“Have you thought maybe you’re in over your head?”
“It’s just a phase,” I say quickly. “A puppy phase. I read about it. Maybe separation anxiety. She hates being left alone and—”
“You can’t be held hostage by a dog, Charlie. You need to be able to live your life.”
“I know. I know. But maybe I did something wrong.”
I didn’t. I did everything the books and the YouTube videos said I was supposed to do. I took her for a long walk before I left. I left music playing so she didn’t feel too alone. I made sure she was in a puppy-proofed space. How she got out of the bathroom, I don’t know. Why I didn’t think to take the maple syrup off the counter and put it back in the fridge is my own damn fault.
“Charlie.” This time he doesn’t use his bossy top voice. He just sounds sad, and that’s even worse. “It’s not your fault. Gavin left and—”
“I kicked him out.”
“You kicked him out,” he says patiently. “And you’ve got a lot on your plate. I could help out. Take her sometimes so you can—”
“No. It’s fine. I can do this.”
“Not by the looks of the picture you sent me.”
I don’t know what else to say. I glance around the office at my ruined manuscript. I’ve failed at literally everything else in my life. My relationship, keeping any kind of job you can talk about in polite company. And those were just dreams and goals. Athena is a living, breathing…thing. I can’t let her down. “I’ll do better. There’s a webinar tomorrow evening about—”
“No more dog training webinars. You need real, in-person help. There was a guy here earlier. He asked if he could leave an ad on the bulletin board.”
“Yeah?” People leave ads and announcements on the board at Bold Brew all the time. The coffee shop is right downtown and known to be an LGBTQ+ and kink-friendly space, so the ads run the full gamut from accountants and nannies to regular invites for toy demos and such that they do in the shop’s back room.
“He was a dog trainer.”
“Oh. Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ve watched lots of videos. If I keep working with the clicker...”
But even I stop hearing myself. I know it’s weird to be so opposed to getting outside help, but I’ve done the research and the Google reviews alone told me what I needed to know. A lot of so-called dog trainers are super sketchy. They talk about being the alpha and dominating your pack, like your dog can’t even tell the difference between dogs and humans. It’s not like there’s a course you need to take to call yourself a trainer. Ultimately, I decided it was too risky. I didn’t want to traumatize Athena with some snake oil dude’s bad methods.
“I’ll bring his info over when I bring the umbrella,” Vann says, because he’s obviously done listening to my rationalizations.
“Sure,” I say. “That’d be great.” Nothing says I actually have to call the guy.
As I hang up, mentally preparing myself for the chore of cleaning up my apartment again, Athena appears in the doorway. The jock is still hanging off her neck, and now she’s got something fluffy in her mouth.
“What is that?”
She dashes back up the hall. When I finally wade through the paper and out to the living room, a whole new storm has broken out, because she’s ripped into the couch and pulled all the stuffing out of one the cushions, scattering it across the carpet like it might hide her earlier indiscretions. She stands on the remains of my furniture, feet braced, shoulders square, like a warrior queen preparing for battle.
Maybe I do need some help.
2
Mason
I’m comingout of the dentist when I check my phone and see a missed call. Last time I go to this crap budget dentist. Asshole didn’t use enough freezing, and the whole right side of my face is both radiating pain and feels like it’s melting off.
I check my voicemail as I slide into the front seat of my truck.
“Oh, hi. Um. My name is Charles Beech. Charlie. Actually. Most people call me Charlie. I’m calling because I saw your ad...or actually I didn’t see it, my friend did. He works at Bold Brew. I guess you put an ad up there. But anyway, I have a dog and—”
I nearly delete it. Whoever Call Me Charlie Beech is, I already don’t like him. No one needs to leave their whole life story in a voicemail. He’d be better off taking that time and spending it with his dog. But I need the work. The rush of people who got puppies for their kids over the summer vacation has died down. Some of those families have great pups. Some couldn’t be bothered to the do the homework and will have under-stimulated, under-exercised, under-disciplined dogs for the rest of their lives. A few ghosted me after one or two sessions, and I always worry those are the dogs I’m going to see on shelter websites before the fall is over, usually with a write-up like “not good with children.”
There’s nothing wrong with the dogs. People are the problem, every single time.
So while my instincts say to delete Call Me Charlie’s message, I still have a fat invoice on my front seat because even a budget dentist charges more than he should for a couple fillings and a new crown. Jerk said something about preparing for a root canal in the next six months to a year too. My wallet’s hurting, and Charlie, with his precise details and his pleading sob story, sort of falls into my lap at the moment I need him.
