AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If a dog consumes chocolate it’s the same as eating poison. And it’s not just chocolate. There’s a whole list of human food that can kill dogs.
“Poor puppies,” I mutter to myself as I scroll through the article on my computer screen.
As I contemplate bringing my dog home, I can’t help cringing when I recall my behavior.
Last week, when I had gone to the shelter to pick up my new life partner, I may have gotten a little pissy with the guy at the front desk. It was a couple of things. First off, there was how he looked.
My apartment back in NYC had a big, beautiful bedroom window, but since we lived in a city full of skyscrapers, I couldn’t use the same descriptors for the view. At least at first.
Whenever the curtains were open, it was hard to focus anywhere other than the giant ad space just across the street. For the first few months we looked out at the movie posters for the latest blockbuster hits. I didn’t mind. It was nice to be reminded of what was playing.
Then there was the era of beer ads. The same cheap lager greeted me each morning when I opened the blinds.
But I longed for the six-pack when we entered the year of diet campaigns. Every day, I had to see at an uber-fit woman telling me I could be as slim as her if only I bought whatever product I adamantly refused to learn the name of.
Then, one morning, I went to let some sunshine into our tiny abode, expecting to find the same guilt trip taunting me. Instead, I discovered that finally, the ad had changed.
And the new image was mesmerizing.
A male model stared at me, his hooded eyes piercing as he stroked a finger across his full bottom lip. The gesture put an expensive-looking watch on display, the timepiece hugging a corded forearm revealed only because his shirtsleeves were rolled up.
The ad was erotic. At least, to me it was. The man seemed to watch me move around my bedroom, and I was seconds away from pulling out my vibrator when I realized Martin was still home.
My fiancé hated the new view. When he came out of the shower and saw it, he grumbled and scowled, ranting that our apartment was shitty if we had to look at that.
Martin was always complaining about our living space. He hated how we only had one bedroom and one bathroom, and not enough square footage for a full dining table. One more reason he jumped on the chance to relocate to New Orleans, where we could afford an actual house.
I liked the small space. And I liked the new view.
After a day or so of pretending only mild interest, I finally broke down and googled the advertising campaign. Turns out the model was some well-known actor in Taiwan, who had started to appear in American movies. He’d recently become the face of this high-end watchmaker. Which meant that I got to enjoy his face outside my bedroom window.
Sometimes at night, when Martin worked late, I would crack the blinds just enough to stare into that set of dark, hypnotizing eyes. My imagination would run away with me as I let my hands explore my body, and I would find a release with more pleasure than my partner had given me in years.
My happy little fantasy lasted for about two months. Then I opened my curtains and found a cow telling me I should eat more chicken. When Martin asked why I’d let out a pained moan, I blamed it on a stubbed toe.
Eventually, I convinced myself it was better not to be lusting after some celebrity I’d never meet.
Then, I walk into the dog shelter and find a guy who’s my watch model’s doppelganger. Only, this man exists in the real world, looking like the actor stepped out of the ad, stopped shaving his beard for a few days, and decided to start rescuing helpless animals.
So that mythical sexiness, combined with the fact that he wasn’t immediately handing over my dog, put me in a bad mood. Just a few weeks out from Martin’s betrayal, I’m not in any type of headspace to deal with attractive men telling me what to do.
But now I’m thinking that holding off for a little while on adopting my doggo might have been a good move. If all of my research has taught me anything, it’s that I am not prepared to be a dog owner.
Yet.
“Don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll figure it out,” I whisper my reassurance to the empty air, hoping that somehow my words will reach that poor, pitiful puppy I found abandoned in a dirty alley.
After a week of bingeing on fried chicken to smother my depression, I realized I needed to either start working out or purchase a new wardrobe in larger sizes. Going up a couple of numbers doesn’t bother me, but shopping does. I hate sorting through endless racks of clothes then stripping down in front of those floor-to-ceiling mirrors in randomly lit dressing rooms.
I’d rather run.
So, a week after discovering a beautiful pixie woman in my house and my robe, I decided to funnel my rage into jogging rather than food.
Well, more like joggingandfood.
Life needs balance.
It was on one of those outings that I heard the whining and discovered the new most horrifying scene of my life. Tied up to a chain-link fence was a skeleton of a dog. Each one of her rib bones stood out, clear enough for me to count even ten feet away. Open wounds were crusted with dried blood, and a thick swatch of duct tape held her large jaw clamped shut. But even through the makeshift muzzle, little heartbreaking cries filtered out.
