The door was looked. The door was locked because I was studying and did not want to be disturbed. But then someone knocked-two long and three short-and I jumped up. It was Joly; I recognized his knock. I opened the door to admit my friend into the meagre apartment we shared. Then I gasped and jumped backwards.
Joly was a dog! A big grey dog! My God, who could have done this to him?
“Bossuet-” said a muffled voice.
Joly was a talking dog!
“Bossuet,” the muffled voice repeated.
I became confused. The Joly-dog’s mouth wasn’t moving. Unless he were a ventriloquist, the dog wasn’t actually speaking.
“Bossuet,” the voice said a third time. “Why aren’t you answering me?” And Joly stepped out from behind the big sheepdog. Then he sneezed.
“Oh, terribly sorry, Joly,” I apologized, stepped away from the door so that my room mate and the dog could enter the room. “I thought you had been turned into a dog. My mistake.” I shut the door behind them.
“That’s absurd,” Joly replied. Then came a sneeze. “It’s obvious that I am a human.”
“Well, now it is-” I was cut off by another sneeze. Something clicked in my mind.
“Joly, aren’t you allergic to dogs?”
“I am allergic to everything.”
I grimaced. “Is the dog yours?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him expectantly for a moment longer before saying, “Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“No.”
I sighed. “Joly, you can’t keep that dog. It’s not healthy.” Joly’s face fell, and the dog growled. Without meaning to, I took a step back. Or maybe I did mean to. I’ve never seen such a big dog in all my life.
And somehow I’m getting the distinct feeling that it doesn’t like me.
“Bossuet, I love this dog.”
Joly, apparently, still wasn’t quite understanding my objection to his new pet.
“His name is Tache,” Joly told me.
“Tache?” I repeated. “What a silly name!” Tache responded to my insult by violently snapping at the air in front of him with his teeth. With his long, sharp teeth. Maybe I have more than one objection to Joly’s new pet. I don’t think I quite trust this animal-
“OW!” I hollered. “OW!” My instincts concerning the dog were correct. “Joly, he bit my leg!” And he drew blood, too.
“Oh, don’t be silly. He’s just playing,” Joly replied. He knelt down in front of the dog, and proceeded to scratch behind his unbelievably furry ears. Tache thumped his tail on the floor in delight. “Weren’t you-ACHOO-Tache?” Joly looked up at me. “Bossuet, could you please get me a handkerchief?” I rolled my eyes, but did as he asked.
“Joly,” I said, handing him the handkerchief, making sure to keep clear of Tache’s fangs. “Where did you get this dog anyhow?”
Joly blew his nose. “Marius gave him to me,” he replied with a sniff.
“Why did Marius give him to you?” I probed.
“He didn’t want him anymore.” He sneezed again, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“For Heaven’s sake, Joly, I gave you that handkerchief for a reason,” I said. Obliging, Joly wiped his nose with the handkerchief. “Now, tell me why Marius didn’t want him anymore.”
Joly fell silent. After a moment or so, he turned from me, and went back to scratching his pet. ACHOO, ACHOO, ACHOO, ACHOO!
“Joly?” I pressed.
“I don’t know,” Joly answered quickly. “It certainly wasn’t because Tache attacked him and Grantaire or destroyed the Café Musain or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
My mouth dropped open.
“What?” Joly sniffled. “It’s not!”
I just stared at my friend. My mouth worked for a moment before words actually started coming out. Finally, I burst out, “JOLY!”
“Oh, but Bossuet, see how gentle-ACHOO-he is!” The dog growled at me. I pointed that out to Joly.
“That’s not growling, Bossuet,” my friend assured me. “It’s purring!” I didn‘t know that dogs purred, but I let that one go. “He’s happy!” Joly continued. “Aren‘t you, Tacheeeeaaachooooo! Oh, excuse me…”
“Joly, this is ridiculous. The dog can’t stay.”
Joly gave me an icy stare. “Marius gave him to me, he’s mine, and I want to keep him!”
Struggling to remain calm, I told him slowly, “No. I’m sorry, Joly, I really am. But he just can’t stay. You’re allergic to him. And if the landlord learns that we’re keeping pets he’ll evict us.” Tache growled. “And I don’t think he likes me much,” I added quickly. I looked straight into Joly’s face. He was still crouched down in front of Tache, a desolate look on his face. But his eyes and nose were a harsh red from the exposure to the allergen that was his new pet. There was just no way that this was going to work out. “I’m sorry,” I repeated softly. “But you have to get rid of him.”
Then suddenly, an idea seemed to come to my friend. His face lit up with the thought of his unspoken proposal.
And it won’t be good for me, that’s for certain.
“Bossuet,” said Joly. “Let’s give this a little time.”
“Please, no-”
“Just one night! I promise one night!”
“One night for what?” I asked him, afraid of his answer.
“Well, Tache will stay with us for one night. One night during which you try your best to warm up to Tache. And if by tomorrow morning you still feel the same way about him, I promise you-” Joly broke off.
“You promise me…?” I prompted.
Joly sighed, but resumed. “I promise you that I will get rid off Tache. How’s that?”
I hesitated. How’s that? Well, it certainly doesn’t sound too pleasant. But Joly is my best friend. I suppose…it must be my duty as a friend to give him this much. So I said, “Alright, Joly. I agree. One night.”
One night.
Until I realized that, while my nightmare had ended, the howling had not.
This realization did not make me happy in the least, as it was a direct result of my giving into Joly this afternoon. Ah well, I thought, at least it’s just this one night, won‘t be too bad. Though I might as well put the dog out of the room so that I can have a little sleep.
Lethargically, I rose, pulled on the pair of pants that waited for me on the chair next to the bed, and made my way over to the dog.
Tache was sitting next to the door, howling softly. I wondered why Joly had not yet waked from the noise. Then I remembered that he had been complaining of blocked ears a few days ago, and blamed that.
“Tache,” I whispered. He perked up at the sound of his name. Well, I have to give the dog some credit; he must be pretty smart to have learned his name so quickly. Even if it is a silly name. “Come here, Tache!” To my surprise, the dog actually did “come here,” padding over to me on his gigantic paws and making that peculiar little purring sound that he had made earlier.
Oh God, I remember now. That’s not purring. That’s growling.
I backed away from the advancing animal. “Easy, Tache….calm down, big dog…” Tache ignored me.
Panicking a little, I shook Joly. “Joly! Joly! Please wake up!” I hissed at him. But he did not wake up; he gave a colossal snore and turned over. Useless.
I turned back to the dog. His teeth were still bared, causing long strands of saliva to drip onto the floor. He growled one last time, and that was enough. Terrified, I ran from the room, letting out a howl of my own.
With Tache snapping at my heels, I flew into the kitchen. I leaped up onto our rickety table in the centre of the room, cracking the plates which had been resting there, and knocking over several bottles of medicine which belonged to Joly. I grabbed the closest of the bottles before it could fall onto the floor and break. Tache tried to end his chase, but inertia would not let him actually stop moving, and he eventually skid to a stop inches away from the far wall, despite his efforts to halt. Recognizing that this may be my only chance to clear away from Tache for good, I took an instant to formulate a simple plan: throw the shards of plate at the dog to distract him, then dart back into the bedroom. I snatched up the said shars and bolted for the door.
Finally, some good luck! I guess there’s a first time for everything.
I hastened back towards the bedroom, my heart racing. In seconds, I would be safe, safe, safe!
Then I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my leg. I swung around, and there was Tache, triumphantly holding a bloody bit of my pants in his mouth. How did he get over here so quickly? I thought wildly. I hurled the broken plates at him, but missed completely. Panicking, I looked down into my hands, and realized that I was still holding the bottle of medicine. I read the label: “to be taken for the treatment of insomnia,” it said. Insomnia? At that moment, Tache opened his gigantic maw and howled. Acting on a wild hope, I threw the bottle of medicine into the dog’s mouth. Seconds later, his teeth crunched down on it, sending shards of glass flying across the room. Rivulets of yellow liquid dripped down his muzzle and neck. But the desired effect did not occur; Tache was still awake. How could such a large dosage fail to affect him?
Franticly, I sought then only to get the table in between myself and the dog. I ran to the far side of the table, but, baying and growling, Tache chased after me.
I ran once around the table, twice, with Tache fiercely pursuing me. A few times, Tache caught me, his teeth sinking into whichever leg he’d happened to bite, and ripping away new patches of cloth from my increasingly ragged trousers. Both of our chairs were knocked over; this and the bits of plate which now littered the floor slowed me down. I was finished.
Tache finally lunged at me. He barrelled straight into my back, knocking me to the floor. Before I could spring back up, he pounced on me, his claws scraping and puncturing my bare skin. I struggled to get up, but the dog was too heavy. I was pinned to the floor, absolutely unable to move, completely immobile. I winced, and waited for my impending dog-wrought death.
But Tache wasn’t eating me. Why wasn’t Tache eating me? Then I realized; the insomnia medicine. The dog was completely unconscious.
So there I stayed, with the massive Tache sleeping serenely on top of me, surrounded by the few dishes we had, three slices of stale bread, two overturned chairs and the remnants of my pants, until morning.
“Bossuet! What’s habbened to you? Oh dear God! Let be help you up!”
Joly’s shouts jerked me out of my slumber. Startled, I jumped up, only to find out that I could not. The effort actually hurt me, considering that all of the force that I used was immediately thrust back at me with the added weight of Tache’s bulk. The memories of the previous night washed upon me. I groaned.
Meanwhile, Joly had rushed to my side and was sitting next to my head, wringing his hands in frustration and intoning, “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…”
“Joly!” I snapped. “Help?”
“Oh!” Joly exclaimed. “Oh yes!” He hoisted himself up from the floor, and pranced over to Tache’s massive feet. Bending over, he took hold of Tache’s thick ankles, and began to pull. In turn, I pushed Tache’s shoulders away from me. Within moments, the beast was laying off to the side of me, still slumbering deeply, his paws twitching periodically in response to some unknown dream. I took a deep breath, and was profoundly grateful for the fact that it didn’t taste like dog. I then staggered into the bedroom with what little energy I had, and collapsed into the bed. Joly flitted in after me.
“Bossuet?” he squeaked. “Bossuet, are you alright?”
“Joly,” I said, my voice muffled from the pillow. “That dog has to go.”
Joly gasped. “Bossuet, do! You probised!”
The rest of my good humour evaporated, and I pushed myself into a sitting position. “Joly, I did not promise that you could keep that dog! I promised that I would let him stay for ‘just one night’ so that I could decide what I wanted you to do. Well, I’ve decided! That dog has to go! Look at what he’s done in the past twenty-four hours! Our kitchen is destroyed, my pants are ruined, and you can’t breathe! I cannot live like this. And if you really can’t bring yourself to get rid of him, then I will leave!”
“Bossuet, do! You cand leave! Please dond!”
“It’s either him or me. You decide.” And with that, I fell back upon the pillow and immediately fell asleep.
I woke up several hours later, feeling groggy and disoriented. The room was dark; Joly had shut the shades. I sighed, and rose. I walked into the kitchen, and found Joly sitting on the floor in the midst of the wreckage. Tache was nowhere to be seen.
“Joly?” I said softly, creeping up to him. “Joly, where is Tache?”
“Gond,” Joly sniffled. “Gond back to Fiera. She took hib back. He is gond.”
I knelt down beside my friend. He was quietly crying to himself. I put my arm around him. “Thank you, Joly. I appreciate it.”
“I kdo.” Joly sniffed loudly. “I know,” he repeated, his speech now unhindered by sinus blockage. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “At least I can breathe again.”
“At least you can breathe again,” I agreed. I stood up, and then offered a hand to Joly. He took it, and I helped him up.
“There’s just one thing I want you to do for me, though,” said Joly.
“Alright,” I replied, with some trepidation. “What is it?”
“Clean this mess up.” Joly waved his hand around the kitchen, and prompted flounced out of the apartment.
I sighed. It figured.
