“You could have waited until I put the stuff in there,” I said through the door as my heart thundered in my ears. I took a steadying breath and heard the water turn on, the clink of his dog tag hitting the sink, then the shower curtain move.
Who would have thought he would even know how to use a shower? I hadn’t. On the way home, I’d started to think of all the different things I would need to explain, like making sure to position the curtain inside the tub. Standing outside the door, still reeling from the view I’d gotten, I realized I might see the same thing again if I didn’t get him a towel.
I’d packed two bath towels. Purchased from a discount store, they both sported gaudy floral designs. I grabbed one and waited outside the door again until I heard him splashing in the shower. Then, I knocked.
“I have a towel for you,” I said through the door. “If you’re still in the shower, I can open the door and toss it on the toilet seat. Okay?” I didn’t hear anything. No surprise. “Okay, I’m coming in.” I waited a moment for any indication that I shouldn’t enter.
When the water continued to run, I cautiously opened the door. As soon as I saw a clear path to the toilet seat, I tossed the towel. Standing just inside the bathroom with my hand wrapped around the door handle for a quick exit, I paused. His new toothbrush rested on the sink.
“My toothpaste is the one marked with the pink nail polish on the cap. I’ll let you use it as long as you promise not to squeeze the tube from the middle.”
His answer took the form of an accurately aimed splash of water over the top of the shower curtain. I barely dodged it.
“You’re cleaning that up.”
I closed the door, grabbed a book, and went to the couch to wait. I hoped he would use the towel before he turned back into a dog. He’d make a mess if he shook out in there. After a minute, I actually opened the book and started to read.
Several minutes later, the water turned off. With my attention divided between listening and trying to associate an action to each sound I heard, I couldn’t concentrate on my book. A moment of silence. Then running water. It sounded like the sink. Brushing his teeth? Then silence again. It remained quiet until I heard the doorknob turn. Quickly, I held the book higher to block my view, just in case he chose not to wear his fur...or the towel. A chuffing bark, apparently his dog version of a laugh, had me lowering my comically high book.
He strolled over by me and hopped up on the couch. Incredibly, his fur looked even fluffier.
“Don’t get too comfortable, I don’t know Rachel’s rules about pets on the furniture.” I curled my legs under me to give him more room.
Forgetting myself, I leaned over to smell him.
“Much better,” I said straightening. At his intense look, I went back to reading my book and pretended I hadn’t just leaned over and smelled a man. We stayed like that, side by side in companionable silence, until lunch when both our stomachs rumbled.
On the way to the kitchen, I noticed his wet towel on the bathroom floor.
“Next time, fold it over the edge of the tub,” I said. The bathroom lacked any other available space to hang a towel, and I didn’t want his towel hung in my room, either. That seemed a little too domestic.
I made us both dry ham sandwiches. Dry because I’d refused to pay four dollars for a miniature jar of mayo.
“I’m guessing your bowl of dog food will always be full,” I said as I set his plated sandwich on the floor. Sitting at the table, I started to eat my own sandwich. He finished his in two bites.
“So, we have a week before my classes start up. What’s your plan?”
He cocked his head at me.
“Did you want to try to enroll in any classes? Study anything?”
He lay down on the floor next to his empty plate, eyeing it sadly.
“Okay...well, if you change your mind, let me know.”
I washed our dishes and went back to reading. Eventually, he joined me on the couch.
Later that night, Rachel breezed into the house and tossed her keys and purse on the table. She had a manly spiked collar in her hand along with a leash.
From my position on the couch, I watched her kneel down next to Clay, who stood near his bowl of water. I wasn’t sure, but she appeared to have interrupted his contemplation of drinking from the bowl. The thought made me smile.
Trying to ignore the pair, I focused on my book. Shuffling movements sounded from the kitchen. Rachel mumbled something that was too quiet to hear. When the noises didn’t stop, I went to investigate.
“This is a joke,” she said. She knelt in front of Clay, face to muzzle, trying to get the collar on him.
I laughed from the doorway as I watched them struggle. She would wrap her arms around his neck to buckle the collar, and he would duck or shift to avoid her but he never got up and walked away. I caught a twinkle of amusement in his canine eyes.
I knew Rachel wouldn’t give up getting a real collar on him. He needed proof of license. Yet, he appeared very determined to avoid the collar. It served him right. He was the one who chose to be a dog.
Rachel mumbled again, and I decided to take pity on her. I knew how to reason with him. If Clay ever wanted to leave the house with me, he had to have a collar. I just needed to point that out.
“Here.” I held out my hand. “I’ll try.”
“Good luck,” she said with a laugh as she got off her knees and handed me the collar. She took my position in the doorway.
“It was the biggest collar they had. I don’t even know if it fits, he won’t let me get close enough.”
With a half-smile on my face, I knelt in front of Clay. I liked that he had a sense of humor when he interacted with Rachel. It made having him in the house tolerable...almost. I looked him in the eye.
“Clay, if you want to be able to go anywhere with us, you need a collar we can clip a leash on. Not just the twine you have holding your tag around your neck.”
He didn’t move so I leaned forward and reached for the string that held his current joke of a tag. He held still for me while I removed the twine and replaced it with the real collar.
“At least it’s not pink,” I said and patted him before I realized what I was doing. I’d forgotten myself again and treated him like a dog.
I quickly stood and avoided Clay’s direct gaze.
Rachel laughed. “Hey, I wouldn’t do that to him. No pink for our man. I don’t know why he sat still for you and not me.”
I’d forgotten about Rachel. She moved to pet and praise him for his good behavior. If I wanted a chance of having a friend as a roommate, I knew I needed to deal with Clay as a pet. But, I needed to watch myself. The direction of my thoughts—his assumed permanent residency in the house—troubled me. Making him comfortable and buying him a license wouldn’t help me get rid of him.
Rachel gave him a kiss, and he sighed. Maybe, he’d grow tired of her affection and run back to Canada. I held onto that happy thought.
“He’s moody,” I said, looking into his eyes. Moody and stubborn with a quirky sense of humor. Not a good combination.
Chapter 8
As soon as Rachel sufficiently praised Clay for wearing the collar, she went to her room to change. From her room, she asked if I wanted to join her for a girl’s night out. She explained she typically didn’t stay in too much; when not busy working, her social life called. Still too unsure of our relationship—I didn’t want to risk having someone Rachel might be interested in hitting on me—I declined. Thankfully, turning down her invitation didn’t seem to bother her.
While Rachel exceeded my expectations as a roommate, adjusting to Clay’s presence was something else entirely. When I woke Tuesday, Rachel was already gone. Clay still lingered at the foot of my bed.