I thought my golden retriever was stealing laundry from the neighbors. At first, I laughed, and my husband laughed louder. But when the same strange items kept appearing on our porch, I followed my dog and learned he had been trying to warn me all along.
Advertisement
The fifth pair of men’s underwear landed on my porch on a Thursday afternoon.
Max dropped it at my feet like he had brought me a rose, then sat down with the proudest face I had ever seen.
I stared at the boxer briefs on the wood.
They were clean, folded, and definitely did not belong to my husband.
“Max,” I whispered, “where are you getting these?”
Max dropped it at my feet.
Advertisement
Behind me, Chuck laughed from the kitchen. “Detective Max strikes again.”
I looked from the underwear to my husband’s smile and felt something cold move through my stomach.
By the fifth pair, the only person still enjoying the joke was Chuck.
***
Chuck and I had been married for three years, and Max, our golden retriever, had become our little family.
So when he first brought home something strange, I laughed.
“Detective Max strikes again.”
Advertisement
It started on a Monday morning while I stood at the stove making eggs. Chuck leaned against the counter with his coffee.
“You know you’re spoiling him, right?” he asked. “He’s a dog, Monica, not a person.”
“He listens better than both of us,” I said. “He earned these eggs.”
Max trotted in with something gray in his mouth and dropped it onto the tile.
“He’s a dog, Monica, not a person.”
I leaned down, then froze.
Advertisement
Men’s boxer briefs.
“Those aren’t yours, right?” I asked.
Chuck laughed. “Not unless I shrank overnight. Neighbor’s laundry, probably. Good boy, Detective Max.”
I tossed the underwear into the laundry basket and washed my hands twice.
“Those aren’t yours, right?”
***
The next day, Max dropped a bright blue pair on the living room rug.
Advertisement
Chuck saw them first and laughed.
“Your dog struck again.”
I picked the blue pair up with a paper towel.
“These are going in a bag,” I said. “If someone comes looking, I want proof Max took them.”
Chuck saw them first.
Chuck raised an eyebrow. “You’re building a case.”
His smile stayed on his face, but his voice shifted. “You’re getting kind of obsessed, babe.”
Advertisement
I paused.
“I’m not obsessed. I’m confused.”
“Same thing, apparently.”
“You’re getting kind of obsessed, babe.”
He winked, but it didn’t feel sweet.
By the third day, Max came through the dog door with a red pair.
Chuck barely looked up. “Again?”
“Chuck, they’re clean.”
Advertisement
“You smelled them?”
“I noticed. They smell washed.”
“Chuck, they’re clean.”
“So Max isn’t digging them out of trash.”
I put the red pair into the grocery bag.
That night, after Chuck went to bed, I lined them up on the laundry room counter.
There was a gray pair, a blue pair, and a red pair. They were different brands and different sizes, but all of them were clean.
Advertisement
Dirty would have meant Max found them.
Clean meant someone wanted him to.
I lined them up on the laundry room counter.
***
On the fourth day, Max returned with a black pair.
Chuck walked in right behind him, laughing before Max even dropped them.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “This is ridiculous.”
Advertisement
I looked at Max, then at Chuck. “Where was he?”
Chuck’s laugh faded. “How would I know?”
“This is ridiculous.”
Max dropped the black pair by my foot. I didn’t pick it up.
“I don’t like this.”
“What don’t you like?”
“That you keep laughing before I even finish talking.”
Advertisement
His face changed for half a second. Then he smiled again.
“I don’t like this.”
“Because it’s funny.”
“It was funny the first time.”
Chuck lifted both hands. “Fine. Then it’s not funny. But you have to admit, you sound a little paranoid.”
There it was.
Paranoid.
I crossed my arms. “I’m not paranoid.”
Advertisement
“It was funny the first time.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You just did.”
“I said you sounded paranoid.”
“That’s not better.”
He smirked. “Unless you have something to tell me.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
Advertisement
I stared at him. “What?”
“You hiding a secret lover somewhere?”
The joke landed wrong. It sounded a little too ready.
“No,” I said. “You’re shifting the focus.”
His smile tightened. “You really are turning this into a whole thing.”
“You’re shifting the focus.”
Later, I heard him in the kitchen on the phone.
Advertisement
“Yeah, Mom,” he said, chuckling. “Monica’s building a whole underwear case over here.”
I stepped in. “I’m not building a case.”
Chuck winked. “The detective’s upset now. I’ll call you later.”
He ended the call.
“Why would you say that to her?”
“I’ll call you later.”
“Because it’s a joke.”
Advertisement
“It didn’t feel like one.”
His jaw tightened. “Then drop it.”
***
