Page 9 of A Very Merry Matchup
I crouch down. “Would you stop eating the earth? That’s not food. Give it here. Drop it. Stop it.Drop it.You know what? Let’s go back inside so you can pee all over the floor again. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Sounds fun to me,” Carson says, enjoying this way too much.
“Truth is,” I say to Carson as I carry her back inside the kitchen, “she saved me from getting attacked by a rabid wolf earlier, and now she’s got rabies. Think I’m going to have to put her down with a shotgun. Do you happen to own one?”
“Hmm... something tells me you’re not living out the plot toOld Yeller. Probably more likeMarley & Me. Hang in there. I’m sure twelve to fourteen years from now she’ll make a wonderful dog. If you’re alive to see it. I still say your mom’s going to kill you.”
“I’ll be sure to leave you Pinky Collar in my will.” Soon as we hang up I catch Pinky Collar making a buffet out of my baseboards. “That’s it, young lady, you are going into time-out. Nope. Don’t try getting fresh with me now,” I add when she starts licking my chin like it’s the world’s most delicious sucker.
“Uh-uh. Too late for your sweet talk. I’m putting you in your crate. I am. Yes, I am. Don’t look at me like that. Aww,does my chin taste good? It tastes good, doesn’t it? Oh, you’re just a little lover, aren’t you? Yes, you are. Beneath all those fangs, you’re just a little princess, aren’t you?”
Once again she calls my bluff on the crate and we settle onto the couch where we can share another lovefest about what a good girl she is. “You’re just the cutest little pup there ever was, aren’t you, baby?”
She lunges at my face like a vampire going for the jugular just as my phone makes a high-pitchedchoo-choosound on the coffee table, drawing my attention away from little Dracula.
Scotty? Has to be. He’s the only person in my contact list with that jarring and slightly annoying ring sound. Mostly because he’s jarring and slightly annoying.
But he’s also one of the best sports agents out there. He’s represented some of the best baseball players around. Players like Noah Parker, one of my all-time favorite pitchers. I’ve read his memoir cover to cover at least five times.
What on earth is Scotty messaging me about tonight?
Call me. News.
Way to be cryptic, Scotty. Good news? Bad news? Guess there’s only one way to find out.
I carry Pinky Collar into the bathroom and drop her into the empty tub. She jumps, slips, and slides down the sides in her attempt to escape. That ought to contain her for aminute or two while I call Scotty. “What’s up?” I ask him as soon as he answers.
“How’s an early Christmas present sound?”
“I’m listening.”
He clears his throat and starts making weird musical sounds. It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s trying to hum-sing theRockytheme song. So I’m guessing this is good news?
“You, sir,” he says when he’s all hummed out, “have received an official invitation to report to spring training with the Chicago Cubs next year.”
“Are you serious?”
“They loved what they were seeing last season before you got injured with your little neck and spleen thing. If they still like what they see in spring training, you’ve got yourself a spot on the roster, kid.”
“What? That’s—”
“Fabulous, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. This is the big break we’ve been waiting for. I need you staying in tip-top shape, got it? No more car accidents. No doing anything crazy. No nothing. Oh, except one thing. Have a nice Christmas.”
He ends the call before I can wish him a Merry Christmas back.
That’s okay. I’m already whooping and lifting PinkyCollar so I can hold her in the air like Simba inThe Lion Kingbecause right now I feel like a king with a very bright future. I don’t even care that she’s shredded the shower curtain and has clumps of it still clenched between her teeth.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hamish panting, Ivy croaking, driving mile after mile. Soon it will be Christmas Day.
Ivy
The song “Silver Bells” is playing as I roll into Nolly Grove, Iowa, with an anxious heavy-breathing passenger at my side and not nearly enough slumber and rest inside my body. “Hang in there, Hamish.”
I turn up the defrost to keep his breath from fogging the windows. He did well most of the ride thanks to running himself ragged at a dog park before we left Springfield. But his nice little snooze since our last potty break has obviously left him raring to go again.
Wish I could say the same for myself.
