Only Tuesday?
I breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
The goat isn’t the only trespasser. There’s something else skittering across my carefully pruned life—bright, relentless, and wearing floral-print sneakers. I’m just not sure whether Poppy Monroe is here to ruin my lawn or whatever’s left of my sanity.
***
The house is finally quiet.
Which is saying something, considering that two hours ago there was goat poop on my patio and my lawn was torn half to shreds by a demented goat.
I’m showered. And Muffin is curled up beside me in bed. I don’t remember when she graduated from porch dog to bedtime snuggler. But here we are.
The Amazon box with her brush arrived today—soft-bristle, detangling, the whole nine. I open it and peel away the packaging like it’s sacred. Because apparently, I’m that guy now.
“Okay,” I mutter, settling in. “You ready?”
Muffin sighs. A big, dramatic exhale, but she doesn’t move. I take that as consent.
I start brushing. Slow, careful strokes. Avoiding the sensitive spot behind her back leg where she always flinches.
“Can’t have you getting matted,” I murmur. “You’ve got standards to uphold.”
The finest mutt this side of the Hudson River.
She grunts, snuggles in deeper, and lets me keep going.
For a while, we sit in silence. Just the soft bristle of the brush working through tangled fur and the occasional snore.
And then—because no one else is here—I say it out loud.
“She’s a disaster.”
Muffin opens one eye.
“Poppy,” I clarify. “She’s chaos. Loud. Messy. Overly enthusiastic. Probably responsible for at least two dozen zoning violations.”
Muffin blinks once. Noncommittal.
“And she talks with her hands. Constantly. Like she’s conducting an invisible orchestra.”
Silence.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t care how pretty she is.”
Muffin blinks again. Slightly slower this time.
“Don’t give me that look. I know you noticed.”
I pause the brushing.
“She’s infuriating,” I say, more to the room than the dog. “Always humming. Always smiling. Stealing my lawn with flower buckets and a vision. Lighting candles in the guest house.”
Muffin yawns.
I go back to brushing.
“And now she’s got a goat.”
