Steven Beai

---

War Games

My dog Boris isn’t sure what toys are his. No matter how much I communicate or cajole or command, no matter how much I take his toys back from Razz and place them on his paws or in his jowly mouth, Boris remains uncertain.

He does not stand up for himself.

This does not make him a less happy dog compared to Razz. On the contrary, Boris displays a casual resignation and almost Zen calm in the certainty that Razz will always take his toys. He watches her, floppy ears at attention framing his bright eyes as she moves just far enough away, his bacon-flavored braided tug-of-war rope or favorite bouncy ball in her mouth.

Razz is faster than he is. She can snake through the backyard garden without so much touching a single tomato plant, she can navigate the courtyard fountain and its statuary at a full run without a single hesitation, as if nothing is in her way. She is faster than Boris, and they both know it. He is slow and lumbering to her speed and agility and seems okay with that situation.

Boris is a crossbreed. A Great Pyrenees body with a Golden Retriever face and paws the size of a brown bear cub. He weighs 123 pounds. He can fit Razz’s entire head in his mouth which he frequently does during their playtime. Playtime that always ends with Razz on top of Boris, pinning him down and biting his legs and floppy jowls until he capitulates, belly upturned to the sky in the noonday sun.

Razz is a 40-pound Border Collie three times smaller than Boris. 

They were born on the same day and are exactly one year old.

My dog Boris sleeps on the floor next to my bed at night. 

Razz jumps on the bed and licks my face constantly. If that doesn’t wake me up, she gently bites my neck. She wants me to wake up when she does that and I do. I wake up and yell at her. I ask her what she wants. She looks at me with excited eyes and wagging tail. Then, she goes to sleep. She wanted me to wake up, mission accomplished and that is all. She does this every two hours.

I don’t understand her behavior.

Razz enjoys the same food as my dog Boris. She has all the water she needs. She runs in the same space as Boris. She has her own toys. They’re smaller toys than what my dog Boris has, but she covets his toys just the same, refusing to let him enjoy what I feel he is entitled to. He’s a bigger dog, after all. There simply is no reason for Razz to want to control Boris, to take his toys just because she can. My dog Boris is bigger. Boris should understand that and be able to use that advantage. Yet he refuses to do so. Boris refuses to defend himself against the bully Razz.

I don’t understand his behavior.

My dog Boris obviously needs some help. The stolen toys, the constant struggle for supremacy when he shouldn’t have to struggle at all. Most importantly, the reluctance to fight back when he obviously can. Instead, my dog Boris needs some help, a little nudge if you will, to realize he does not have to take this from Razz. She is a smaller dog, after all. Why should SHE be the dominant one? Who is SHE to think of her position as the Alpha Dog against the bigger, stronger Boris?

As I’ve done every morning for a very long time, this morning, I opened the patio door into the garden, courtyard fountain and surrounding property beyond. My dog Boris and Razz, their toenails clicking over the hardwood floor in a frantic staccato, trotted side-by-side with tails wagging as they went out the threshold.

I followed them out and closed the sliding door behind me with a hard snap, bracing myself against the sharp autumn air. A hint of foggy breath floated under my nose as the chill tingled my cheeks.

Razz took off like a rocket, leaving my dog Boris at the bottom of the deck as he took a steaming piss against one of the lilac bushes bordering the walkway. In the garden beyond the fountain, Razz snaked her way through the tomato plants without disturbing a single leaf, running without a care. Boris looked back at me after relieving himself, waiting for me to smile, to tell him he was a good dog. I smiled at his bellicose, floppy-eared face, his liquid eyes waiting for my approval.

“Good boy,” I said, pulling the semi-automatic .22 pistol from underneath my flannel shirt. “That’s a good boy, Boris.”

Razz zeroed in on the sound of my voice, started running back across the grounds toward me as I took aim at her and squeezed off the first shot.

Her eyes widened suddenly, and she zig-zagged as a tomato plant exploded into shards behind her.

Drawing a bead on her head, I shot a second time. She jumped into the air as a cloud of dust sent clumps of dirt flying in every direction between her front legs.

I shot again and again, missing every time as she came toward me, unstoppable.

You won’t steal my dog Boris’ toys again, I was thinking.

Boris is bigger than you, Boris has a right—

She stopped short, less than two feet from where I stood, immediately sitting in front of me and looking into my eyes, her tail wagging. I had one shot left.

Leveling the gun down at her, pointing it right between her eyes, I felt a push against my leg.

My dog Boris was next to me, gentle as always. His head rubbing against me, demanding my attention.

Razz waited, watching the gun clutched in both my hands.

I looked down at my dog Boris.

He was waiting, too. 

Fur bristling, tail frozen, and eyes wild, my dog Boris, his fangs bared and slick with the promise of annihilation, waited for me, a sudden stranger to him, to make a last mistake. To hurt his true friend.

Razz is a small border-collie. She has to fight for everything she gets.

My dog Boris is bigger and stronger and can take whatever he wants. 

Razz is his friend. Razz takes his toys away from him and he doesn’t care. My dog Boris understands what that means.

I dropped the gun to my side…slowly. My dog Boris eased, wagged his tail. 

Standing there in the garden as time stopped, I understood then, too. Understood what many men have yet to figure out.

---

---

Banner Art:
Photo from Pixabay, 2015