve known Yo-Boy five years longer than I’ve known you.”

“You are thirty-four, dear,” Miriam said firmly.

“What does that prove? You were glad to have a big dog in the house when I was overseas. Remember how he acted when I came home?”

Yo-Boy had heard his name just enough times so that he lifted his head and stared.

“Hell of an idea, isn’t it, Yo-Boy?”

“You’d be doing him a favor.”

“Pretty funny-sounding favor.”

“They just go to sleep. They don’t feel a thing. We could get an active dog. The children would get a lot more out of it.”

Miriam headed back for the kitchen, saying over her shoulder:

“Of course, dear, I realize that he is your dog. You just sit there and think about it.”

Norris sat and thought about it. Damn it, Miriam was probably right, in a certain limited fashion. Last spring Yo-Boy had been pretty peppy. Maybe this spring he would come to life again. No crime in living a long time.

A hundred and two, by human count — allowing six years for one, the way you were supposed to with dogs. Like to have a dime for every lamp and dish and vase he broke when he used to charge through the house and slide on the throw rugs. No running for him, any more. Why did women have to be so darn practical? Of course, Yo-Boy was a lot of work for her. Feeding him, letting him in and out. Selfish to make her all that work just for a reluctant greeting each night, a greeting that grew more reluctant every month.

In the stories just when you’re about to get rid of a dog, he thought, the dog comes through and captures a burglar, or yanks a kid out of the road. If a burglar came in during the night, Yo-Boy would open one eye for three seconds, give a thump with the matted tail and fall asleep again.

He wondered about boarding him at a good kennel. No. Yo-Boy would never go for that. After all, this was his family. And they kept them in little cages. Miriam had certainly fouled up what had started as a pleasant evening.

When she called them to dinner, and the kids came tromping down from upstairs, Norris was still worrying about it. He as yet had been unable to think of any firm and decisive defense against Miriam’s suggestion.

Chucky, aged ten, had to be shooed off to wash his hands again, while Alice, age eight, displayed spotless hands and flashed a look of feminine disdain at the abused-acting Chucky. In the first available conversational gap, about ten minutes later, Norris glanced meaningfully at Miriam and said, “A big red setter is a pretty good sort of dog.” He was suddenly confident the children would back him up.

Chucky stared at him. “What did you say that for?”

“It just happens to be something I was thinking.”

“I guess they’re good dogs. All Yo-Boy can do is snore. Boy, you shoulda heard him a couple of days ago.”

“He’s been a very faithful dog,” Norris said, aware of pending defeat.

“And he smells plain awful,” Alice said, wrinkling her nose, “Especially when he’s wet.”

“He’s really old,” Chucky said, shaking his head. “A real old dog. He don’t even look at me when I call him any more.”

“Doesn’t, dear,” Miriam said.

Miriam gave Alice a stern look, and Alice got up languidly to help clear the table for dessert. When the dessert appeared, ice cream with hot chocolate sauce, Chucky made animal noises until he was shushed. Miriam was looking at Norris with meaningful triumph. Norris told himself it had to be accepted. He picked up his spoon, then set it down. Chucky was steam shoveling his way through the ice cream.

“Well, children,” Norris said, “your mother and I have been talking. We’ve decided it’s time Yo-Boy is taken to the vet’s.”

“What for?” Alice asked.

“Well... the vet knows how to... do away with him.”

Chucky had his mouth open, a heaping spoon aimed at it. He put the spoon down without touching it. His eyes were wide. “K-kill him? You mean kill him?”

“Now, darling,” Miriam said, “it’s all for the best. He won’t feel a thing. Hell just go to sleep. He really isn’t a suitable pet.”

“But it isn’t...” he started.

“That’s enough, young man.” Norris said, a shade too harshly. “It’s been decided. That’s that.”

Chucky stood up and looked at each of them in turn with an almost frightening coldness. He said, “If nobody cares, can I be excused?”

“You haven’t finished, dear.”

“I’m not all of a sudden much hungry.”

“You’re excused,” Norris said.

Alice skipped the formalities. She merely fled, making a sound like a very small clogged drain. Miriam stared at Norris. She said, “It’s obviously just a chance for them to be dramatic about something. They pay absolutely no attention to Yo-Boy.”

“Maybe it’s a little more than that. When the dishes are done, let’s go up and talk to Chucky.”

Chucky lay on his bed in his dark room. Miriam left the door open so that the hall light came in. She sat on the edge of his bed, and Norris stood near by.

“Now, darling,” Miriam said evenly, “why did the two of you make such a fuss?”

“I know he doesn’t play any more. And he snores and he smells. I know all that,” Chucky said in a voice that was tremblingly matter-of-fact. “He’s probably too old to be any good for anything. But the way I feel about it, he doesn’t get in my way and I don’t get in his way and we both live here. And when you live somewhere, you have rights, don’t you? Something like that shouldn’t happen to you when you’re minding your own business. That’s what I think. You can probably do it all right, but it isn’t a good thing,”

Miriam sat silently for a long time. Then she leaned forward and kissed Chucky’s forehead and sighed. “All right, my friend. I think you maybe have a point.”

“I smell sometimes.” Chucky said. “Remember about Mr. Harvey’s fertilizer?”

“We all remember that,” Norris said. “Now go tell your sister that the condemned has been pardoned by the governor.”

They went back downstairs. Norris said, “I suppose it’s really a matter of mutual security. The mystic closed circle against the forces of darkness. Maybe children are more aware than we are that you don’t break that circle voluntarily. Bad luck, maybe.”

“Parlor philosopher,” Miriam said, wrinkling her nose at him. “You win.”

“Yo-Boy wins.”

Miriam looked down at the open amber eye. “I’ll fix him something good tomorrow.”

“A penance, dear?”

She turned with a faintly wry expression. “A burnt offering.”

Content

John D. MacDonald
A Matter of Life and Death