Dog Tired
(Brady)
I wear responsibilities like an old scar, intimately familiar with the pressure.
They keep you moving as much as they keep you in line. They can be your biggest carrot or a stick that bludgeons you to death.
Today, they have me working on my laptop early in the morning, sitting at the long table in the old family library while a big lump of corgi dozes at my feet.
Charlie slept through the night, and he’s still tired. He’s also part of the reason why I’ve forced myself to become a morning person. You can’t fix the world’s pet food problems if you’re crashing out at 4 a.m. and rolling out of bed past noon.
Still, just because it’s necessary doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I take another pull off the huge mug of black coffee at my side. It’s already halfway down.
The latest report from the lab blurs together in front of my eyes. I’ve damn near needed a crash course in veterinary nutrition to make heads or tails of these things, but I’m getting there.
By my feet, Charlie finally groans, sits up, does a big stretch, and pads over to where Mom sits, reading the morning news on her tablet.
He yips.
Mom looks up over her glasses and smiles.
My mother’s at her best in the morning, before the day’s obligations come crashing in.
Later, she’ll put her contacts in and change into something more stylish. Kerrigan Pruitt’s image is her main commodity, and she’s all about being perfectly put together.
In her opinion, failing eyesight is an unacceptable weakness, and she’s already had laser surgery twice.
Charlie barks again, his fluffy rump wiggling as he bounces around Mom’s chair.
I swallow a laugh, happy as hell to see him gearing up to play.
I idly wonder if the latest stuff my people are coming up with would ever appeal to an energetic beast like Charlie. It might make him happier and healthier, but only if his owner can afford it.
There’s the fucking rub.
Mom saves me before I glue my eyes back to the screen. She puts down her iPad and laughs, reaching down so she can cup Charlie’s fox-like face in her hands.
I’m glad he’s a well-behaved boy and his antics aren’t pissing her off.
Yesterday, when I brought him to my parents’ place from the vet, she was delighted.
My father never let me have dogs, growing up, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t adore them.
Charlie was cute enough to warrant an overnight stay in my old room, which opens up to the spacious yard leading down to the summer shore of Lake Washington.
That’s the real reason I brought him here, rather than my place. High-rise condos aren’t much for a dog to run around. Plus, I didn’t want to risk overexerting him at a public park before he’s truly rested.
“Is he annoying you?” I ask, glancing at the time. “I’ll be taking him to the clinic soon.”
“Hardly, he’s a dear.” She smooths her hand over his head, smiling. “You should take a break and enjoy your morning. It isn’t every day you wake up with a puppy.”
I grunt reluctantly.
“I mean it, Brady. You’re an investor, not a scientist. You won’t magically conjure the world’s best organic dog food out of thin air by staring at reports until your eyes melt.”
“I’m the CEO, Mother.” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s my money on the line and my responsibility to be on top of everything.”
“Careful. You sound like your father.” Goddamn, that stings. “Does that mean working yourself into an early grave?” She examines one hand, the one with the diamonds glinting on her ring finger.
