The Icelandic Canadian - 01.09.2004, Side 32

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THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
Vol. 59 #1
My father went over to have a word
with Mr. Larson about what had hap-
pened. I felt somewhat vindicated at his
support, as Brian had already begun tor-
menting me with a typically creative string
of dog jokes. When my father returned, he
seemed frustrated; he said that there was
simply no talking to the man. Somehow,
Mr. Larson had managed to change the
topic whenever my father had raised the
issue. I was afraid that this meant I would
have to daily face death in the course of
my duties as paper carrier, and I began
considering early retirement. This was not
to be the end of it, thankfully; my father
phoned the police.
Tammi confided in me that she
thought perhaps Mr. Larson's dog was in
actual fact a werewolf. She reasoned that
since it was really just a friend of his who
happened to be afflicted with lycan-
thropy, of course he didn't keep it tied up,
as that was no way to treat one's friends. I
was nearly convinced of this theory until I
took a step back and thought about it
rationally. Obviously it was not a were-
wolf, because then he would be human
most of the time and a wolf only during
the full moon. Tammi argued that he
might be a reverse werewolf, but at that
point I gave up on the conversation,
because I knew that there was no such
thing.
The point soon became moot, howev-
er, as I noticed the next day. I aproached
Mr. Larson's driveway, newspaper
clutched tightly in my mitts and only a
tiny wisp of vapour streaming from my
nostrils (I was having trouble remember-
ing to breathe). As I placed the newspaper
in the mailbox, keeping an eye out for the
whelp of Cerebus, I noticed that there was
a police van parked in the driveway, and
my curiosity overpowered my fear long
enough for me to see what was happening.
There were two men arguing with Mr.
Larson about his dog; I didn't hear every-
thing they said, but it was clear they were
talking about the fact that the dog ought
to have been on a leash, and that since it
had attacked someone, namely me, they
were going to have to take it to the pound.
I noticed that Mr. Larson did not seem
overly concerned; he almost seemed to want
them to try. Gradually, tempers on both sides
of the dispute boiled over, including the dog's
(who, I was sure, had been following the
whole conversation), until the men said that
enough was enough and they were taking the
dog away, whatever Mr. Larson said.
This, of course, was easier said than done,
and the men realized that the animal was not
going to readily submit to having a collar and
leash added to its evening ensemble. I heard
Mr. Larson say that if they weren't careful,
someone would lose a hand, and I wasn't sure
if that was a warning, a threat, or a joke. The
two men glanced at one another, and I could
see that they were wondering the same thing.
They returned to the van, and I saw a smug
grin appear on Mr. Larson's face. However,
one of the men emerged from the vehicle with
a gun, shot the dog with a tranquilizer, and
when it was quite unconscious, they muzzled
it and took it away. I could see that Mr.
Larson hadn't expected them to do that. I
think he saw me grinning with relief as the
van drove past, because he gave me a look
reminiscent of the one his dog had given me
the day before; I decided that it was a good
time to finish my route and return home.
When I came in the door, I saw that
things were much the same as they had been
for the last few weeks, my sisters were bick-
ering and my parents were tense. Things did
not improve when Brian came home. I could
tell that he had been to the barber's; even if I
had not noticed the fact that for once his hair
was not hanging down over his forehead like
a neanderthal's, and was feathered at the
edges in accordance with the new style, he
was strutting around like a peacock, expect-
ing everyone to stop and admire him. Fat
chance. I reasoned that the phenomenon of
Brian getting a sensible haircut was somehow
connected to the other phenomenon, that of
his relationship with Linda. He had made it
clear that this was going to be one important
Valentine's Day; I had overheard him ask my
father for the car four days in advance. Now
that the day had come, I was surprised that he
had managed to fit his ego in through the
door.
He didn't hear a thing that was said to
him all through dinner; he just looked out the
window like a king about to conquer a