The vet cannot see the tiny critter until early the following afternoon, and though Dane volunteers to watch it if Miguel would rather not, he insists that we will be fine to puppy-sit for a couple nights.
Fiona decides to walk over to the pet store to get “a few things,” even though Miguel warns her that she’s going to return with doggy doll clothes and cans of organic food that cost as much as a steak dinner for eight. While she’s away, Dane locates a big cardboard box in the stockroom to serve as a temporary crate for the puppy, who rewards him by immediately peeing in a corner, then crying pitifully until Amelia Mae picks him up to comfort him.
“Eh, he’s not awful,” she says as he tries to chew off her arm. “But he’s definitely not you, Harry.”
I thank her by lying directly on top of her feet, and it’s so good to be with her that having her toes under my belly and the nippy beast just over my head doesn’t even bother me all that much.
Fiona returns a short while later, “sans dog clothing,” sheinforms Miguel, but with a whole bag full of other things that the puppy would need only if she intended to keep him. He gobbles down his fancy food so fast that I know it’ll soon come right back out of all exits—but that’s Fiona’s problem, not mine. Except…if Fiona and Miguel decide to mate, as I intend for them to, it will be my problem.
Oh no. This wasnotthe plan.
Dane, who’s especially chipper about Fiona’s return—probably because it’s immediately improved Miguel’s mood—orders pizza for dinner, which they eat in the reading nook after the puppy finally does his business on the sidewalk, then passes out in the very same box he peed in. Afterward, Dane tells Miguel that he and Natalie will close the store. “Go hang out,” he says, raising his eyebrows in a way that’s not as stealthy as he thinks it is. “Get the puppers settled.”
“Will do. Thanks, Dane.” Miguel sounds nonchalant, but I can smell panic setting in. He turns to Fiona, who’s gathering their things. “Do you want me to take you to the bed-and-breakfast?”
She gives him another this-is-a-challenge stare. “It’s your call. What’s easiest for you?”
He hesitates, then says, “Why don’t we go to my place first? The puppy’s too small to go to the dog park and probably shouldn’t be in the grass before he has all his shots. But I can take him on the patio and help him acclimate a little before you leave.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
We pile into the car and make the short drive to the house. “Oh, it’s lovely,” says Fiona as we pull into the driveway. “Ithought it might be, but I just love cedar shakes, and all the hedges and vines are so charming.”
“Thank you, though I can’t really take credit,” Miguel says. “That was all Amelia.”
“Of course,” she says knowingly.
When we reach the back porch, Miguel suggests that Fiona and Amelia Mae let the puppy check out the patio while he goes inside to make sure there isn’t anything too embarrassing lying around. “I don’t have people over very often,” he explains apologetically.
“Don’t go to any trouble for us. I promise we’re easy,” she assures him.
He and I have just gotten into the kitchen when it really and truly sinks in: They’re coming inside! Into our house! With their smells and their selves and—well, yes, with the puppy, but beggars and choosers and all that. Without even thinking about it, I start zipping around in circles in front of the sink, waiting for Amelia Mae to join me. Oh, this is just so exciting! If to be together and have something to look forward to isn’t the ultimate happiness, then I don’t know whatis.
“Cálmate,Harold,” Miguel says, patting my back to get me to settle down. “You don’t want to scare Fiona, remember? She may have fallen for that puppy, but she’s still afraid of dogs.”
I remember now, and while I manage to stop my yapping, I can’t help but jump up on Amelia Mae the moment Miguel opens the door for her and the other two.
“Careful, love bug,” warns Fiona, who’s carrying the punter again. Before I can demonstrate some semblance of self-control, Miguel’s taken my paws off Amelia Mae’s shirt and is pushing my rear end down so I’m seated.
“Sorry, sorry. I think the puppy’s got him especially worked up. I should’ve done a better job training him, but it’s too late for that. Should I put his leash on?”
What is this, Westminster? Am I to be trotted around and have my remaining teeth examined as well? I might just have to slobber all over to remind him that I’m his pet—not a pageant animal.
“No, no, this is Harold’s home,” chirps Fiona. “Speaking of which, this is even more lovely than the exterior. Amelia had wonderful taste.”
I have just decided that in spite of the puppy, I may actually like Fiona more than she likes me, because nothing about my Amelia seems to make her feel bad or intimidated. In fact, I think they might have even been friends if they’d had the chance.
Miguel glances around. “I haven’t really had anyone over in a while, so I apologize that it’s not super clean. But you’re right—she did. Thank you for saying that. Come on in.”
He gives them the tour and even lets Fiona poke her head inside his bedroom, which is by far the messiest spot in the house. Then we gather in the living room, where Amelia Mae lies beside me in front of the fireplace we never use anymore while Fiona and Miguel sit on opposite ends of our sofa. Fiona’s got the puppy on her chest again, and just when I think he’s asleep, he gives a little yip and licks her cheek.
“Oh, Walter,” she says with a giggle.
“Walter?” exclaim Miguel and Amelia Mae at the same time.
“Doesn’t he look like a Walter? I’ve been thinking that since we scooped him up, and it seems to be sticking. Somethingabout the patch on his chin makes me think of a grumpy old man with a beard.”
