“Good boy,” I say softly, petting him gently. He lifts his head from the empty dish, looks at me briefly, and then glances away. He plops his butt down and lets me continue to pet him, but he avoids making eye contact, clearly letting me take on the role of alpha dog.
After a few minutes I stop petting him and he looks at me again, his tail stepping up its rhythm. I pick up the empty container and stand, expecting him to run off, but he stays at my feet. I walk over to the Dumpster and toss the empty container inside. I’m surprised to see the pup has followed and when I turn to head back to my car, he stays on my tail.
When I reach the door to the hearse, the pup sits down at my feet and looks up at me with those huge, chocolate-brown eyes, his rump wiggling with excitement.
“What?” I say, and the rump wiggles faster. “Don’t you have a home?” Judging from his condition and the lack of a collar, I doubt he does, and those beseeching eyes are starting to tug at my heartstrings. I consider trying to take him to a nearby shelter but in the back of my mind I worry that if I do, it will be a death sentence for him.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I tell him. His butt wiggles with tail-wagging delight. “If you want to come home with me for tonight, you can.” His butt moves even faster, as if he understands me. “But it’s only temporary, just until I can find you a home, okay?” He bobs his head and pants happily and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he just nodded his agreement.
I turn to open the door to the hearse and faster than I can say “okay,” the pup is sitting in the front passenger seat, tongue lolling, his face showing the first light of real happiness.
I slide in behind the wheel and the pup’s excitement reaches a tail-wagging crescendo. “Settle down,” I tell him, and amazingly he does. “Remember, this is only temporary.”
He leans over, nuzzles my ear with his warm, wet nose, and then licks my cheek. It’s the most affectionate, nonsexual gesture anyone has shown me in a very long time and it totally melts my heart.
“Crap,” I mutter as I start up the engine. “I really need to stay away from garbage Dumpsters.”
Chapter 40
I’m a little worried about how Rubbish is going to deal with the addition of this new boarder so I make the pup stay in the car while I carry my groceries inside. Rubbish greets me at the door as usual, winding his way around my feet and purring up a storm. As soon as I set my purchases on the kitchen counter, I scoop Rubbish up, nuzzle him for a few seconds, and then promptly shut him inside my bedroom. Then I go back to the car.
I wonder if the pup will try to run once I let him out but he stays dutifully at my heels and follows me inside without hesitation. I lead him out to the kitchen and give him a bowl of water, which he makes disappear in about five seconds flat. After giving him a refill, I put my groceries away and rummage through the cupboards and fridge for something else to feed him. I figure as hungry as the little guy obviously is, it will be better if I fill him up before he meets Rubbish, lest he try to eat him.
There’s not much to offer but I manage to find a couple of hot dogs and some peanut butter. I cut each of the hot dogs into four pieces and then mix them in a bowl with some peanut butter, figuring the gooey consistency will force the pup to eat a little slower. But it has no such effect. The bowl is emptied in ten seconds flat.
“Wow,” I say to him as he looks up at me gratefully, licking his chops. “That’s impressive. Even I can’t suck food up that fast. You’re like a vacuum cleaner.”
A faint mewing sound emanates from the other room—Rubbish letting me know he wants out. The pup hears it too, and cocks his head from side to side a few times before heading into the living room to investigate. I follow him, watching him track his way to the bedroom door with his nose to the floor. When he reaches it, he sniffs at the crack beneath it, then suddenly jumps back, scared by something.
From beneath the door I see one long furry paw extending into the living room. It feels around a bit, then disappears. It returns seconds later—with the claws pointed upward this time—and wraps itself around the door.
The pup makes a leaping lunge toward the paw and then quickly backs away from it, letting out a yippy bark. His tail is wagging, his ears are pricked, and his eyes are totally focused. Rubbish, clearly not intimidated by the action and noise on the other side of the door, extends his paw even more. I watch the two of them play at this game for a minute or so and then decide it’s time for introductions.
I tell the pup, “Sit.” I move toward him, expecting I will need to push him into a sitting position so he learns what the word means, but to my amazement, he takes a step back, sits, and looks at me.
Rubbish is still feeling around with his paw, but as soon as I crack the door, he withdraws it and appears at the opening. He looks out at the pup, who looks back at him and then at me. The pup whimpers a little, wags his tail, and starts to get up, but when I tell him to stay, he does. Clearly, judging from his knowledge of basic commands, the dog isn’t just a stray. I realize I’ll need to do a lost-and-found ad and surprisingly, the idea depresses me. The little furball has already wormed his way into my heart.
Shoving the ad thought aside, I open the bedroom door wider and let Rubbish out. He stands his ground for a minute, studying the new intruder, and even tries a tentative hiss, turning sideways and arching his back. The pup looks from Rubbish to me several times, whimpering in an excited but friendly manner. I repeat the stay command and he does, but it’s obvious it’s killing him to do so.
Rubbish is curious, too, but seems determined not to show it. He ventures a little closer and then turns away and heads for the kitchen as if he couldn’t care less that another furry, four-legged critter is in the house. As soon as Rubbish disappears into the kitchen, I follow, calling the pup to come along with me. This time I let him approach Rubbish, who tolerates a brief butt sniff before turning and smacking the pup across the nose with his paw. Can’t say I blame him. I’d probably smack anyone who tried to sniff my butt, too.
Rubbish takes off running and the pup follows. The two of them race into the bathroom, where I hear a familiar thump-ump sound. It’s Rubbish entering his favorite hiding place: the floor cabinet beneath my sink. I find the pup sitting in front of the cabinet door, his head cocked sideways, staring at it and whining.
I figure that as long as I have the pup in the bathroom, I might as well take advantage of the fact to bathe him. I shut the door to the room, closing all of us inside. Then I start filling the tub.
Fifteen minutes later, both the pup and I are soaked and Rubbish is sitting on top of the sink cabinet rather than in it, looking at us both with disdain. The pup’s true color, which is a nice shade of blond that nearly matches my own, is revealed. I towel the dog off and as I’m starting to clean up the water mess, he walks over to the bathroom door and whines. I open it, thinking he just wants out, but he heads for the front door and repeats his behavior. Finally catching on, I walk over and let him out to do his business.
I make a mental note to pick up a collar and leash for him in the morning, though he makes no attempt to wander and returns to the house as soon as he’s done. I spend the next fifteen minutes blowing him dry and then shower myself.
Less than an hour later I am in bed, with a furry body cuddled on either side of me. And I have to confess, it feels nice to be sharing my bed again, even if it is with creatures who have four legs instead of three.