Page 8 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

I’m not going to be a victim. I’m not going to quit. I know I have much to be thankful for, including the friends who are coming over to help me mourn.

I just need a few minutes to…remind myself of all this.

I might have fallen asleep, because the sounds of the door opening and closing and voices jerk me to wakefulness. Okay. Time to be brave.

I rub the inner corners of my eyes with my ring fingers, run my hands through my hair, and straighten my shoulders before joining my girls.

“Hey.” Adriana spots me and heads right to me to wrap me in a hug. “What the fuck, Lilly?”

“I know.” I submit to her warm embrace. “ ‘What the fuck’ is right.”

“I can’t believe this,” Maya adds. “Don’t they know who you are?”

“I’m afraid they do, and that’s why they fired me.”

“You said it was because the boss’s wife thought you were having an affair with him,” Carlin says.

“Maybe that was just an excuse.” I shrug and move to the dining table where Carlin has set up a bar. I grab a wineglass and fill it with pinot grigio. “Maybe they just wanted to get rid of me.”

I feel the collective sigh of my friends, because this is a definite possibility.

“Well, fuck them,” Maya says.

“Yeah.” Adriana holds up her glass. “Let’s get drunk and set shit on fire.”

I have to laugh. “Sounds good to me.”

I love my friends. We met in college and formed a bond that has lasted all these years. Okay, it’s not that many years. We’re all twenty-six. But we’ve stood by each other through all kinds of shit—breakups, family deaths and divorce and midlife crises, and my epic career flameout. They’re what’s most important. I’ll get things back on track. Right now I’m going to drink wine and eat Cheetos and let my friends prop me up.

—

I’ve given myself the weekend. I cleaned and organized my bedroom and the kitchen cupboards. I threw out a bunch of crap I don’t need anymore. Now it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m taking Lola for a walk in the park.

Lola is my neighbor Kent’s Jack Russell terrier. While I was out of work, I started walking Lola pretty much every day. Kent works long hours, and Jack Russells need lots of exercise. He was already paying someone to walk her and thought it might as well be me, since I needed the money and had the time, and I love him for that. I also love Lola. I love dogs in general. I also volunteer at an animal shelter once a week.

A couple of neighbors saw me walking Lola and asked me to walk their dogs too, which I was happy to do and it makes me a few extra dollars.

There’s a park at the end of my street and I head that way. It’s a nice fall day—in fact it’s gorgeous. The sky is a brilliant blue, the trees are turning, and the sun is illuminating the leaves into glowing gold, fiery red, and rust brown. A few leaves layer the path in the park and it’s so pretty.

Lola and I are strolling along the path when out of nowhere a dog appears, bounding up to us and jumping Lola.

I let out a scream. “Lola!” I pull on the leash and dash toward them to rescue her from being demolished by the other dog. Okay, okay, it’s a smallish dog, just a pup, but still, he’s aggressive. And Lola’s not happy either, growling and snarling. Oh my God, it’s a dog fight! What do I do?

I hear a man yelling, “Otis! Come back! Jesus, Otis, stop.”

Lola is snapping and barking, but the other dog doesn’t get the message, still jumping her and pawing at her. His tail is wagging wildly, although it’s not much of a tail, just a furry little quivery stub. His tongue lolls out of his jowly mouth. Lola is freaked out, and so am I.

But I have to save her.

I try to pick her up, prepared to feel the other dog’s teeth sink into my arm. She’s squirming and jumping so much I can’t get hold of her and I’m grabbing air and stumbling around, and then I fall on my ass.

Then Lola jumps the other dog, trying to pin him. Now I’m worried she’s going to killhim.

The yelling man sprints up and grabs the leash dragging behind the dog. “Shit, shit, shit,” he growls. He seizes the dog’s collar and pulls him away from Lola. He glares at Lola. “What the hell?”

“What the hell is right!” Anger flares inside me. “What is your dog doing off the leash?” I demand. I grab Lola’s leash and tug her toward me, pulling her into my lap where I’m sitting on the grass.

“He’s on a leash! He yanked it out of my hands when he saw your dog.”

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