Page 87 of The Problem with Dating

Oddly enough, for no reason whatsoever, I did.

I waved the treat in front of Feliz’s nose. He paused for a moment and went back to barking. Then he stopped once more, smelled the treat, and lunged at me. Okay, he didn’t lunge at me, but he took the treat and ate it.

“There! Now, pet his head,” Yara instructed.

With haste, I pat the dog’s head three times.

One, two, three.

Feliz was too into his treat to realize what had just happened.

So food was the way to his heart, huh?

That was worth noting.

“Yesterday, I realized he had a way for treats. He’d pretty much let us do anything to him at the shop if treats were involved.”

“Maybe he and I have more in common than I thought,” I muttered. Right then, he finished his treat and tried to lunge back toward me. I leaped backward. “Geez!”

Yara giggled.

“That’s funny to you?” I questioned after almost losing my life from Cujo.

“A little. You’re so big, he’s so little, and you’re so…scared.”

“I’m not scared,” I argued.

Yara narrowed her eyes. “Swear?”

“Swear.”

She held Feliz out toward me, and I lurched backward, almost running straight into a wall.

Okay, maybe I was a little scared.

“I’m going to sleep,” I told her, muttering under my breath. Oddly enough, Yara appeared in my dreams, too.

* * *

The following days were wash,rinse, and repeat with Feliz. The only difference was I put up a gate at the guest bedroom, so the little rat was forced to look at me instead of closing his bedroom door. He might not have liked looking at me, but he would have to get used to me being around.

I also found myself online looking up recipes for dog treats I could make. The ingredients in the treats I’d found in the stores seemed to be filled with crap. I would never feed that to a human, so why would I feed it to my dog? My dog. I had a dog, and I was making the spoiled brat homemade treats. Along with homemade dog food, too.

“Here,” I said as I sat in front of the gate with him barking and hopping around like a Ping-Pong ball. “Shut up and just try it, will you?” I held the treat out toward him. A sweet potato soaked in gravy and wrapped with homemade jerky.

Feliz yipped but inched closer and closer until he ripped the jerky from my hand and hurried off to the opposite corner of his bedroom to eat in solitude.

“You’re welcome,” I replied.

He barked once my way before he went back to eating. The slight wag of his tail showed me he liked it. Then the grumpy jerk came back, barking at me but requesting more. The little shit.

I slid another sweet potato through the gate. He yanked it from my grip and hurried away.

“A thank-you wouldn’t hurt.”

He yapped and growled.

But he loved the treat. That felt like a win.

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