The barking didn’t stop, in fact it intensified, and he felt his anger begin to rise. This was all he needed. He was already later than he expected, and now the whole place was going nuts. What am I going to do? he asked himself. I certainly can’t cage up this poor dog with the others acting like…like a bunch of animals.

“Quiet,” he yelled.

They continued their frenzy. Some of the upper cages had actually begun to rock back and forth from the insane activity within.

Sheba was cowering by the door, desperate to leave. He didn’t blame her in the least.

“Quiet,” Aaron tried again, voice louder and full of authority.

The shepherd pup started to scratch at the door, digging deep gouges in the wood. He grabbed her by the collar to pull her away from it. The frightened dog began to urinate on the floor—the floor he had already mopped as one of his final duties of the evening.

Aaron’s head began to throb with the insane baying; the odor of urine wafting through the air made his stomach roil. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Quiet, or I’ll have you all put to sleep!” he shrieked, his enraged voice reverberating off the walls of the white-tiled room.

The room went completely silent. Each and every dog suddenly calm, as if frightened by his words.

As if they had understood what he had said.

It was close to eleven by the time he finally stepped through the door of his home. Aaron removed his key from the lock and gently closed the front door behind him.

He stopped in the hallway, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply, wallowing in the quiet. He could actually feel his body beginning to shut down.

The dogs had given him no further trouble after his emotional outburst. There wasn’t so much as a whimper as he got Sheba settled in and mopped up her accident. They must have sensed that he meant business. Still, it was kind of strange, how they reacted. Then again, what did he expect after the kind of day he’d had.

Aaron trudged toward the kitchen. He was disappointed that Gabriel wasn’t around to greet him, but figured the dog had probably gone up to bed when his foster parents put Stevie down for the night. The dog kept a very cautious eye on the autistic child, as if knowing he was special and needed to be looked after.

The light was on over the stove and a small piece of notepaper was held to the metal hood by a magnet in the shape of a cat’s head. The note from his foster mother told him that everyone had gone to bed, and that his supper was in the oven. The note also mentioned a little surprise for him in the dining room. That made him smile.

Using a potholder, he removed the foil-wrapped plate from the oven and proceeded into the dining room. As he sat down he noticed a blue envelope leaning against a chocolate cupcake with a candle stuck in it. He picked up the card, wondering if he was supposed to light the candle and sing “Happy Birthday” to himself. He doubted he had the energy.

The card depicted a young man’s dresser covered in trophies for various sporting events, and said, “For a winning son.” He opened the card and read something schmaltzy about the perfect boy growing into a man and rolled his eyes. Every year Lori bought the most sappy card she could find. He did the same for her birthday and Mother’s Day. There was also a crisp new fifty-dollar bill stuck inside. Aaron sighed. He knew his foster parents couldn’t afford this, but also knew it would be pointless to try to give it back. He’d tried before and they always insisted he keep it to buy himself something special.

He finished his dinner of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas and was rinsing the dishes while mentally wrestling with the idea of what he was going to do next. Most of him just wanted to go to sleep, but the more studious part of him thought it best to at least attempt some homework.

Slowly he climbed the stairs to bed, leaning heavily on the rail, and popping the last of the cupcake into his mouth, his tired self busily shoving that academic part of his persona into a burlap sack. The door to Stevie’s room at the top of the stairwell was ajar, and the light from a Barney nightlight streamed into the hall. He quietly stuck his head into the room to check on the child. Gabriel lay at the foot of the bed and began to wag his tail wildly when he saw Aaron. He crept carefully into the room and gave the dog’s head a good rubbing.

Stevie moaned softly, deep in sleep, and Aaron pulled the covers up beneath his chin. He watched him for a moment, then gently touched the child’s cheek before turning to leave.

At the door, he motioned with his head for Gabriel to follow. It was pretty much the same routine every evening. The dog would go to bed with Stevie, but once the child was asleep, he’d join Aaron for the night.

The big dog jumped down from the bed with a minimum of noise and headed down the hall. Watching Gabriel, Aaron fondly recalled when he had first seen the dog, tied up in a yard on Mal Street, his light yellow—almost white—coat of puppy fur covered with grease and mud. He was so tiny then, nothing like the moose he was today.

As he approached his own room, Aaron could hear the soft sounds of a television news broadcast coming from his parents’ room across the hall. A timer would turn the television off at midnight. Talk about routine, Tom and Lori had been going to bed early and falling asleep in front of the news for as long as he could remember.

The door to his room was closed and he pushed it open, letting Gabriel in first. The dog hopped up onto the bed and stared at him with dark, vibrant eyes. His bright pink tongue lolled as he panted and his tail swung happily.

Aaron smiled as he closed the door. When he first brought the dog home, he was so small that he couldn’t even get onto the bed without help. Now he couldn’t keep the beast off it. He often wondered what fate would have befallen the puppy if he hadn’t stolen him from the Mal Street yard under the cover of darkness. Rumors were that the rundown tenement housed members of one of Lynn’s street gangs, that they stole dogs and used them to train their pit bulls for fighting. With his first gaze into Gabriel’s soulful eyes, Aaron knew there was no way he could ever let anything bad happen to the dog. The two had been inseparable since.

Aaron kicked off his sneakers and practically fell on the bed. Never had he felt anything more glorious. His lids, heavy with fatigue, gradually began to close, and he could already feel his body prepare for sleep.

The dog still stood over him, his heavy panting gently rocking the bed like one of those coin-operated, sleazy motel, magic-finger beds seen in movies.

“What’s up, Gabe?” he asked, refusing to open his eyes.

The dog bounded from the bed in response and began to root around the room. Aaron moaned. He knew what that meant. The dog was looking for a toy.

He prayed to the god of dog toys that Gabriel’s search would come up empty but the ancient deity of cheap rubber and squeakers seldom heard his pleas. The eighty-pound dog leaped back up on the bed. Even though his eyes were shut, Aaron knew that Gabriel loomed above him with something in his mouth.

“What do you want, Gabriel?” he asked groggily, knowing full well what the dog’s response would be.

It was no surprise when he felt a tennis ball thump onto his chest.

What was a surprise was when the dog answered his question.

“Want to play ball now,” Gabriel declared in a very clear and precise voice.

Aaron opened his eyes and gazed up into the grinning face of the animal. There was no doubt now. The day’s descent into madness was complete. He was, in fact, losing his mind.