Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was the memory of Mrs. Chen’s worried text, or maybe it was just the realization that if I ran now, I’d never be able to face this dog again.
Or maybe I was an idiot.
That was more likely.
Cuddles stopped short of the gate, her momentum carrying her almost to the fence before she seemed to realize I hadn’t moved. She stood there for a moment, still growling, but her posture shifted into something altogether different.
Confusion, maybe.
We stared at each other through the slats of the gate.
Me, trying to project calm confidence while my heart hammered against my ribs.
Her, clearly trying to figure out why her intimidation tactics weren’t working.
“I’m not going anywhere, Cuddles,” I said quietly. “Your mom is counting on me, which means she’s counting on you to let me help. You need me tonight, and I need you. Okay?”
The growling stopped.
Cuddles cocked her head to one side, studying me with those intelligent brown eyes. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she reassessed the situation.
Slowly, deliberately, she laid her ears back—not in aggression this time, but in what appeared almost like resignation.
And then, miracle of miracles, she turned around and strode back up the steps to resume her place on her porch-throne. She sat at first, then after another long moment, she lay down, her chin resting on her paws.
Her eyes never left me, but the message was clear: She wasn’t going to attack.
Yet.
I sucked in a deep breath and slowly opened the gate.
The hinges creaked softly.
Cuddles’s ears twitched at the sound, but she didn’t move.
Step by step, I made my way up the front walk, talking to her in the same calm, quiet voice. “That’s a good girl. I know this is weird. Believe me, it’s weird for me, too, but we’re going to be okay. I bet you’re hungry.”
By the time I reached the first step, Cuddles had shifted back to a sitting position, and was watching me with what I could only describe as wary acceptance. When I sat down on the step next to her, she didn’t growl or snap or try to take a chunk out of my leg. Instead, she sniffed cautiously in my direction, her wet nose barely brushing against my hand.
“There we go,” I murmured, hardly daring to breathe. “Sniff me good. I like dog sniffs . . . and kisses . . . and pretty much anything but bites.”
I reached out to pet her, and the growl returned, practically vibrating the wood of the porch.
Yanking my hand back, I said, “All right. No petting. Got it.”
The moment my hand pulled back, she quieted.
“Why don’t we start with dinner? You’re a lady, right? Like a man to serve you food? That’s a girl thing, isn’t it?”
She cocked her head and sniffed the air.
Did this beast understand me?
Before I could think too long on that, an amused tenor called from across the lawn, “Did you just call her a lady and offer to serve her dinner?”
Theo opened the gate, and Debbie bolted forward. The moment she entered, Cuddles was off the porch and bounding into her arms. The tense détente quickly devolved into giggles and fur rolling across perfectly manicured grass.
I noticed Theo shaking his head and chuckling—but not at Debbie and Cuddles—at me.
