Page 49 of Pour Decisions
“Yeah, I think.” She grips the strap of her purse. She’s changed into snug jeans and a t-shirt that molds to her body like a second skin. “Nice shirt, by the way.”
“I had to wear it,” I say.
“I bet.” She bites her lip, like she’s trying to hold back her smile. “I’m so stealing it later.”
The image of her in only my t-shirt makes all my blood rush south. Even Bubba’s goofy picture on this shirt couldn’t turn me off.
The photographer motions for me to come get Bubba once the crowd watching him getting his picture taken disperses. Someone put a birthday hat on his head and he isn’t shaking it off yet. Seeing Katrina, he trots up to her, tail wagging hard.She grins and squats down, letting Bubba bury his nose into her armpit.
We wander around, grabbing something to eat from the snack booth, until it’s time for Bubba’s birthday cake tasting. Five contestants baked him cakes made of dog-safe ingredients for him to “judge” His judging consisted of wolfing everything down indiscriminately, so I give the award to a kid who made the cake with his grandma.
We stop and chat with people who want to meet Bubba (and by we, I mean Katrina does most of the talking) and look at some of the adoptable dogs.
“The magic show for dogs and their friends is starting in five minutes. Five minutes until we blow every dog’s mind,” Wes says through a bullhorn someone mistakenly gave him.
“I have to see this,” Katrina says with a laugh.
“It’s going to be him doing some magic tricks to disinterested dogs,” I say, following her.
Bubba follows us, stopping to sniff everything as we pass. Eventually we reach the patch of grass where Wes is sitting on the ground, circled by dogs and their owners. Murphy is laying next to him, passed out asleep.
“Alright,” Wes says to the group. “Are we ready for some magic?”
The handful of people around him clap halfheartedly. Murphy audibly farts and wakes up with a stir, barking at a tiny Yorkie behind him, like she snuck into his ass and passed the gas for him. Katrina and most of the crowd laughs.
Yeah, Murphy is an easy mark for a magic trick.
“Murph, chill,” Wes says with a laugh, pulling a ball out of his pocket. “We’ll just do a few tricks.”
To my surprise, dogs besides Murphy are intrigued by Wes’s sleight of hand. It doesn’t hurt that a lot of his tricks involvesecret treats and making toys appear out of thin air. Bubba loves it too.
“Thanks everyone. Don’t forget to drop a donation at the trailer over there or check out the adoptable pets,” Wes says. The crowd claps, and Murphy looks around excitedly even though he didn’t actually do anything but eat treats. “And happy birthday to Bubba.”
The crowd wanders off to other things, with a few people saying hello to Bubba. All in all, it looks like everyone is having a good time and the turnout is bigger than I thought it would be. All for a dog’s birthday.
“I’m all for the shelter having an event to get as many pets adopted as possible, but the birthday part…” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong with the birthday party?” she asks, her brows furrowing as she bends to adjust Bubba’s birthday hat.
“Dogs can’t celebrate their birthday.”
“Why not?” Kat asks, her lips pressed to the edge of her can of moonshine margarita. “He’s literally doing it right now.”
“Because he’s a dog?” I look down at him. He looks up at me and his tongue slides around to dangle out of the side of his mouth.
“Again, why not? Who’s to say that humans are the only ones who can have birthday parties?” She gives me an amused glance over the rim of her can. “Whales might have birthday parties since they’re complex, social creatures. We don’t know. Maybe they go into trenches and party it up.”
She kind of has a point, but I don’t want to cede to it.
“He doesn’t have a sense of time passing like that,” I say. “He barely has a concept of time, period, beyond knowing when it’s time to eat or go out or go to bed.”
She snorts just as she’s taking a sip and sprays her drink all over her face. “He doesn’t have a sense oftime?That’syour argument?”
“Yes.” Sort of. I just like the way she’s laughing, so I want to keep it going.
“Okay, tell that to every baby with a first birthday party.” She dries her face with the back of her hand. “Does he have to do his dog PhD in space-time physics to qualify for a birthday party? Defend his thesis in how time is relative when your human leaves to get the mail or goes to work?”
She’s teasing me, I know, and I can’t help but smile. Genuinely smile. The urge to scoop her up and kiss her, drawing her laughter out longer, is so overwhelming that I barely keep a hold of myself.
