Page 24 of Love in Training
“Try placing one flat on your palm and giving it to him that way,” Lydia says.
I follow her instruction, and to my surprise, he eats it more gently from the center of my hand. The dog wags his tail, then politely sits and looks up at me. We study each other for a moment, his golden eyes trained on mine. And I can’t help wondering what Kyle thought about when he looked at him. How he must’ve stared into these eyes... and still made the decision to end his life.
I give Rufus one treat at a time until I run out, and then he nudges my hand with his nose and looks at me. But it doesn’t seem like he’s just looking for more to eat. It almost feels like he’s offering some sort of agreement.
“You can do this,” Lydia murmurs.
Ugh. Something deep inside me deflates. I stand up to wash my hands, then tie up another full trash bag and place it by the door with the others. “Well, what do people do about...separation anxiety?” I ask.
Lydia scrunches up her nose. “Work with a trainer?”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
In her quest for sainthood,Lydia stays with me most of Saturday to alleviate the damage to my apartment and, in her words, help the dog and me get to know one another. It isn’t quite like the team-building experiences I’ve had atMile High Observer. I have never in my life picked up another living thing’s poop. But it also doesn’t involve participating in a game of paintball, or Randall’s favorite, all-day personality quizzes and trust activities.
By the time Lydia takes off to join Henry at PetExpo in the late afternoon, we’ve established that my mattress is salvageable, if not the rest of my bedding. But my sofa is obviously a goner.
“I’ll see if Seth’s free in the next few days,” Lydia says, pulling her coat snug around her baby bump. “He and Anton should be able to carry the couch out for you.”
“Great. Thanks.” I frown at having to accept anything from the Richie brothers, but I have to admit I could use the help. “I’m sort of scared to invest in a new one. But even if I find another secondhand gem, it’ll have to wait till my next paycheck.” I glare at the dog.
“I’ve left you written instructions on basic dog care,” Lydia says, handing me a piece of paper. “Feed him two times per day. Walk him at least three.Playwith him. And refresh his water daily.”
“I’ve got it, Dr. Dolittle.” She winces, moving her hand to her side like something hurts. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go home and lie down or something? This was a lot of work.”
“I’mfine—she’s just jabbing me in the ribs,” Lydia snaps, then gives me an apologetic grimace. “Don’t forget to make him an appointment with my vet. I wrote their website and phone number down here at the bottom. Oh, and I put down the name of a female trainer I’ve heard good things about too.”
“Thanks for all your help.” I try to inject my voice with confidence, though I’m admittedly terrified as she turns to leave.
“I ordered you two bags of the cheese treats,” she prattles on as she opens the door. “And some toys. They should be here this afternoon.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” I hold up the Ziploc containing the rest of what she had in her pockets. “You’re a better friend than I deserve.”
“Oh—” She turns back. “This probably doesn’t need to be said, but put him in thecrateif you have to go anywhere.”
I put on my bestI’m not completely ineptface, hoping to convince us both.
She purses her lips, surveying my apartment one last time. I made the bed with a backup set of bedding until I can get a new duvet. But my sofa still resembles a half-eaten carcass. That, my pillows, and my Louboutins turned out to be the worst of the damage, though.
If I don’t look at my living room or breathe through my nose—because one of ussmells—I can almost convince myself I’m not living with man’s best nightmare.
Lydia hesitates in the doorway, then leans in. I think she’s offering me a hug, but as I smile and step toward her, she reaches out to stroke Rufus’s head next to me. “You can do this,” she repeats. I can’t tell which of us she’s speaking to.
Once she closes the door, the dog looks at me, almost expectant, and my pulse picks up. From what Lydia explained about separation anxiety, I don’t think he’ll resume his path of destruction with me here, but it takes real effort not to chase my dog-loving friend down the hall and beg her not to leave me. After a minute, I force myself to swallow, then glance at the list she placed in my hand.
“Okay, you’ve eaten. You just had a walk. You alreadyplayedwith my couch.” I glance at the water bowl, which is still full. “What else could you possibly want?”
He lets out a low whine and my throat tightens.
I look at the clock and close my eyes. How is it almost three? “Look, I need to catch up on some work. If you can like...notdo anything bad, I’ll take you out again in a couple of hours. Sound good?”
He licks his lips and stares at me, and my confidence wavers. Then I remember and grab the cheese treats from the counter. “Here! I have more of these. Only forgooddogs.”
I roll my eyes at how stupid I sound. It’s not like he can understand me. But he takes the cue and sits at least.
“Good boy,” I say, creeping toward one of my barstools. He tilts his head, but once I’m in the chair, he seems to lose interest. He wanders around, sniffing, and I open my laptop. But I’m watching him like a hawk, ready to freak out and call Lydia if he does anything destructive.
