What if he already ate one?
What if I didn’t find him in time?
“Okay,” I said out loud, trying to steady myself. “No. No, we not doing that. Calm down.”
I stopped and listened. That’s when I smelled it.Food. I turned toward it, following the scent through another set of rows until the space opened up into a clearing. A few of the workers sat around a makeshift setup of coolers, crates flipped into seats, paper plates in their hands. Someone had a small burner going.
And right in the middle of them:
Chewy.
Tail wagging and begging.
My relief came out loud.
“Chew Toy Rodriguez! Get yo ass over here right now!”
Every head turned.
Chewy jumped up immediately and ran straight toward me like he hadn’t just taken ten years off my life.
“Morning, Ms. Rodriguez,” Patch said, calm as ever. “He with you?”
I bent down, scooping Chewy up, checking him over quickly. He was muddy but looked fine. His breath didn’t smell sweet.
“Yeah, he’s mine. Y’all ain’t feed him nothing, right?”
“Nah,” Patch said. “He sure tried though.”
“Good,” I muttered. “I don’t need another five thousand dollar vet bill.”
I held Chewy up slightly, looking him dead in his face. “Didn’t I tell you begging is low brow and even lower vibrations?”
He blinked at me like he understood.
Patch chuckled. “You want some?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Yes! After all that damn running around? Fix me a plate.”
He handed me one without question. Eggs, potatoes and something grilled. I sat with them, heels planted in dirt I had already given up fighting as Chewy settled in my lap.
“So what got you out here this early?” Patch asked.
“I’m working,” I responded, taking a bite. “Trying to get measurements and plans together.”
“For what?” One worker asked.
“That shed,” I said. “I’m trying to turn it into something usable.”
“What you thinking?” Asked another.
I explained it all and they listened to me without interruption.
“That old shed is the real problem,” I continued. “If I can’t get that in budget…”
Patch nodded slowly. “You and Mr. Sinclair in trouble, ain’t you?”
I nodded.
