Page 20 of Puppy Love

Dr. Burton scribbles something on the little blue notepad in front of him, and it takes everything in me not to ask what it is.

“That’s understandable,” he says, clicking his pen once. “Is this because of Violet? Or are there other outliers influencing your decision?”

I know what Dr. Burton is trying to get at when he mentions “other outliers.“ But this has nothing to do with that. This isn’t fear of change or of having an unattached hookup anymore. It’s just about the fact that everything that could have gone wrong in that situation, did.

“Just Violet,” I answer definitively. Dr. Burton raises a bushy eyebrow but doesn’t press any further. Thankfully, he changes the subject. “If you’re willing, I would like to check in about the nightmares. Does the Prozac seem to be mitigating that?”

I hate this subject so much that I almost wish he would go back to talking about my failed bar bathroom boss hookup. Almost.

I don’t think I’ve had a good night’s sleep in the last five years. The issue doesn’t lie with going to sleep. I can fall into a comatose-like state only moments after lying down. My issue lies in the fact that, while my body is unable to move and my eyes are unable to open, my brain decides to trap me with flashing montages of every terrible thing that could ever happen. Food poisoning, public speaking, cars crushed into tiny, unrecognizable pieces of metal.

The Prozac is supposed to help with that.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know if it’s working or not because I accidentally forgot it exists. My lips roll inward, which I know is all too telling.

“Cam, we’ve talked about this. You need to actually use these tools to see if they’ll help. Doing nothing will do nothing.”

I wave him off, even though he has a very valid point. “I know, I know. I’ll try and start it tonight. I just…what if I’m allergic to it or something?”

A soft sigh slips through his lips, and he looks at the camera, which is the virtual therapy version of eye contact.

“Well, you haven’t been allergic to any other medication you’ve taken, and most have a similar compound. So, I don’t think that’s something that needs to be considered.”

My brows knit together. “But it’s in The Realm.”

The Realm of Likely Possibilities, or just The Realm, is a term Dr. Burton uses to separate likely scenarios from unlikely scenarios. While unlikely scenarios are still possible, they aren’t probable. I don’t really understand it. To me, if anything is possible, it is likely to happen. Dr. Burton shakes his head.

“Fortunately,” he says, fidgeting with the pen in his hand. “It is not.” I personally fail to see that, but okay, Doctor. “I’ll see you next week?”

I nod, as if that ever changes. “See you then.”*

Ithink this place was made for me. Or maybe I was made for it. Since the Furry Friends salon is a one-woman operation, I’m allowed to do things my way. The freedom feels good.

When The Dog Shop first hired me as a trainee, I couldn’t have been more ecstatic. The thought of helping dogs as a career was everything I could ever want.

Although I’ve never excelled at painting or drawing like Adrian, I love art, and this is a niche form. Like humans, I believe each dog has a specific look. I’d spend hours carving different hairstyles into different dogs to match their personalities. Some were meant to look like teddy bears, others like elderly men who smoke cigars and read newspapers. I even made a Pomeranian look like a member of the band KISS.

But it wasn’t just the art that I fell in love with, it was the neglected dogs too. Some pups would come in with fur pelted to their skin. I can’t even count how many flea baths I gave in the summer. Dogs’ nails would curl into the pads of their paws, breaking the flesh. I had the opportunity to help those dogs, and to show them love.

But after months of learning, practicing, and experimenting, management began to crack down. Once I had the necessary knowledge for the position, I was indebted to the company, forced to work long hours with short breaks. Each day consisted of various Catch-22s: Take a lunch break, or finish the dog on time? Upset the customer by going too short, or potentially nick the pup trying to cut through the mats? Get unapproved overtime, or give a choppy haircut?

Even as a strict-rule follower, there was no way I could follow every rule at once.

At first, I thought I was beginning to hate it. But it didn’t take long to realize that I didn’t hate my job. I hated my employer. I actually loved my job.

Pine Paws Animal Sanctuary partnered with the location to provide full grooms for the animals in their care. Knowing I was helping them made me feel like I was doing some good for the world. I couldn’t get that same sense of accomplishment from answering phone calls or serving food. Not to mention, working with dogs meant my hours were spent with canines instead of people, which obviously is a win on its own.

Although I don’t own it, the salon at Furry Friends feels like mine. I get to make my own rules, using the equipment I like and the techniques I find safe.

My knees bend, squatting behind a large Bernese Mountain Dog as I place my hands under his hips and lift his back end into the stainless-steel tub.

“You should learn to ask for help, or you’re going to break your back.”

I jump back, startled by the familiar voice. Something about the coarseness of it melting with an angelic tone manages to seep into every wrinkle in my brain. I turn around to see Violet standing against the wall behind me, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth and her arms crossed. Her eyes dart from the floor to my face. For a moment, I think she may have been checking me out. But the thought quickly leaves when I remind myself where we are, and who she is.

In truth, I’ve been trying to avoid her these past two weeks. If she were going to bring up Monsey’s she would have by now; I know that. But that doesn’t eliminate the embarrassment of the situation. It doesn’t fix the twist in my stomach every time I see her walking through the facility, or the annoying pulse between my thighs every time those tattooed arms flex. I didn’t just hook up with my boss. I had a failed hookup with my boss. And somehow, that is so much worse.

“You should learn not to sneak up on people,” I reply. Violet lets out a quiet chuckle as she approaches the tub. Her hand presses to the dog’s head.

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