Page 27 of Situationship
Teagan checked under the table, in the kitchen area, where sometimes the dog licked the floor, and in the living room. No four-legged companion.
“GD,” she called out. “I’ve got a cookie for you.”
Cookie, treats, yum-yums were also at the very top of his list. But Teagan heard nothing. No skidding of nails on wood, no rhinos pounding down the stairs, not even a single bark.
Panic grabbed her by the throat as she turned toward the back kitchen door—the same door through which Harley had departed. Which was cracked open.
“Nonono.” In one fluid motion, Teagan was out of the chair and—in slipper-clad feet—racing down the steps of the deck.
She looked right then left. No sign of her dog. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “GD, come here, buddy. GD.”
Still nothing. She started south, knowing that three doors down, Mr. Jessup, who liked to fish early, sometimes left his smoker open when he was making salmon jerky. Last week, Garbage Disposal chewed through a double layer, leak-proof, break-proof plastic cooler and scarfed down five pounds of salmon jerky, then threw it all up on Teagan’s bed.
“GD,” she called out, her voice getting lost in the sound of the surf. “GD!”
That’s when she saw him, at the base of Mr. Jessup’s deck, nose deep in the sand, inhaling whatever smoked scraps he could find. She put her fingers between her teeth and blew. “You get over here, Mr. Man!”
Garbage Disposal’s head popped up and, with a smile that said he found the whole moment thrilling, loped over.
“Stop!” She put her hand out like Colin.
Garbage Disposal did not stop. In fact, he picked up speed. Teagan considered rushing him, the way one was supposed to do when confronted by a bear, but since her dog was a brick wall with elephant feet, she braced herself for impact.
The force was like a wrecking ball, knocking her over, thankfully, in the sand. Garbage Disposal licked her face as if it had been an eternity since he’d seen her. And for once, she didn’t mind the slobbery kisses.
“I missed you, too.”
Garbage Disposal made acackingsound followed by exactly three dry heaves. Teagan tried to roll out of the way. Too late. He gave one final heave and yacked up everything he’d eaten. On her top.
“Come. On,” she groaned, standing and snapping the hem of her shirt, watching the majority of the regurgitated breakfast fling onto the sand. Salmon jerky, doggie kibble, sand, and—“Is that my thong?”
He looked up at her, all innocent puppy face. A feeling of urgency she couldn’t explain hammered against her chest.
“Sand!” She’d read an article explaining that, like grapes and chocolate, sand could be deadly for dogs, depending on how much they ate. “Come here, buddy.”
Garbage Disposal looked as if he were having a crisis of faith as he had to choose between obeying the keeper of the treats and heading for the hills. He was reacting to her panic, so she took a calming breath to lower her heart rate.
Calm used to be her old stomping ground. Back before becoming a mom, she’d relied on her cool-as-a-cucumber levelheadedness to keep her world spinning. Nowadays, calm was such a rarity, she’d come to rely on order.
“I need to look in your mouth.”
The dopey dog disguise vanished, leaving a calculating creature who’d clearly had her bamboozled. Locking his gaze with hers, Garbage Disposal zigged right then zagged left, shifting the weight between his front legs, and Teagan recognized the scent of rebellion.
“Don’t you dare.”
Oh, he dared, barking three times, then taking off past her up the beach. Slippers forgotten, Teagan set off after him, her feet sinking into the soft sand while little seashells were pushed into her soles. It took her six houses to realize she was outmaneuvered and outmatched.
Harley had been the athlete of the family, Teagan the strategist. It was the battle between right brain and left brain. Teagan played to her strengths and tapped into those mom skills that had pulled her through the past year.
She stopped and waited, then let out another ear-piercing whistle. Two houses later, Garbage Disposal glanced over his shoulder, panting with sheer abandon, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth—her thong dangling from his lower teeth. He leapt in the air, doing a one-eighty on the landing. He repeated his earlier zigzag move, but Teagan held her ground. The next bark was a question:What happened toCatch Me If You Can, doggie edition?
“Who wants a cookie?” she sang. “Mommy’s got cookies.”
Garbage Disposal barked so happily his body left the ground; then he raced straight toward her. Right as he was about to shoot past her toward the treat jar in the pantry, she grabbed his collar and dug her heels into the sand.
He pulled her a good foot before they came to a slow stop. Not wanting to give him the upper hand, she mounted him the way Poppy had, holding him down. “Drop the thong, you panty raider, and show me your mouth!”
When he did no such thing, she pried it open. Other than deathly breath, she couldn’t tell if he was in danger of sand poisoning.
