Pawliday Love

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

DOG

T urns out that Beast isn’t too bad.

After we finish playing a rousing game of tag in Dad’s office, I have to sit down and take a break. I can’t help it. These little legs wear out fast at my age. The nice lady who smelled like flowers bolted, leaving just us men. Beast seems a little grumpy, but I’m used to working with men like that. All business, no play. A little time with me will fix him right up. I guess I might as well help him out while I wait for Dad to come back.

Did you see all that stuff the lady bought for me? They must be rich. I respect it. What I didn’t expect was her talking in my work language. Before Dad and I retired, I was a lean, mean working machine. He was the best military police dog handler in the Marine Corps and made me the best at tracking and finding things. That’s why I’m sure I can find Dad and also why I’ve never lost a bone.

Mental note: Go check on my girl in the bathroom.

I still remember everything he taught me. He would have me sniff a cloth, and then I’d have to go find a similar item. Ah, those were fun days. The things I discovered that led to all the good boy belly rubs. A pang of sadness hits my chest. Is Dad okay?

“You’re looking a little rough, aren’t you, Dog?” Beast crouches down onto one knee.

“That is not my name.” I squint with no head tilt, which says I mean business.

“And we are back to barking.” He pulls the flat black device out of his pocket and studies it. “Here it is.” He clears his throat. “Ruhig.”

That command means quiet, so I stop. I can be quiet because I’m a good boy. He’ll see.

“You really are quite smart.” Beast walks over to a plastic bag and grabs something.

The shakes of excitement ripple along my fur. A new bone? A new ball? Oh, maybe it’s a new treat!

“The least I can do is get you cleaned up.” He faces me.

Well, that’s none of those. There’s a fluffy white thing in his hands. Major letdown. Why does he have a towel? Dad only brings out the towel when he spills his beer or . . .

Oh, no.

Not a bath. It’s not possible, not here. There's not even a torture tub here. Beast reaches down and picks me up like I’m a sack of potatoes. Curse these tiny legs. This grumpy stranger might be dressed like Dad and work at Dad’s office, but he is not my dad. And I’ve reached my limit. Bath time is a special thing to share with someone. I don’t even know this guy. When he holds me against him, his stomach is hard like the floor he just stole me from. He clearly doesn’t have a nightly toasted fluffernutter before bed.

I wriggle in a last attempt to get free, but his boulders for arms squeeze tighter, almost popping my head off. I give in and take a good look at the office from so high since Beast is much taller than Dad.

Why was he sitting where Dad sat? Puzzled, I watch him pick up a tiny sweater on an even tinier hanger off his squeaky-clean desk. Not a paper or cheeseburger wrapper in sight.

Beast walks us up a flight of stairs into a small apartment I’ve never been to and goes straight into a bigger bathroom, where he seals us inside and turns on the water faucet for the sink.

“Let’s get you clean and put . . . whatever this is”—he yanks the sweater off the hanger—“on you. Gretchen thinks if you look cute, there’s more of a chance that people will send your photo around, and your owner will find you.”

I’m not wearing that.

Dad never ever ever makes me wear anything fuzzy. This ridiculousness has sparkly stones . You’ve got to be kidding me. Who am I? A fashionista? Absolutely not. The last thing I wore was a service dog vest before my retirement. Ever since that , Dad has only used my favorite harness.

I pull my ears to my head. There is no actual way he would make me wear that, right? I stare at the man then at the sweater. He can wear it if he likes it so much.

“Hope this is safe for dogs.” Beast pours a stream of something clear into the filling sink, and my nose twitches at the familiar scent. Dad smells like this after he takes his showers.

I wiggle in his arms, my paws skimming the surface of the sudsy water, then spread my legs wide to teeter on the porcelain edges. My plan works for all of three seconds, but one paw slips and sinks into the water. I yelp. Bubbles and water spray around the room like wet confetti, and I scramble up Beast’s broad chest, over his shoulder, and down the other side.

He does a poor job of shaking off the excess water and swears like I haven’t heard since Dad left the Marines.

Beast tugs at the hem of his shirt. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Join the club.

He makes that low growling noise again and strips off the drenched shirt. I gawk at his lack of hair. What is it with these humans? Do they have something against fur? Aren’t they cold? This one has hard ridges across his stomach. To my surprise, he peels off his pants as well. I shut my eyes, not wanting to see if he takes off anything more. There are limits, and we just met. Shouldn’t he take me out first?

“There. Happy? Now we’re both having a bath.”

Strong fingers grip my torso, and my eyes can’t resist.

Ah, so he’s a briefs guy. Interesting.

I’m tucked into his hairless chest as he walks past the sink and steps into the shower. He twists a knob, and cold water douses me.

I didn’t want it to be like this, but now I must do it.

I’ll be peeing in his most expensive shoes as soon as he goes to sleep.