“Last time I left him, he ate a throw pillow and hid the evidence under the couch cushions. I didn’t find it for three days.”
“And you want me to take him?”
“You need a distraction.” Dean grins. “Take himfor a walk. Tire him out. It’ll kill some time before tonight.”
I look at Rex. Rex looks at me. His tail thumps once against the floor, an offer of solidarity.
“Fine,” I say. “But if he eats anything, you’re paying for it.”
“Deal.” Dean’s already heading for the door. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
He waves without looking back. “Good luck tonight. Try not to overthink it.”
The door closes behind him.
I look at Rex.
Rex sighs heavily, like the weight of my emotional turmoil is exhausting him personally.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go for a walk.”
His ears perk up. Finally, something he understands.
The walk is supposedto clear my head.
It does not clear my head.
Rex and I make it about half a mile down the beach before disaster strikes.
One minute he’s trotting along beside me, perfectly behaved, the picture of canineobedience. The next minute his nose twitches, his entire body goes rigid, and he takes off running toward something half-buried in the sand near the tide line.
“Rex. Rex, no.Rex?—”
Too late.
By the time I catch up to him, he’s already found his prize: a dead crab, sun-baked and pungent, clearly washed up days ago.
And he’s rolling in it.
Full body rolls. Enthusiastic, joyful rolls. The rolls of a dog who has found his calling in life and that calling is smelling like deceased marine life.
“Rex! Stop! Get up!”
He ignores me completely. His legs kick in the air. His tongue lolls out in pure bliss. He has never been happier.
I grab his collar and try to drag him away. He goes limp, becoming approximately eight hundred pounds of dead weight.
“We are not doing this.” I’m using my stern voice. The voice that has negotiated record contracts and handled difficult producers. “Get up. Now.”
Rex looks at me with utter betrayal.I was having the time of my life and you ruined it.
I manage to haul him to his feet. He’s covered in...I don’t even want to identify what he’s coveredin. The smell is aggressive, like it has a physical presence.
“You’re getting a bath.”
His ears flatten.Not the B word.
“I don’t care how you feel about it. You smell like a crime scene.”
