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How much it means to me? He’s a case. But his sentiment is sweet. In a backwards kind of way. He attaches his lips to my cheek and sucks, and I squirm in his tight hold as he munches on my flesh. ‘Becker, stop.’
Woof!
I’m released in an instant, and I whirl around, finding Becker scowling at the floor.
Woof!
‘Don’t start,’ he snaps, stepping forward in warning. Not that Winston takes much notice.
Woof, woof, woof!
All four of his giant paws leave the floor each time he barks, that deep, threatening tone telling his owner that he isn’t messing around.
‘She’s mine, you daft dog.’
Woof!
‘No.’
Woof!
‘You can’t have her.’
Woof!
My face stretches into a grin, as two of my favourite men go head-to-head, circling each other. ‘Winston,’ I coo, lowering to my haunches and patting my lap.
‘Hey.’ Becker gives me a disgusted look.
‘You need to show him that he’s not being replaced,’ I tell him. ‘Winston, come here.’ But the burly dog ignores me, keeping his pissed-off glare on his owner.
‘No,’ Becker counters, walking over to me. ‘He needs to learn that there’s me, then there’s you, and then there’s him.’ He pulls me from the floor and picks me up, claiming me. ‘Mine,’ he declares, earning a vicious growl from his beloved pet.
Woof!
‘Fuck off,’ Becker grumbles, negotiating me in his arms to get a better hold. The smile on my face is beginning to make my cheeks ache. ‘He’ll learn.’ He marches towards the counter, but comes to a jarring halt, nearly dropping me. ‘Motherfucker,’ he gasps.
‘Oh!’ I yelp and cling onto his shoulders to stop myself from tumbling from his arms as I look down at the floor. What I find tips me over the edge of amusement into hysterics. Winston has his jaw clamped around the material of Becker’s trousers. ‘Oh my God,’ I laugh, tears springing into my eyes.
Becker’s face is savage. He isn’t finding this funny at all. ‘Winston!’
I shake, juddering in Becker’s arms, a combination of my laughter and Becker trying to shake off his dog. ‘Winston, for fuck’s sake, this is a five-grand suit. Get off.’
I can hear my new bodyguard growling as he wrestles with the expensive material of Becker’s trousers. He’s crouched on his back legs, pushing back on his front paws. ‘Just put me down.’ I wriggle in Becker’s arms.
‘No.’ His grip increases, and I give up trying to break free. ‘I’m not losing this.’ He starts kicking his leg out, cursing and swearing like a sailor, his face going red from his fury. I let them do their thing. Both seem rather determined.
But then the loud rip of material seems to bring the fracas to an abrupt halt.
Oh, shit . . .
Becker’s neck veins are bulging as he slowly lowers me to the floor before looking down at his leg. I know it’s paramount to keep my mouth shut. I cautiously follow his gaze, noticing Winston is sitting proudly at Becker’s feet. Then the material of Becker’s trousers comes into view. Shredded. I clamp my mouth shut and pinch my nose, trying to block off any orifice where air can escape. I can’t laugh. He looks homicidal.
Calmly and slowly, Becker bends at the waist and reaches to just below his shin, poking at the ragged fabric until the hairs on his leg are revealed through a gaping hole. I think I might be going blue from holding my breath for so long.
His nostrils flare. And he swallows. And he slowly rises to full height.
‘Look,’ he hisses, jabbing a finger in the direction of his right leg.
My shoulders begin to jerk, and Winston raises his nose in the air on a tiny snuff.
‘Five grand, Winston!’
His dog jumps up onto all four paws and trots over to my feet, Becker following his path with incensed eyes. I peek down, shouting at Winston in my head not to push his luck. He doesn’t care. He’s as cocky as his owner. Obviously had a great teacher. He makes himself comfy at my feet, and then he does something so brazen, I actually gasp, releasing my held breath.
He licks me. The cheeky little fucker turns his face into my leg and licks it. I give up my fight to restrain my laugh and snort unattractively all over the kitchen, and Becker’s jaw drops open as he looks at me all what-the-fuck?
‘I’m sorry,’ I titter, resisting reaching down and petting Winston. That would be rewarding him. I can’t do that. This is more serious than I thought. We need to get the pecking order straight, so I step away from Winston and let Becker do his thing.
‘In your bed,’ he yells, throwing his arm out towards the basket in the corner. ‘Now.’
Winston looks to me. I can feel his doggy eyes gauging the distance I’ve put between us, probably wondering why I’m not fussing over him. He must realise that he’s pushed the boundaries, or maybe he’s just clicked that I’m not coming to his defence, because he starts to slowly pad his way over to his basket, stopping halfway and peeking over his shoulder. I bite back my chuckle, watching as he assesses how much trouble he’s in before finally plodding the remaining distance and dropping heavily into his bed on a grunt.
