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Thirteen
Nova
Gettingmy dog to use Mother Nature as his bathroom is a struggle on a normal day.
Squirrels and shadows, wind picking up and sending a plastic bag crinkling across the road. Other dogs. Cars. Bikes. People. Kids. Frisbees.Anythingis a distraction.
Add in snow falling rapidly, the flakes gathering into huge piles that are larger than Steve and are shifting in the cold wind that is cutting right through my clothes, and my pupper isnota happy camper.
He looks up at me and whines.
“We can’t go in until you use the potty,” I tell him.
He whines again, puppy eyes going even puppier, but I stand strong on this one. My pooch might be a pain in the butt who is energized by causing trouble, but I refuse to let him get away with using the bathroom anywhere but outside.
He can’t sit or roll over and he’s a terror on a leash who won’t give me his paw, even if I bribe him with a thousand treats, but he hasn’t had an accident inside since he was four months old.
That streak isn’t ending today.
Mostly because I don’t want to see what Lake’s eyes will look like if Steve leaves him that kind of present.
I mean, I kind of do because Lake brings out the devil in me.
But my dog parenting standards can’t be put aside just because I want to bust someone’s chops.
Tempting though, especially when Steve looks at the snow falling and then back at me and whimpers softly.
I shore up my spine, put on my grumpy face, and say, “I’m not budging, love bug. We can stand here and turn into popsicles, but you have to go to the bathroom outside.”
Steve moans, but he finally stops shooting those puppy dog eyes my direction and starts sniffing at the pile of snow.
Eventually, he does his business and shivering, we make our way inside. I stomp my snow off as we go, trying my best to not make a mess inside, considering the man doesn’t have furniture or rugs and apparently uses towels without washing them first.
Speaking of that, I let Steve off his leash and move the towels to the dryer.
Then I walk back into the kitchen.
And…this is where I ran out of steam.
Because the man didn’t have any furniture. Not a rug. Not a couch. Not a corner-mounted dinette set I can curl up in. No furniture in the common areas of the house or in the rooms. No furniture anywhere…except his bedroom.
Well, shit.
I nibble at my lip, decide that I’ll wait for the towels to dry and make myself a nest in front of the fireplace with my clothes and those warm towels. Steve will cuddle up with me and maybe I can convince the grumpy Lake to let me borrow a pillow. He has about twenty of them on that giant bed of his.
Okay, great.
Good plan.
I nod to myself, start to take a step forward, and—
“He do his business?”
My head jerks toward the hall, watching Lake walk toward me like he’s the hero in a teen romantic movie, shirtless, muscled, and no way he’s under eighteen or what I’m feeling should send me straight to hell.
Then he’s standing a couple of feet away from me, the overhead lights gilding his skin, turning him into a Greek statue.
I exhale when he stops, bending to scoop up Steve, who’s apparently tabled his aggression toward Lake and starts kissing his chin.
