Chapter 7
Gage
And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so?
~ Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
Life’s different today.
For one thing, I woke up with someone in my bed.
And now I have a shadow wherever I go—a wiry, mangy, scrawny shadow.
At least he’s not as bad off as he was yesterday at the kennel.
I got some special soap and conditioner they make for dogs and washed him.
Left the conditioner on for five minutes just to let it really do the job.
I probably got taken down the road on that deal. Why can’t dogs use human shampoo and conditioner? They’ve got hair and skin just like us. It’s not like he’s a reptile. Though, from the looks of him, he may have ancestors who were dinosaurs.
“Sorry, Toothpick,” I say to the mutt sitting on the kitchen floor at my feet. “If you can read minds, I bet you didn’t like that last thought. You seem like you can read minds.”
I flip the omelette onto my plate and turn off the burner. Then I take my breakfast to the table. Toothpick trails behind me at close range.
“Personal space, buddy,” I remind him for the tenth or twentieth time this morning.
His tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth and one of his eyes pops in the same direction.
Just one of the eyes—his right one. Leave it to me to get a lazy-eyed, rangy, unsightly mutt of a dog.
I always pictured myself with a hunting dog—even though I don’t hunt.
He’d be the kind of dog that was sharp as a tack, obedient and the envy of all the other dogs.
“No offense, buddy, but no one envies you.”
His eye snaps back in line and he looks up at me with this adoring expression.
I don’t care if I wanted a hunting dog. Sometimes we don’t get what we expect in life. This dog and I were meant to find one another. At least that’s what I think.
“We’ve both been a little lost,” I tell Toothpick. “But together, we’re not so bad off.”
I take a bite. The flavors hit just right.
“Oh! Before I forget,” I tell Toothpick. “I know you think you get to sleep in bed with me. But last night was a one-off thing. You can’t just take over a man’s house and his bed.” I shake my head. And then I add, “Show some respect.”
Toothpick lifts his paw, sets it on my lap and cocks his head.
“Ah no. Those eyes aren’t going to change my mind.” I take another bite and swallow it. “That pouty thing you’re doing? No. Not working. See this face? It’s the face of a man completely unaffected by you.”
The front door opens. Toothpick looks in the direction of the door and then at me. I like that he doesn't go bonkers barking. He’s waiting to see what I do. Smart dog.
“What you lack in looks, you make up for in brains,” I tell him.
“Hey!” Mitch shouts. “You home?”
“Yeah, in the kitchen!” I shout back.
“Who’s here with you?” Mitch asks, his voice growing closer.
“No one, why?” I answer at a more normal volume.
“I heard you talking,” Mitch says, walking into the kitchen.
“Must have been the TV.” I stare at Mitch and take another bite.
“Bro, the TV is off—and in the other room. Hey! When did you get a dog? Wait. Is that the dog from yesterday?”
“It is. Toothpick, meet Mitch. Mitch, meet Toothpick.”
“Toothpick? That’s his name?”
“I didn’t name him.”
“You can rename him.”
“No. He got named already.”
“Well, I hate to say it, but the name fits him.”
“Not for long. Pretty soon we’re going to have to start calling him Popeye. Or Brutus. Or Arnold.”
“Arnold?”
“Schwarzenegger. He’s going to be so buff he’ll look like the Mr. World of dogs.”
“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Mitch asks. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s actually awesome.”
“I don’t know. I’m not exactly in a good mood. Just not in a bad one.”
“I’ll take it,” Mitch says with a smile. He plops down in the chair across from me, picks up my fork, cuts off a big chunk of omelette and pops it in his mouth. “Man that’s good,” he says around his stolen bite.
“Have the rest,” I offer, pushing the plate in his direction.
“Really?” He doesn’t hesitate, just digs in. “Man, you can cook. I’ll give you that.”
“What are you doing today?” I stand and walk to the fridge, pulling out some berries and a yogurt.
Toothpick follows me and sits at my heels while I pull down a bowl.
“Didn’t you get the text?” Mitch asks.
“Nah. I don’t check my phone this early on weekends.”
“Seriously?”
“Not unless I have a flight lesson. Why? What’s up?”
“We’ve got that scavenger hunt this morning.”
I look down at Toothpick. “I don’t think I can leave him alone so soon. He might have abandonment issues.”
“Gage? You’re kidding, right? The dog obviously lived on the streets and in the woods for a while. He can stay home one morning. Stop making excuses. We need you. Our group had eight people. Jennifer’s family has a thing. We can’t go in pairs of two without you.”
“How does this hinge on me? If you back out, they’ll be six. Problem solved.”
Mitch leans back, setting his fork on his empty plate. “Gage.”
“Fine. I’ll go. Let me just get Toothpick a chewy bone so he’s distracted while I’m away.”
“What are you going to do with him when you have to leave all day for work?”
“I hired someone.”
“You hired a dogsitter?”
I stand, grab my bowl and rinse it in the sink. Some questions don’t require answers.
While Mitch rinses his plate—after I remind him to—I set Toothpick up on his dog bed at the foot of my bed with the chewy bone. He already knows how to sit, stay and lie down. Someone owned this dog at one point. I wonder what happened.
I tell Toothpick to stay. He looks at me and jumps up onto my bed with the bone, turns in one circle and plops down right next to my pillow.
“We’re going to have a talk about this bed,” I tell him. “This is not over.”
He stares up at me with those soft eyes. I shut mine. He whimpers just the slightest.
I open my eyes, reach out and scruff the top of his head.
“You’re not in trouble, buddy. You just need to learn where you’re allowed to be in this house.” I add, “Good boy,” for good measure. “You’re a very good boy. I bet you’ve seen a whole lotta life. Go ahead. Sit on my bed—today.”
When I walk back out into the living room, Mitch is standing next to my front door, arms crossed, shaking his head.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He smiles. “Nothing at all.”
The scavenger hunt has no purpose—whatsoever. Why I let my friends loop me into meaningless community activities, I’ll never know. At least the fun run collected toys for kids. The pet adoption obviously found homes for needy animals. This? Pure, unadulterated ridiculousness.
We meet up with Carson and Liam.
Noelle, Alyssa, Stephanie and Tori are here too.
“We’ve already called teams,” Liam says. “I’m with Noelle, obviously. Carson and Alyssa are together. We put you with Stephanie, Mitch. And Gage, you’re with Tori.”
Was I hoping to be paired with Tori? I guess I was.
She looks at me with an openness to her expression, like a welcome mat, as if she’s not even the least bit upset that we’ve been paired together.
I smile at her. Her eyes widen a little more and then she gives me a smile that can’t be described. It’s like the warmth of early summer sun hitting your skin when you step out from an air-conditioned movie theater. I feel that smile everywhere.
“Gage adopted that dog,” Mitch announces to the group.
“You … ?” Tori looks up at me. “Adopted?”
“I did. Toothpick.” I mention the name she gave him.
“You named him Toothpick?” Tori asks, her voice quiet as if her question is only meant for my ears.
Her brows knit together, but there's a flicker of something soft in her eyes. Her mouth parts slightly, as if she’s about to ask a question or say something—but then she doesn’t.
“Nah,” Mitch says before I can answer. “The dog was already named.”
“Oh,” Tori says, smiling a private smile at me.
“Yeah. I figured the name fit, so I kept it.”
“Good call,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “How did he do overnight? The first night can be rough in an unfamiliar setting.”
Our friends start chatting about strategies for the scavenger hunt, leaving me to talk to Tori one-on-one on the sidelines of their huddle.
“He did well.” I pause. “He actually climbed up into my bed.”
She smiles. No judgment.
“I’ll get him down—eventually.”
“You don’t have to,” she says softly.
“This guy on YouTube said I shouldn’t let the dog sleep with me. I mean, he’s bathed and everything. Even had conditioner. But it’s not good for the power dynamic.”
“You bathed him?”
“Mm hmm.” I look away, over toward the gazebo.
“That’s so sweet.”
“He needed it. He was clean, but his hair was so stiff. The conditioner worked wonders.”
“Really?” She looks like she doesn’t believe me.
“You could come see for yourself.” I mean the sentence as a point of proof, but once it’s out of my mouth, it feels like a cheesy pickup line a guy would use to get a woman to come over to his place.
“I mean, you don’t have to. He’s not as soft as that puppy you were holding.
Nowhere near. But he’s softer—and whiter—than he was. ”
“I’d love to see that,” Tori says with an easy smile.
“Anytime,” I offer, surprising myself.
I’m one of those my-house-is-my-haven types of people.
I don’t even want Mitch or Carson popping by unannounced.
Liam could. He mostly wouldn’t. But the idea of Tori popping in like the sun bursting through on an otherwise cloudy day, like that one patch of flowers that dares to bloom when the snow hasn’t completely melted?
Yeah. For some reason, I’m not hating that idea.
Besides, Toothpick would love to see her.