I was so anxious that by the time I got the chance to look at my watch, I realized that I was half an hour early. Finding an available bench, I took a seat to wait, Warren taking three turns before laying down beside me, as was his habit.
One of the advantages of having an older dog for my decoy, particularly one who already knew me, was that he was already very well trained and somewhat responsive to me. I was glad for both of these things because it made it easy for me to be out and about with him, without everyone – including Sam – thinking I was a horrible “dog owner.”
Five minutes to the appointed time, I looked in the direction of a familiar bark. I immediately saw little Benny straining on his leash, trying to get to me, and smiled. Sam was trying his darnedest to keep him under control, but he had clearly underestimated how strong a puppy could be – particularly a determined, large-breed puppy. Taking pity on him, I went over to meet them, relieving the stress on Sam’s leash arm.
“Hi,” I greeted him and coaxed Warren into a sitting position beside me.
“Hey,” he said, instinctively scooping the pup into his arms and cradling him protectively.
The most Warren was likely to do was sniff the pup, but Sam couldn’t know that. And I had to admit, the sight of him with the puppy in his arms was pretty great.
“Will he get that big?” Sam asked with wide eyes, looking at Warren and then to Benny.
“Most likely, yeah. Warren is a bit spoiled, to be honest.”
“You named your pit Warren?” Sam asked.
Shit. I didn’t want to outright lie, so I found a way to answer the question indirectly.
“Warren’s his name alright. Why, what were you expecting?” I chuckled.
“Killer, Chaos, the Black Death?” Sam offered.
“He’s a dog, not an MMA fighter,” I said, laughing at his obviously stereotyped view of pit bulls.
“Point taken,” Sam said, smiling sheepishly.
He was so damn adorable. And not only because he had a cute puppy in his arms.
“You can put him down,” I said.
Cautiously, Sam set him down and the pup beelined for Warren. The two sniffed each other eagerly. When they’d finally had their fill, we set off for a walk in the park, both of the dogs sniffing everything like they had never seen it before.
“Warren’s just a giant puppy, isn’t he?” Sam asked with a laugh.
“He sure is,” I agreed.
“How old is he?” Sam asked, managing to keep his gaze on my eyes, despite my efforts at showing a little skin.
I was really glad he’d asked the question that way instead of, “How long have you had him?” which have left me a loss less wiggle room. I felt rather guilty about keeping up this charade, but then again, I had known Warren his whole life, since his owner and I had been friends since then, and because I’d always liked him.
As a vet, of course I loved animals in general – even though I worked too much to be able to have my own – but my heart held a special soft spot for Warren in particular.
“Four years,” I replied, almost too quickly.
“Wow, he seems really well trained,” Sam said.
“Oh, he is. It took a while, but that’s because he’s so smart. Which sounds counterintuitive, I know. But smarter dogs usually know exactly what you’re trying to get them to do, and they’ll decide whether or not they feel like doing it at that particular moment. And with these guys, they get so strong that if they don’t want to do something, it’s pretty hard to make them.”
As if punctuating my words, Warren suddenly gave chase to a squirrel and nearly yanked me off my feet.
Sam caught me and stopped me from falling, and just the brush of his hands on my bare arm sent a wave of heat through me. I quickly straightened up, embarrassed. Warren turned to me and looked at me with those huge brown eyes, his tail wagging happily.
“See what I mean?” I asked Sam. “He’s not only stubborn to the point of rebellion, but it’s impossible to get mad at pitties because they are so darn cute!”
It occurred to me that Warren had probably been helped me, slowing my excited tirade, and my cheeks grew warmer than ever. I had always gotten along better with animals than other humans, and as such, never got very good at reading social cues or what was thought to be “appropriate” by the self-appointed arbiters of society. That was probably why I was such a good vet, but such a bad date.
“That sounds about right,” Sam agreed, smiling.
“So, Benny looks like he bounced back pretty quickly,” I said, trying to salvage some semblance of dignity.
Before he could respond, Sam’s attention was caught by a man with a with a small boy who seemed to be coming our way. To my surprise, a fleeting expression of alarm passed over Sam’s face.