Page 129 of The Billionaires

Colossus stops growling and approaches the cookie.

“Yes,” I croon. “Being friendly pays off.”

The puppy eats the cookie and sniffs the guy’s hand for a second.

“Can I go now?” the gardener asks.

“Yes. Thank you.”

As the man departs, Colossus looks at me with a confused expression:

I thought he was evil incarnate, but that cannot be. Oatmeal cookies are like crucifixes—they ward away evil.

Grinning at him, I tug lightly on the leash and say, “Let’s go.”

With a tiny huff, Colossus pitter-patters over to the nearest patch of grass, plops down on his stomach, and begins ripping apart a dry leaf.

“That’s cat behavior,” I tell him sternly. “Doggies walk.”

He ignores me.

“Let’s go.” I tug on the leash again.

Nope. He clearly hasn’t been trained to walk on a leash.

I sigh. It sucks that I have to escalate the situation so soon, but I can’t help it. I take out another piece of the cookie and show it to him.

Just like with the gardener, the change in the dog’s demeanor is instant. Leaping to his feet, he locks eyes with me like a crazed hypnotist and wags his tail.

“Good eye contact,” I say. “Usually, I have to train puppies to do that.”

He wags his tail harder.

Does that mean I get the cookie? Please, pretty please? Pretty pretty pretty please?

Still holding the treat, I take a step forward, then another, dangling the morsel as bait.

The dog takes a few steps too, eyes never leaving the object of his desire.

“Good boy,” I say and give him a tiny crumb.

Getting the picture, he walks some more, eyes still not on the road.

About a block later, nature finally calls, and Colossus runs up to a palm tree and hikes up his little leg comically high.

“Good boy,” I gush. “Such a good boy.” I give him a bigger piece of the cookie to get my point across.

He makes satisfied growly sounds as he devours his reward, then walks over to a patch of grass and does a more serious bit of business.

“Yes. Good job,” I exclaim enthusiastically and give him more cookie.

Again, he attacks the treat ravenously, like he’s been starving for a week.

Hmm. He just might be the most food-motivated dog I’ve ever met, which will make him easier to train.

Despite what the gardener said, the urge to clean up after the dog is strong, but I resist.

“Now we can go home,” I tell Colossus, then lure him back to the garage with a few more chunks of cookie.

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