Page 36 of Mistletoe Misses
“She’s never been alone. What if something happens?” Dottie continues to fret. “What if she injures a paw? Who will brush outthe knots in her fur or take her for her daily walks? What if she needs something or gets lonely?”
She’s pacing through the forest now, conjuring up all the ways Trixie’s routine could be disrupted. Is that really so earth-shattering? It’s just a dog. Aren’t pets supposed to adapt to their owner’s life, not the other way around?
“I should cancel my trip. Thanks for coming, Maddox, but I’m going to call my daughter, and—”
“Don’t.” What am I doing? She gave me a way out. Take it, stupid. Take it and run. “If you’re okay with her hanging out with me at the bookshop and at Mom and Dad’s, I’ll take her.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her shoulders slump and relief spills down her cheeks. Yep, I’m the biggest pushover there is. “That’s just fine. She’ll be a good girl for you. Won’t you, princess?” She snuggles faces with Trixie and accepts all the doggy kisses she wants to give.
Then, Dottie launches herself into my arms, making Trixie yelp. She’s less thrilled about being pressed against my sweaty body than Dottie seems to be. She lingers like she’s searching for reassurance that I won’t let her down. I hope I don’t, but it seems to happen even when I try not to these days.
“You two get to know each other while I go print out your instructions.”
She hands over Trixie and leaves me standing there like a fool, wondering what in the heck I do now.
???
Two hours of doggy details and witnessing Dottie and Trixie’s multiple agonizing attempts to say goodbye later, I climb into the truck with the miniature dog in tow, weakened from guiding them both through it. If Dottie’s over-the-top fretting and pagesof instructions tell me anything, it’s that her little companion can’t be left alone.Ever.
It could be worse, I guess. At least she’s cute.
Driving back to the bookshop, the tiny dog sits on a fluffy pink bed in the passenger seat. Her round, black eyes peek through a soft, white mane of fur, giving off sad, tentative vibes—like she’s not convinced she’ll survive the week.
“Give me some credit, will ya? I’m responsible for lives and other irreplaceable things all the time at work.”
But never something as delicate as me, she seems to argue with a slow blink.
“You’ll be okay.”
Parking in the back, I scoop up Trixie in her bed and grab the large bag of toys, food, and supplies Dottie prepared to help make Princess Trixie comfortable in her new digs. She never vacates her spot in the corner of the room while I paint doors and baseboard trim unless I force her outside to do her business. So far, so good. I’ve got this.
By the time Sadie comes home from school, I’ve painted the living room and kitchen, saving her wall under the bar for last. The queen plays with the princess more than she paints, and I end up finishing that wall as well, but I don’t mind. Her endless questioning and giggles while the dog chases her through the apartment make the work far less lonesome.
Given my usual temperament, I should prefer the quiet solitude over a kid and dog underfoot. With both here, turns out, I don’t. I’m not annoyed or counting the minutes until Sadie finds something else to do. Instead, I find myself searching for reasons to keep her with me longer. We have so much fun, I don’t realize the sun has gone down until Carmen finds us in the back after closing the store.
“What’s going on here?” she asks, surprising us.
“Momma, I’m painting.”
“I see, and you’re doing a fantastic job.”
“I’m helping with Trixie, too.” She pets Trixie, who hasn’t left her side since she arrived.
“Why is she here?”
Sadie turns to me for the answer, realizing she’d been too excited to ask earlier.
“Nana volunteered me to dog-sit.”
“You know she has separation anxiety, right?” Concern, either for me or the dog—I can’t tell—hovers in her tone.
“I heard … after the fact.”
“Not good.”
“It’s fine.”
“Sadie, are you ready for dinner? I picked up pizza.”
