My sister left me three instructions for taking care of her dog: Don't give him cheese, don't let him on the couch, and take him out around noon.
At 11:38, Louie was on my couch eating something that might once have been a piece of cheese.
In my defense, he found it himself. I had dropped a little on the kitchen floor while making lunch, and I hadn't even seen it disappear. As for the couch, I told him to get down. He looked at me, put his chin on the cushion, and closed his eyes.
Louie is a small brown dog of uncertain ancestry and enormous certainty about his own opinions. My sister calls him “easy.” I think she means he doesn't require help operating a television.
I had agreed to watch him for the afternoon while she attended a friend's baby shower. Her instructions arrived as seven separate texts, three of them containing the word seriously. At 11:50 she sent one more: He likes his walk clockwise.
Clockwise around what? I asked.
The block, she replied. Please don't overthink it.
I got the leash, pulled on my sneakers, and found my sunglasses under a stack of unopened mail. Louie watched from the front door while I tied my shoes. Every time I stood up, he did a small circle, which I took as enthusiasm.
Outside, he walked briskly for about twenty feet. Then he stopped to examine a patch of dirt beside a utility pole. His examination was thorough. He sniffed one side, considered the other, and returned to the first side for what appeared to be a second opinion.
“Okay, let's go,” I said.
Louie disagreed.
A man across the street was unloading grocery bags from his car. He looked over once, not unkindly, at the adult woman waiting for a dog to finish thinking about dirt.
We finally moved. At the next corner Louie tried to turn left. I remembered the instruction about clockwise and gently guided him right. He planted all four feet and became a very small, very stubborn piece of outdoor furniture.
I called my sister.
“He won't turn right.”
“Did you cross at the first light?”
“What light?”
“The one near the pharmacy.”
“We're not near a pharmacy.”
“Where are you?”
“Next to a blue house.”
She was silent for a moment. “There are a lot of blue houses.”
I sent her a photo of Louie. She replied with a laughing emoji and absolutely no directions.
We continued left.
Five minutes later he decided he liked a different house, this one with two ceramic frogs by the steps. We stood there long enough for a woman to come outside with a watering can. She looked at the dog and said, “Oh, hi, Louie.”
They knew each other. Of course they did.
“He always does this,” she told me, and scratched behind his ears. “He thinks the frogs are dogs.”
I looked at the frogs. Neither offered an opinion.
When we reached the park, Louie suddenly recovered his ability to walk. He trotted toward a bench, chose a spot underneath it, and lay down. I sat on the bench. It was twelve fifteen. The outing had covered about four blocks, including our extended visit with the frogs.
I checked my phone. My sister had sent a picture from the baby shower: tiny cupcakes arranged around a sign that said OH BABY. I sent back a picture of Louie underneath the bench.
Me: He seems to be enjoying his afternoon.
Her: That's his favorite bench.
Me: You could have mentioned that.
Her: I said he was easy.
Eventually I persuaded him to leave by standing up and taking two steps. He followed, then stopped again at the same utility pole on the way home. Apparently there had been developments.
Back inside, I refilled his water bowl and sat at the dining table to answer a work email I'd been avoiding. Louie jumped onto the couch. I said his name in my firmest voice. He moved one paw and went back to sleep.
My sister picked him up just after four.
“How was he?” she asked.
“Very busy.”
She glanced at the couch. I glanced at the couch. Louie stayed where he was.
“Did you take him clockwise?”
“I don't think either of us knows what that means.”
She clipped on his leash. Louie got up immediately and walked to the door without argument. I considered mentioning the cheese, but she was already asking whether I could do next Thursday.
I said I'd check my calendar.
I haven't checked it yet.