Theo

His name is Mr. Woodcock

 

Do I have a bullseye on my forehead?

That’s a rhetorical question, by the way, because I must since shit keeps being thrown at me and sticking to me from every part of my life. I just can’t seem to catch a break right now.

It hasn’t always been this way. I’m normally an upbeat positive person and things have gone my way, until recently. I’m hard working. Ambitious. I do right by others. I provide a hand to old ladies crossing the street. I don’t take myself too seriously. And I’m a good friend, son and nephew.

And I thought I was a good boyfriend, too. Thoughtful, loving, attentive, giving in bed.

Apparently though, that wasn’t enough for Alyssa, my girlfriend of two years, whom I lived with for one, to stay with me. She recently kicked me out of the apartment we shared together in Lincoln Park when she told me that I wasn’t successful enough for her standards and she no longer was in love with me.

Whomp.

That’s the sound of more shit thrown at my targeted head.

Since Alyssa is still in grad school and her dad was funding half of the apartment costs, I had to leave. And let me tell you, it’s not easy for a struggling actor and playwright in between gigs, without much as a dime saved, to find a suitable apartment in Chicago.

There’s no way I had enough money saved to cover first and last month’s rent for a new place. So, for the last few weeks, I’ve been couch surfing, working out deals with friends and anyone else who can take me in while I finish writing my play.

It’s been a fate worse than death. Worse even than a death in a Shakespeare play.

Do you know how embarrassing it is at age twenty-six to ask a friend if you can crash at their place? I’ve had to dig so deep into my contact lists that I’m practically going back to my peewee baseball team roster. People my age are generally shacked up, having kids or already living with a plethora of roommates. They don’t have the time or space for someone to live in their homes, even temporarily.

Thankfully, fate intervened and there was a break in the clouds two nights ago when I ran into my old college roommate from Northwestern, Patrick. It was seriously one of those passing on the streets kind of things and we ended up having a few beers together.

The craziest opportunity presented itself. Like the tides were turning in my shit luck life. Pat informed me that his job is taking him to China for two months and he has a walk-up apartment and a four-legged bestie that needs to be cared for while he’s gone.

He asked if I was good with dogs, and I said, “well of course I am!” when in all honestly, I’ve never had one in my life. But how hard could it be to feed and walk a dog? And from how Pat described his pup, the dog is small and housetrained.

So I jumped at the chance because it was exactly what I needed to help me get out of this shitty slump and get back on my feet again.

It’s like pennies from heaven and the soft landing I needed.

Last night, it was just like old times between me and Pat. Which means he drank me under the table. I was sloshed by the second round and am feeling every single ounce of malt liquor we drank last night.

Pat, however, is whistling cheerfully in his kitchen as I pad in wearing only my pajama bottoms and bare feet, rubbing my head at the temples. Patrick is at the counter, his packed bags on the floor by the door, making some last minute notes on my To Do list.

He lifts his head and quirks a brow suggestively. “Good thing I’m leaving. Not sure I could stand seeing your naked chest every morning without wanting to lick it.”

My eyes drift down to my exposed torso, my hand absently rubbing over the wiry hairs until I realize what he means. I laugh, prudishly covering my chest and waist with my arms, gasping in horror.

 “I feel so violated,” I joke, searching in a cupboard for a coffee cup and an aspirin.

I’m not homophobic in the least and have never been at all concerned about being hit on by anyone. Although we lost touch for several years, Patrick and I have been friends since our freshman year, and that was before and after he came out that second semester of college.

We had many latenight talks, drunk on whatever liquor we had available, where he promised that he didn’t find me attractive and wouldn’t lust over me. Although he did admit to admiring my ass a few times.

Whatever. I was never weirded out by it, because I’m secure in my own sexuality. But we did make a pact to communicate and share the space in our dorm room when it came to hook-ups. That stuff I didn’t particularly want to see.

Swinging around the island, I pour myself some coffee and chug down the pill. I turn and lean back against the counter, one ankle over the other, enjoying each scalding sip of the rich coffee. That’s one thing about Patrick. He has fine taste in everything. From his high-end apartment, to his imported Italian roasts.

“Okay, I think I have everything down. You know Woody’s food and walk schedule, but I understand if your schedule ends up a little different during the workweek. As long as you can let Joey know, she can take him outside to pee if you’ve got a gig or something.”

When I quirk my brow in question, he laughs.

“The woman you met last night? My neighbor, Josephine, in 2B. She goes by Joey and is a school teacher with no life, so she’s usually around in the evenings if you need help.”

My memory from last night is fuzzy. I was wasted and only remember a few details of the Blackhawks game that we ended up watching. I vaguely recall a beautiful girl talking about kids and drugs, but then I passed out on Pat’s couch. I’m sure I made a very favorable impression.

But it had been a hellish day and I needed to drown my sorrows in booze. I’d had a casting call for a new theater production, had a run-in with Alyssa when I stopped by to pick up some mail that had been delivered at her place, and then got a rejection email for a script I’d written and submitted to an agent.

I wasn’t in the mood last night for any polite conversation. And all I remember is her yapping and carrying on about dick selfies.

Nodding my head, I push off the counter and grab the list Pat has in his hands, looking down at the scribbled notes.

“What is this?” I screech. “I have to give Woody oral medications? What the hell does that entail? I’m not sticking my finger up his butt. There are limits my friend.”

He yanks the sheet from my hand and adds something to it, as I cringe at the thought of giving a rectum medication.

I had no idea I was going to be spending every waking minute taking care of an invalid four-legged creature. When Alyssa and I were together we talked about getting a pet, but it never happened. With her busy school schedule and my unpredictable schedules, we decided it wasn’t in a dog’s best interest. I’ve never even had a pet of my own and have no idea how to take care of one.

Pat interrupts my freak out session with his directions. “There’s no rectal depository necessary, you puss. You just have to hide the pill in the treat and give it to Woody. Once he has it in his mouth, you just clamp your hand around his mouth, hold it closed until he swallows it. Otherwise, he’ll spit out the pill. You’re a smart little boy, aren’t you?”

Pat is obviously talking to Woody and not me.

My eyes go wide in disbelief. “Say what?”

He sighs in exasperation, as if I’m the stupidest jerk on the planet. And maybe I am. At this point, he’s talking all mumbo-jumbo.

“It’s fairly uncomplicated. But if you run into trouble, here’s Joey’s number. Just call her. She knows what to do.”

“Okay. Will do.”

There’s relief in my voice, because honestly, I’m a little worried now that little Woody’s life will be left in my hands. I can barely take care of myself right now, much less another living being.

“Listen, I gotta get going if I’m gonna make my flight out of O’Hare. I’ve left money in the drawer for you to buy more dog food and treats at the end of the month, as well as refill his prescription. It’s an auto-refill so they’ll call you when it’s time. And make sure Woody gets his daily cuddle time. If time allows, I may Facetime with him.”

He looks down at the dog in his arms and snuggles his snout, a little whimper extracted. Not sure if it’s from Pat or Woody.

Pat drops the dog to the floor and grabs his leather jacket from the coat rack, placing it over his arm. Then he thinks better of it, and reaches down to pick up the four-legged hound again. He holds the dog up in front of his face, cooing at him like he’s a baby.

“Goodbye, my sweet boy. You be good for Uncle Theo, you hear? No peeing on his clothes or eating his shoes, okay?”

He grins at me when my jaw drops, telling me he’s only joking about that. I hope.

I watch him kiss the dog on the snout and place him back on the floor. The dog just lays down at Pat’s feet and whines.

He grabs his bags, throwing one over his shoulder, and looks back at me and the dog before opening the door.

“Enjoy your stay. And take good care of him. I’m gonna miss that little shit.”

I lean against the edge of the open door, patting him on the back to reassure him I’ve got things under control. He doesn’t need to know that inside I’m freaking out about life in general.

“We’ll be fine. I’ll follow all your instructions to a T and will take care of him like he’s my own. Have a safe flight, man, and let me know when you’ve arrived safely.”

He sighs and blows a kiss in my direction. “Thanks for watching things while I’m gone. I appreciate it. And don’t worry about things, man. Everything will be fine and will work out.”

I’m not sure if he says that to reassure himself or me, but it’s nice to hear the encouragement either way. Lord knows I need all the positivity I can get.

“Take care, Pat. Don’t worry about a thing here. See you soon.”

As soon as he is out of sight, I close the door and head to the couch, reaching for my half-empty cup of coffee and the remote.

Plopping down, Woody jumps up next to me and I watch with fascination as he does this weird little circling thing. He turns three times before finally settling down against my leg. I chuckle and shake my head.

“You’re a weird little dude, aren’t ya buddy? I guess that means we should get a long pretty well, then. Let’s make the most of this, shall we?”

The dog lets out a sharp sigh and begins the restful breaths of a contented animal. He doesn’t seem to mind that Pat’s gone, as long as someone else is with him.

Maybe I should take some lessons from Woody. I should forget about what I don’t have and everything I’ve lost, and find a way to focus my thoughts on the present and what I do have.

I pat the dog’s head. “Good advice, Wood. Good boy.”