Page 100 of The Love Haters

“Does it work?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Hutch said, still tugging. “But it’s the best I’ve got.”

Hutch went to the bedroom door and tried to call him. “Come on, buddy,” he said. “Let’s go!”

But George Bailey wasn’t budging.

Hutch got a squeaky squirrel, and threw it into the bedroom for George Bailey to fetch—but nothing. Then he got a rawhide bone and held it out as a lure—also a no-go. Then he went back around to the far side and tried to shove George Bailey from behind.

All to no avail.

“Fine,” Hutch said, “I’ll play possum,” and he walked off to the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

“I’m pretending to give up. Maybe he’ll follow of his own accord.”

George Bailey did seem interested in why Hutch was leaving the room. After a few seconds, he walked halfway to the bedroom and tilted his head. Then he looked back at me. Then he U-turned and strode toward me like some kind of big cat in a zoo and stopped when he got close.

“Go on,” I said. “Hutch is waiting for you.”

But in response, almost as if he’d understood my words, George Bailey stepped closer to me and gathered the loose fabric of one of my yoga pant legs in his teeth.

“Hey,” I said, trying to tug the fabric back out.

But, as the nonpoisonous toads of the neighborhood could attest, those jaws made their own rules.

When George Bailey started tugging me toward the bedroom—what could I do?

I followed.

Those were my favorite yoga pants.

When we reached the room, there was Hutch—I swear to god—reclining on a double bed in his boxer briefs, arms behind his head, humming “Heart and Soul.”

He saw me and sat up, like he’d never expected George Bailey to bring me with him.

Meanwhile, George Bailey had let go of my pant leg and was nudging me toward the bed with his snout.

I stopped when I reached it and looked back at him.

He blocked the door and looked at me.

“I think he wants me to stay in here,” I said.

“Maybe he’s gathering the pack together?”

“Does he usually do that?”

“I don’t usually have”—Hutch glanced at me—“a pack.”

Why did it give me a little buzz of joy to hear that?

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Why don’t you sit down on the bed and see if he comes over?”

I sat. And then I patted the bed. And then George Bailey walked right over, climbed up, and lay down in the middle between us.

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