By David Schuman hen they asked, I told them I wanted the dog that would take up the most space in my house. They opened a heavy door, went into the back and came out with a giant. He shambled. He was tall and hairy, and his head nodded on his long neck like a horse's. He swung his gaze in my direction. His expression was frank. It said, Get me out of here. One of the attendants said, "Do you 106 T H E M I S S O U R I R E V I E W / FA L L 2 0 0 5 fiction know whose dog this was? That guy who set his wife on fire--his lawyer brought it in here and told us to put it down." I put the dog in my small car. Getting him home was like moving a sofa. My only experience living with dogs up to this point had been a picture in my mother's house from the Victorian era depicting a hound mourning over the body of a young boy. It was one of several prints hanging staggered in the stairwell. The dead boy was propped
The Missouri Review – University of Missouri
Published: Jan 24, 2005
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