Two weeks by myself in their house, just me and the dog. Lupe is her name. A good dog. That's what I think when I say her name to myself. Lupe: good dog. It sort of runs together. I think those are the only words I spoke aloud for the first few days.I had arrived from Miami kind of numb and freaked out, on the run from a dramatically ruined relationship. Thought that a couple of weeks of solitude would do me good. Whatever. Of course I was wrong.

I didn't know what to do with myself, didn't know anyone in L.A., didn't know the city at all. I took Lupe to Echo Park every day and looked at ducks. At home, she followed me from room to room anxiously. She was, I think, upset that her people had left, was determined not to let me out of her sight. Or maybe she knew that I was upset and was trying to be a comfort. Or maybe she was just doing some inscrutable dog thing, useless to interpret. Dunno. She would look searchingly at me. I would look back and say Good Dog. I brushed her. I started taking her on long walks, thinking that it might entertain her and make her less anxious. I myself was beyond consoling.

On one of these long walks I emerged from a fog of regret to notice that we were being trailed by a pack of stray-ish dogs. I wondered if this was the usual thing here in the park. Emerging further from the recesses of my self preoccupation I realized that all of these dogs were male, and that they were nipping at each other in rivalrous frenzy. A jogger raced by, yelled over his shoulder: Get out of the park! Your dog's in heat!

Ah.

Interesting thing about this 'in heat' thing. Male dogs can detect it on the wind for up to a mile away. The pack of dogs followed us home, dancing with excitement, growling, nipping. I locked myself in the house with Lupe, contemplating the next 10 days of quarantine. No more ducks. No more park. This depressed me as much as it depressed Lupe; I had entered the canine mindscape.

Our days were filled with the dullness of life under siege. Lupe paced obsessively. The pointy-eared heads of countless suitors popped up in every ground floor window. Hounds cruised the perimeter of the house looking for access. Nights were punctuated by choruses of howling. About a week into this I decided to let Lupe out on the balcony; I stayed inside brooding. It was a while before it occurred to me that I hadn't heard the jingling of Lupe's collar for some time. I ran to the balcony to find her gone. She had made a 10-foot leap into the bushes below.

Hours of roaming the streets calling her name were to no avail. I was sitting in front of the house in a hopeless state when I finally saw the frolicking couple, bouncing up the street. Lupe had brought her fluffy boyfriend home to meet me. They seemed very happy. Lupe had lost her collar somewhere during this elopement, so I had to grab her by the scruff of the neck to get her inside. I felt like sort of a jerk. Why shouldn't they live together in freedom? I thought for a minute about letting boyfriend into the house to live with us. But he was kind of a big dog and I pictured myself being crowded off the bed, having to tiptoe around while they had sex. Didn't seem good.

My brother called from Belize a couple of days later. They had traveled for several days by bus, assuming there was a plane from Belize back to Mexico City (which there wasn't), and were stranded in the jungle with no way to make their return flight. Also, their friend Noah had lost both his return ticket and his glasses. I took the opportunity to tell them that their dog was probably pregnant. They took it in stride. It didn't seem like a big deal, considering.

That's pretty much it.

The End.