That’s a dog’s name, the grandparents thought. That can’t be right. It’s a joke, right?

What an odd name, the congregation thought, whispering behind their hands during the baptism. I wonder what possessed them to choose it. They crossed themselves reflexively. Better not to think about possession.

Bless this child, prayed the priest, and give him a good nickname before he starts school. He bowed his head devoutly and moved his lips as if in prayer. He was thinking about the kind of person he’d been in school and the fun he would have had with a name like that, and praying that kids these days were nicer.

The kids in the church pews were thinking about the cake they’d been promised was down in the basement. They prayed too, that the service would end soon so they could go eat it.

The baby cried. He didn’t have opinions on his name yet, but did not like the cold water that was in his eyes, or the crowd of strangers gawking at him, or the thick, hairy fingers of the priest on his forehead.

His parents smiled at each other. Through the open doors they could see their Saint Bernard, Thomas, panting. He hadn’t been allowed inside the church, but they had insisted that he be present anyway. He was, after all, family.

***

When they’d adopted Thomas it had been with the understanding that they would never have children. Bernadette and Moore had half-heartedly attempted to get pregnant for several years prior, but had eventually resigned themselves to the fact that they were destined to be childless. This was not terribly distressing to either of them: children were more or less what they’d expected to have but, much as marriage had been, not something either of them expressly desired. In general, it was easier to follow the path their families had laid out for them than to put the effort into coming up with their own. An added bonus, they’d discovered, of not being invested in your plans was that it was virtually impossible to be disappointed when they didn’t pan out. Both sets of their parents, however, had been distraught.

When they’d first adopted Thomas it had been as a favor to one of their old friends, whose purebred had just had a litter of puppies. They had not, at that point, been dog people, and had accepted Thomas willingly but unenthusiastically. For a few days they had tried out traditional dog names, but quickly were put in their place by the gravity in Thomas’s bearing. Such a serious dog called for a serious name, they’d agreed, and had decided on Thomas. It was the name that, coincidentally, both of their grandfathers had shared.

When they entered the first dog show it was on a whim, but when they saw how Thomas opened up under the lights they threw themselves into the show circuit. Though he was not a theatrical animal, Thomas’s gravitas and solemnity served him well in the showroom, and his polite, intelligent gaze won him immediate favor with the judges. The first time he placed Bernadette had dropped to her knees on the showroom floor, while Moore burst into tears in the stadium seats.

They had almost forgotten about having children by that point, and when Bernadette realized that she was pregnant they had needed a couple of weeks to warm up to the idea. Their life with Thomas was complete, so much so that the addition of anyone else seemed superfluous.

But their parents had been delighted when they announced the pregnancy, and once they’d made the announcement everything seemed to slip entirely out of their hands. The baby would be raised Catholic, his room would have a dinosaur theme, they would use the daycare on Maple Street — not Pomona —they would go to Disneyworld after he turned eight and make pancakes on his birthday and take him to the library every week and get him into the good preschool and the good elementary school and the upper level high school classes. For his first Halloween he would go as a frog or maybe a duck and the one after he would be a lobster, in deference to Moore’s father’s love of crustaceans. He would take gymnastics lessons if he was short — which he would be because all the men on Bernadette’s side were — and spend one weekend a month at Moore’s parents’ house and Thanksgiving at Bernadette’s parents’. They’d buy that new brand of baby sunblock that was supposed to be hypoallergenic and non-irritating and use an oil diffuser because someone had heard that lavender was good for children and not allow screentime before bed and take family photos in white shirts on a beach and teach him to cook and have a chore board and cut his hair every two months and get him SAT tutoring and sign him up for summer camp in the mountains and—

All these things were decided for them.

While their parents made minute decisions about the future of their child, Bernadette and Moore spent extra time training and catering to Thomas. They wanted him to know that he was their priority, that the addition of a new baby didn’t mean they didn’t love him anymore. Thomas had clearly noticed that something was different about Bernadette, and from time to time sniffed cautiously at her swollen abdomen. The first time, Bernadette was moved to tears by the dignity with which he did it, and had laid on the couch cradling his furry head in her lap.

Moore found his wife’s transformation slightly unnerving, and had taken to going on long runs with Thomas. The two of them were now in the best shape of their lives. Bernadette had a generous maternity leave, and now spent most of her time at home working out new dog biscuit recipes or sewing matching bandanas for the two of them. Thomas’s current favorite color was salmon-pink, and Bernadette restocked her and Moore’s wardrobes accordingly.

She registered them for the next year’s dog show and spent hours visualizing. She had taken a book out of the library on manifesting your goals, and now spent all her free time with her eyes half closed, picturing the show arena and the many trophies Thomas would win. In the car on the way to the baptism she had stared out the window, seeing Thomas’s face in the clouds. She reached back and adjusted his bandana. It was silk, in his favorite color, and looked beautiful against his fur.

***

The priest handed the baby back to Bernadette. Or he tried to, but Bernadette had to be nudged several times before finally opening her eyes and taking him. Had she fallen asleep standing up? wondered the priest. Why had her eyes been half open? Bernadette propped the child upright on her hip and stared out at the congregation. They smiled back nervously.

The priest cleared his throat and the pianist started up with a jerky rendition of Amazing Grace. While the congregation sang Bernadette and Moore stood motionless and silent, staring toward the open door at the back of the church. The priest eyed them nervously. Please God, don’t let them faint, he prayed. They looked horribly pale. Or maybe that was just the polos washing them out. He peered up the aisle at the dog tied up outside. He squinted. Was it wearing a scarf?

He glanced at the couple again and saw that Bernadette’s eyes were closed again. He hoped it was because she was enjoying the music, but couldn’t imagine anyone being moved by Judith’s playing. Right on cue, Judith hit a series of bad notes before finding her way back to the melody. She saw the priest watching and gave him a lecherous wink. When the song ended there was a brief pause, during which Bernadette blew loud kisses toward Thomas. The dog didn’t seem to notice, but the congregation certainly did. The priest exhaled. This was his first baptism. Were they all going to be like this? Seminary hadn’t taught him how to handle these kinds of situations.

“Please welcome your new brother in Christ,” he intoned. The congregation nodded ingratiatingly and smiled, lips closed. They knew what was coming. “Please welcome-” he took a breath. “Fido.”

Cecilia Januszewski is a junior at Reed College in Portland, Oregon, where she studies linguistic anthropology. Her writing has been previously published in Manuscripts and Quabbin Quills, where she is now an editorial board member.