He glances at me from across the room where he’s trying to get Athena to wait before she grabs the treat he’s placed in front of her. There’s frustration in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but he bites his lip as he turns his attention back to the dog, and he’s more focused as he works her through the commands.
After about fifteen minutes though, it’s pretty apparent that Athena has had enough.
We’re working on getting her to leave the kitchen, and she is not having it.
“Out.” Charlie is pointing imperiously to the hall, but Athena is dancing in a circle, occasionally leaping up to nip at his outstretched finger. “No. Athena, out.”
“Don’t repeat yourself,” I remind him. “Step into her space and force her back.”
He tries to do as I say, but she darts around him, leaping for the stove and pulling down an oven mitt, shaking it to make sure it’s really dead.
Charlie drops his arm in frustration, groaning through gritted teeth. “This is impossible.”
“Hey. Hey.” I get in front of him the way I would an anxious dog. Athena’s still playing with her oven mitt prey, and I’ll deal with her in a minute. “None of that. You’ve got a very smart dog, and she needs to trust and respect you in order for your relationship to work. If you don’t, she’s going to test you over and over. And she’s faster than you are and she’s got bigger teeth, so you will never win.”
He stares at me wide-eyed for a second, then laughs softly to himself.
“What?” I say.
Charlie shakes his head. “I dunno. I just...you said that and all I can think of is ‘all the better to eat you with, my dear.’ I don’t know why.” He laughs again, and Jesus, he’s sweet. I seriously could eat him up in one bite.
People don’t laugh when I give them the speech about trust and respect, though. Usually they square their shoulders and nod with their best “I can do this” face.
But even I struggle to pull myself together as Charlie continues to chuckle to himself. I focus my attention on Athena, who is hunched over the oven mitt, ready to grab it and run if I get too close. But when I pull a piece of chicken out of the bag in my back pocket and hold it out to her with a “drop it” command, she bounces over eagerly.
“So is that how you do it?” Charlie asks me.
“How I do what?”
“Get her to listen to you?”
“Well, the chicken helps. But it’s not about the words you use. It’s how you say it and what your body says at the same time. You can’t ask her to do things. Asking means she can say no.”
“So you don’t give her a choice.”
“I’m not going to tie her up and force her.” Though I wouldn’t mind tying Charlie up. The mental image of it is delicious, and I do my best to shove it away. “My philosophy is everything you get your dog to do has a purpose. I don’t teach my dogs cute tricks for my own entertainment. But if they’re having a good time and they trust you, they’ll do anything you ask.”
Charlie nods like he understands, but then shakes his head sadly. “I can’t imagine trusting anyone that completely.”
And that’s my opening. Ask him if he’s seeing anyone. If he’d be interested in seeing me. If he’s ever explored some of the trust and respect we’re talking about with someone like me.
But he’s still looking sad, and I know I’d be thinking with my dick, not my heart, so instead I say, “Let’s try again. Take some chicken, and tell her to get out of the kitchen.”
7
Charlie
This is exhausting.After an hour, I’m practically trembling with the exertion it’s taken to stay firm with Athena, while Mason stands just out of my line of sight, giving suggestions and correcting me when I don’t act fast enough. Any time he tells me I’ve done a good job, I’m irrationally pleased with myself, but even so, the practice is starting to wear.
Fortunately, Athena seems to be feeling the same way. We’ve been doing something Mason called “puppy push-ups,” which is basically just making her sit up and lie down over and over, but after the last round, I told her to lie down and she did—on the first try, no less—then laid her head on her paws and sighed like the world was ending.
I wait, and slowly her eyes start to close.
“Nobody move.” I hold my breath.
Mason laughs softly behind me. “If you’ve got anything important to do this afternoon, I’d say you have about an hour.”
I should be so lucky.
