Vinyl Cafe Unplugged - By Stuart McLean Page 0,1

gently on Morley’s back. In the dream, when Dave tried to get back into bed, Arthur bared his teeth, snarled and drew Morley closer.

When Dave woke up, he was, in fact, in his bed, and not on the floor, but Arthur was lying beside him with his head on the pillow, snoring (it was Arthur’s snores that had woken him). Morley had disappeared. Dave found her in Sam’s bed.

The next night when Arthur came into the bedroom and stared at him suspiciously, Dave said, “Get lost,” and Arthur sighed and slunk away

Now he was hogging the vent.

On the Saturday after Sam had solved the air-conditioning mystery, Dave picked up a Reader’s Digest while he was waiting in line to pay for groceries. He noticed an article called “Is Your Dog Your Boss?”

There was a test.

The test was straightforward. Get down on all fours and stare at your dog. If you are dominant, your dog will turn away. If your dog stares back, it means he considers you to be an inferior member of the pack. Dave drove home. He threw the frozen food in the freezer. He called Arthur. He dropped to his knees.

The thing that makes bad news worse is when it comes unexpectedly. Arthur had always been, if not considerate, at least obedient. Arthur might have pushed the limits but, unlike Sam and Stephanie, he usually did as he was told.

When Dave stared at Arthur, he fully expected him to turn tail. He had harbored the possibility of a little staring match. What he hadn’t considered was that his dog would stop wagging his tail, hold his gaze for a full minute and then curl his lip and begin to walk menacingly forward, growling.

“Arthur?” said Dave.

Before the alarming moment resolved, Morley walked into the kitchen and Dave looked up at her, or more to the point, away from Arthur.

Arthur lifted his snout, sniffed derisively and ambled away, leaving Dave squatting on all fours, looking pathetically back and forth between his wife and the disdainful rear end of the retreating dog.

“Wait a minute,” he called after Arthur. “That wasn’t fair. Come back here.”

But Arthur wasn’t coming back.

“Arthur!” barked Dave, as firmly as he could.

Arthur was already around the corner, out of sight.

“Dave,” said Morley softly, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said, struggling to his feet.

The summer Dave was seven he brought a notice home from Cubs about an overnight hike to the trouting pond behind Macaulays’ farm. Dave had never slept away from home before. The whole idea made him nervous. He told his mother he didn’t want to go.

“It will be all right,” she said. “You’ll see.”

The evening before the sleep-out his father took him for a walk. They ended up in front of Angus MacDonnell’s Post Office & General Store.

“You should have some supplies. For tomorrow night,” his father said. He handed Dave fifty cents.

Dave had never had so much money to spend on candy in his life. He bought two Jersey Milk chocolate bars, fifteen black-balls (three for a penny), five pieces of red licorice, a package of Thrills and a bag of pink candied popcorn.

He rolled the candy up in his sleeping bag as his father suggested. Knowing it was in there as he shouldered his bag on the laneway that twisted through the Macaulays’ sugarbush and over the hill to the trouting pond was the only thing that gave him the strength to turn his back on his father and start the long hike away from home.

After supper—burnt hot dogs and Kool-Aid—Dave sneaked into the tent and unrolled his sleeping bag. He had his mind on licorice. He didn’t notice Joey Talarico following him. Joey spotted the stash and told Gordy Beaman and Billy Mitchell, who were a grade ahead of them, and pretty soon there were seven kids crowded around the tent. Dave felt compelled to share his candy. He handed it out, piece by piece. When everyone had something, there was nothing left for him. Later, when he crawled into his sleeping bag, Dave found the gold foil wrapper from one of the Jersey Milk bars and he licked it, looking for traces of melted chocolate. He then fell asleep crying.

That was the same year Dave got his first-ever brand-new baseball. It was his Easter present. A round, white leather orb with red lace—a miraculously beautiful thing that was both soft and hard at the same time. He took it to school after the holiday weekend in a blue velvet Crown Royal bag.

When