“my son, the police officer”

The following is an excerpt from part two:

Helen goes on a trip. The poor dog is locked in the apartment for four days. As usual, Sid lets him out and takes him for walks. He feeds him and changes the water. The dog is angry to have been abandoned in the sweltering apartment. He messes all over and tears through the trash; Sid cleans it up. By the third day, the dog is irate. He growls ferociously when Sid goes down to get him. The dog pounces and Sid leaps behind the door, barely escaping attack.

The ten-year-old dog has a history of maiming people and pets. No action is taken because Helen proclaims, “He’s registered to my son, the police officer.” The insurance examiner tells her they cannot continue the homeowner policy because of the nature of the creature that is housed here.

“Oh, but he’s registered to my son, the police officer. The dog doesn’t stay here. The dog run in the back yard is for my parents when they come. They set up their chairs out there so they can be in the shade.” I want my way. When she returns from her Memorial Day long weekend, Sid informs her that he can no longer take care of the dog. She says, “I know how he is. He does that with me sometimes, too, but you’re a big man. You should be able to handle him.” Now she is furious. Now we must be punished.

When she goes to the store, she no longer checks to see if we need something. No more bringing in our mail if she gets there first. We get the ice-block shoulder when passing in the hall. This is a fifty-one-year-old “adult!”