Page 23 of Puppy Love

A prickly heat flushes in my cheeks, defensiveness taking over me.

“I talk to other people!” I attest, like by “other people” I don’t mean the occasional conversation with Ruthie or Al.

“You need other people too. And I think you and Cam could really hit it off. You two, like, need each other. You know, she also got chea—”

I don’t need to hear any more of this. I don’t want to hear any more of this. Cam is an employee, and it’s better we don’t even consider crossing that line. Again. I’m doing just fine on my own, and besides, I don’t need anyone else thinking there’s more to it.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

I keep walking forward, pretending to look at the different tubes of deodorant lining the aisle, so I don’t have to look at Hayden. He follows next to me, and Major trots seamlessly beside us, focusing his attention on his handler. Hayden shrugs.

“Okay. Not going to force it. But, think about it,” he says, continuing to the end of the aisle.

Truthfully, these bi-weekly training sessions have been my motive lately, the thing I look forward to.

Getting to hang out with Hayden and develop a dog that can save his life always makes me feel better about my own. I’ve considered asking him to hangout outside of the sessions, but I’m not sure how to go about it. Plus, I can’t help but be wary of how things will end.

I didn’t realize I was friendless until Mallory and I split. Everyone I called a “friend” happened to be Mallory’s friend first, so there wasn’t anyone to run to when I found a string of texts describing the seemingly mind-blowing sex she had with one of her clients.

Apparently a six-session hip-hop package included a Free Fuck coupon. They didn’t just take Mallory’s side; they chastised me for telling her to leave the house. The house that I pay for.

Discovering all of my friends weren’t really mine was a big blow, until I realized it actually wasn’t. It occurred to me, after the initial shock of their two-faced cruelty, that I had never actually opened up to them anyway. I spoke about my job, and Mallory, and the trails I wanted to hike that month, and I called them my “friends,” but I never actually talked to them. Not about things that mattered. And that wasn’t a choice they made. It was mine.

I watch Major intently as the white poodle parades around the bakery section. He’s brilliant, and his only weakness so far seems to be food. I’ve gotten him to ignore cats, birds, children, and even sirens. At nine months, he has already learned to alert when his handler’s heart rate increases too rapidly. But when Major smells anything that could be even a little bit edible, his nose goes wild.

Today, however, he seems to be doing well. The leash is loose, and his front feet are parallel with Hayden’s, his eyes fixated on the man. Hayden grins from across the table of baked goods between them and gives me a cheesy thumbs up. I return the gesture and walk further away from the duo to give them space. I’m not training Major. I’m training Hayden to train Major.

Consequently, hovering will only stunt their growth as a team. I step in when and where I need to and let Hayden take the reins. It’s his service dog, after all.

Major’s nose twitches, different scents of flour and almond and sugar wafting into his nose, but he never breaks his gaze from Hayden. They loop around the section three more times before approaching the corner I’ve been lingering in, pretending not to stare.

“Did you see that?!” Hayden asks excitedly. If he were any happier, he might bounce off the walls. I can’t help but let a smile take control of my face. I’ve really missed this. The adrenaline people get when their dogs accomplish things they didn’t think they could.

“Yes. It was pretty dang good.”

“Do you think he’ll be ready for his PA test in December?”

I ruffle my hands through Major’s top knot. “I do.”

nine

No Calm, Just Storm

Cam

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

My palm slams against the wooden steering wheel of my absolutely ancient car. Heavy drops of rain pound against the moonroof like someone is pouring a thousand marbles on the glass. Each one makes a loud thunk as it lands and then dissolves into small puddles on the window above me. You would think its midnight, given the dark, dull sky. Black clouds surround me, the late October wind whistling like a forgotten teapot.

“Come on Luigi,” I plead. “Don’t give up on me now!”

I press the brake pedal down harder, turning the keys one last time, as if the pressure of my foot will magically revive the ignition. But my desperation has no enticing factor to it, and he remains still and silent.

While being stranded in your work’s parking lot in a Pacific Northwest storm sucks, I have to be at least a little grateful that it’s rain and not snow.

I pop the hood, droplets pelting my cheeks relentlessly as I try to connect the cables of the portable jump starter I found in my trunk to the car’s battery.

How does it go again? Red to Neg?

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