Dalmatians by Natalie Warther

He had six Dalmatians, all names starting with the letter “L.” Lulu, Leon, Leonard, Lupe, Lukas, and Little. I asked why “L” and he said he liked the shape the letter made– two lines coming together. 

“Before they were firefighting dogs, they’d run alongside the carriages of wealthy English lords.” I think he tells me this so I’ll think of us as lords, rather than two library employees living in a 600 square foot apartment with six dogs.

He trained them all to use a litter box, said it was easier than taking six dogs out. He trained them with a whistle– one blow sit, two blows come, three blows they jump up on their hind legs, walk around the room like men.

30% of Dalmatians suffer from hearing loss. In our case, that’s Lulu and Leon. We wave feverishly in their faces to tell them we love them. The sign for “love” looks a lot like the sign for “stop.”

The Dalmatians are very intelligent and need a lot of space. What we don’t have in space we make up with attention, throwing bones down the only hallway in the apartment over and over and over again. The walls are scuffed and splotched, like them.

They only eat ground turkey. Good for their coats, he said. Each dog eats a pound a day. That means six pounds a day, 42 pounds a week, 168 pounds a month, $840 spent each month on feeding the dogs.

He showed me how to prepare the bowls on the counters all together before lowering them down to the floor. Before I turn around, all six of them are at my feet, impatiently stomping their paws. After six rounds of “Sit, paw, sit, paw, sit, paw, sit, paw,” it’s six snouts down, spotted butts in the air like chocolate chip cookies.

Walking the dogs is a two-man job, three leashes each. Sometimes on opposite sides of the road, sometimes staggered front and back, never side by side.

I get pregnant, and it’s not a conversation we can avoid. “They’re notoriously aggressive towards children,” I say. He looks shocked, hurt, as if these are the children.

After that he is extra sensitive towards them, petting their ears and cooing. He calls them “My Good Boy” and “My Special Lulu.” He does three whistle blows a lot, as if seeing their best trick again will change my mind. Seven boys on two legs, walking out of the room.

The baby comes. The dogs are hardly fed and hardly walked and hardly rubbed behind the ears. Six uncleaned litter boxes line up against the living room wall.

Walking six dogs and pushing a baby stroller is a four-man job, but there are only two of us.

I never turn my back, never sleep, never put the baby carrier on the ground.

I have dreams of six dogs pawing their way into our bedroom where the baby sleeps. They work together to overturn the crib, watch the baby slip out, eat her up like turkey.

Leon can’t hear himself barking. He talks to himself like an old man mumbling through bites of oatmeal. We hear his dreams, his thoughts, his worries. When the baby’s around he howls: long and sad like a tuba.

Lulu still sleeps with us. I sleep with his leash in my hand so I’ll know if he moves, jumps off the bed, tries to eat the baby.

A man in a leopard print tank top comes to buy four dogs. Lulu and Leon stay with us. My husband teaches the man how to use the whistle. He tries but gets it wrong. Half of them jump, the others lift their paw to shake.

When Leonard, Lupe, Lukas, and Little are gone, Lulu and Leon sniff the empty bowls, sniff the empty litter boxes, mumble to themselves or each other or to God. There are white and black hairs all over the baby’s crib sheets. I suspect we’ll be finding them for years, or forever. I consider the shape made by “L,” two lines only intersecting at one single point, forever traveling in different directions.

Lulu and Leon howl sadly into the air. We wave in their faces, “I love you” or “Stop.”

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NATALIE WARTHER — Natalie received her MFA from Bennington College. Her story “Bye Bye Baby” was a 2024 Pushcart Prize Nominee, and she placed second in the 2024 American Short(er) Fiction Prize. Her most recent fiction has been published in Wigleaf, HAD, and SmokeLong. She lives in Los Angeles. Learn more at Nataliewarther.com.

Art by LAUREN WALKE — Lauren got her BFA in 2-Dimensional Studies at Weber State University where she began her magpie collection of bones, feathers, and other found treasures before moving back to the older mountains of Appalachia. Inspired by lore and dreams, Lauren’s work is amplified and enhanced by her focus on daily rituals, seeking for moments of magic in life alongside her family, an unending consumption of books and music, and by tending the shrines of tiny treasures and plants around her house.