Bad Dog - Too Bad It's Fake

We ate in companionable silence, neither of us seeming to want to ruin the perfect moment. When we finished, Ronda got up to do the dishes and I followed, her washing and me drying and placing them on the rack, and it felt comfortable. Domestic. She had just handed me the last fork when my phone started to buzz in my pocket.

I had never gotten dressed so fast. Minding the speed limit so I wouldn’t get pulled over, I made my way home, only realizing later that Ronda had been lying about living close. Not that that was the first priority on my mind.

The call had been from a neighbor saying there was something going on at my house, having to do with a lot of barking and sounds that sounded like all my stuff was being ruined. My first thought had been burglars. Until I remembered the large breed puppy I had left alone to roam overnight.

When I opened the door, dread in my chest, Benny greeted me excitedly. I scratched his head as I looked around, knowing that even though he’d behaved badly, it really wasn’t his fault.

The damage was bad, but not what it could have been. The living room furniture was pretty much a write off, several large chunks having been taken out of all it. The rugs were also dug up, including an original Persian specimen I had spent a pretty penny on.

The stereo remained untouched, however, so too the collection of vinyls lined up on the shelves on the stand below it. Thank goodness for small miracles.

“Not a good idea to leave a pup alone,” the neighbor said, coming in behind me uninvited.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I said, resisting the urge to punch him in his smug face.

Hearing the menace in my voice, the neighbor beat a hasty retreat before any violence would become necessary. He had been right, of course, and I felt a stab of guilt for being a dick. My first instinct was to think he should mind his own business, but then I remembered that he had called to alert me to what was going on, and for that I was thankful.

It had been a mistake to leave Benny alone with the run of the house. It was a lesson I had learned the hard way, but at least it was one I wouldn’t have to worry about for long, right? Jim wanted him back soon.

Looking down at the pup, I realize that I was actually going to miss him, even if was a destructive little beast. Not only was he cute and fun, but also, he was the whole reason I had even met Ronda, and for that I would always feel a special attachment to him.

Chapter Eight

Ronda

Everyone around me was beginning to notice my good mood lately, starting with Sharon. I had gone over to her house for coffee and pastries like I did most afternoons. I had changed back into my normal clothes, the dress she had lent me neatly folded over my arm.

“Well, hello there,” Sharon said, Warren standing beside her.

“Hi!” I wondered what her curious-sounding tone was about.

The kettle was already boiling as we entered, Warren sniffing at me curiously. I didn’t think it was possible that he could have smelled Sam on me, but that sure seemed to be what was going on.

“Warren, down boy,” Sharon scolded.

Warren dropped his head, his ears going down flat, and he slunk back to his bed dejectedly.

“Someone’s excited,” Sharon said, pouring two cups of coffee for us.

“He usually is when I come around,” I said, sitting at the table.

“Oh, no, I meant ye, lass, he only reacts like that to pheromones.”

“Oh,” I said blushing.

“So, I take it your date went well last night?” Sharon asked, bringing the tea and a plate of biscuits to the table.

“You could say that.”

“So, you shagged, then?” Sharon said, cutting to the quick, in her typical Scottish way.

“Sharon!” I protested, blushing bright.

“No need to be embarrassed; that was the plan, right?” Sharon pressed.

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“So, I take it he was good,” she said, taking a sip of her tea that was mostly milk.

“How did you – ”

“Your jovial smile,” Sharon said.

“Oh,” I said, not knowing I had done that.

“It was your first time, right?”

“Wait, what?! How did you know?”

“In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you mention a boyfriend- or a girlfriend, for that matter. Nothing. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that you’ve at least been celibate, if not a virgin.”

“Both, really,” I admitted, with a sigh. “Not so much intentionally. I just never seemed to get along with people.”

“You get along with me,” Sharon pointed out.

“I more meant people in general, as a concept.”

“And I’m the exception?” Sharon asked, as if she wasn’t sure how to take that.