Read Online Must Love Dogs: New Leash on Life by Claire Cook - Free Book Online
Authors: Claire Cook
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made me look like a post-coital raccoon. I 'd yet to leave any toiletries in John's bathroom, any clothes in his closet. Besides the fact that Horatio would probably have chewed them to pieces by now just to spite me, leaving a mere toothbrush behind felt like such a brazen declaration that I'd be coming back.
An extra robe or a T-shirt was even worse. It was the kind of thing that could jinx the chances for a long-term relationship. Not to mention that it just reeked of those clichéd things you read about women doing to get one foot in the door, to be partially moved in before the poor unsuspecting guy realizes it.
Still, it's not like you could show up to teach geek charm school rolling a cute little suitcase filled with fresh undies. So to save myself from doing a walk of shame back to Marshbury—same clothes, new day—I'd buried the bare essentials way in the bottom of my biggest shoulder bag. It was appropriately named, since by the time I finished lugging it all over the city, I could feel the weight of it wearing a new groove in my shoulder.
Horatio hit the door again.
"Let me know when you're ready to come out," John yelled, "and I'll make sure I'm holding him. Maybe that will help."
Relationships, two-footed and four-footed alike, were just too damn complicated. For the first time it occurred to me that this could be a really long season. It was only June and we 'd already hit the dog days of summer.
Chapter
Nine
My father was girlfriendless for Sunday dinner. This was far more unusual than having a strange woman, or even two or three, open the heavy oak door to welcome me into my family home.
I let myself in with the tarnished brass key I 'd had since junior high and headed straight for the kitchen. I knew I'd find everyone there. Sure enough, my father was hunched over his ancient manual typewriter at the old pine trestle table, two-finger typing on a thick sheet of ivory paper. I kissed him on the top of his head.
" Sarry, my darlin' daughter, it's good to see your smiling face," he said without looking up. "Can you check a wee bit of spelling for me once I've finished?"
" Sure, Dad," I said. "I'd love to."
Christine looked up from snipping a stalk of rosemary over the pork roast with the kitchen shears. "Why does Sarah get to check your spelling? I'm the one who placed three times at the state spelling bee."
Carol looked up from the potatoes she was peeling. "And she still has the trophies to prove it."
Christine glared at her. "What's wrong with that? We have a trophy case. It came with the house."
Carol rolled her eyes as she turned to me. "Where's Jack?"
" He wanted to spend some time with his dog," I said.
Everybody turned to look at me.
"Don't say it," I said.
" We wouldn't think of it." My brother Billy shook his head. "But I can't believe he calls you his dog. That's harsh. I mean, his teddy bear maybe—"
" Or even his honey bunny," Christine said
I was still watching my father. "Dad, don't you think it might be time to upgrade to a computer? You know, try a little email . . .."
He combed one hand through his long white mane. "Never. Not as long as a single solitary mailman is still reporting for duty—"
" But," I said.
He hit another key, back-spaced , then hit it again, harder. "Trudging through rain and snow and sleet and hail—"
" But," I said again.
" Just because the rest of the world has gone to hell in a hand basket, my darling daughter, doesn't mean Billy Hurlihy has to jump on the next train. Jesus, Mary, and what's his name, where in tarnation did that W go?"
I glanced over at the rest of my family, thinking a little bit of backup on the computer issue might be nice. Michael was busy chopping onion, tears streaming down his cheeks. I could only hope it would be therapeutic.
My niece Siobhan was peeling carrots next to him. "Uncle Michael, I'm not kidding. Wearing socks with your topsiders is social suicide. You'll never get a date."
We all stopped what
An extra robe or a T-shirt was even worse. It was the kind of thing that could jinx the chances for a long-term relationship. Not to mention that it just reeked of those clichéd things you read about women doing to get one foot in the door, to be partially moved in before the poor unsuspecting guy realizes it.
Still, it's not like you could show up to teach geek charm school rolling a cute little suitcase filled with fresh undies. So to save myself from doing a walk of shame back to Marshbury—same clothes, new day—I'd buried the bare essentials way in the bottom of my biggest shoulder bag. It was appropriately named, since by the time I finished lugging it all over the city, I could feel the weight of it wearing a new groove in my shoulder.
Horatio hit the door again.
"Let me know when you're ready to come out," John yelled, "and I'll make sure I'm holding him. Maybe that will help."
Relationships, two-footed and four-footed alike, were just too damn complicated. For the first time it occurred to me that this could be a really long season. It was only June and we 'd already hit the dog days of summer.
Chapter
Nine
My father was girlfriendless for Sunday dinner. This was far more unusual than having a strange woman, or even two or three, open the heavy oak door to welcome me into my family home.
I let myself in with the tarnished brass key I 'd had since junior high and headed straight for the kitchen. I knew I'd find everyone there. Sure enough, my father was hunched over his ancient manual typewriter at the old pine trestle table, two-finger typing on a thick sheet of ivory paper. I kissed him on the top of his head.
" Sarry, my darlin' daughter, it's good to see your smiling face," he said without looking up. "Can you check a wee bit of spelling for me once I've finished?"
" Sure, Dad," I said. "I'd love to."
Christine looked up from snipping a stalk of rosemary over the pork roast with the kitchen shears. "Why does Sarah get to check your spelling? I'm the one who placed three times at the state spelling bee."
Carol looked up from the potatoes she was peeling. "And she still has the trophies to prove it."
Christine glared at her. "What's wrong with that? We have a trophy case. It came with the house."
Carol rolled her eyes as she turned to me. "Where's Jack?"
" He wanted to spend some time with his dog," I said.
Everybody turned to look at me.
"Don't say it," I said.
" We wouldn't think of it." My brother Billy shook his head. "But I can't believe he calls you his dog. That's harsh. I mean, his teddy bear maybe—"
" Or even his honey bunny," Christine said
I was still watching my father. "Dad, don't you think it might be time to upgrade to a computer? You know, try a little email . . .."
He combed one hand through his long white mane. "Never. Not as long as a single solitary mailman is still reporting for duty—"
" But," I said.
He hit another key, back-spaced , then hit it again, harder. "Trudging through rain and snow and sleet and hail—"
" But," I said again.
" Just because the rest of the world has gone to hell in a hand basket, my darling daughter, doesn't mean Billy Hurlihy has to jump on the next train. Jesus, Mary, and what's his name, where in tarnation did that W go?"
I glanced over at the rest of my family, thinking a little bit of backup on the computer issue might be nice. Michael was busy chopping onion, tears streaming down his cheeks. I could only hope it would be therapeutic.
My niece Siobhan was peeling carrots next to him. "Uncle Michael, I'm not kidding. Wearing socks with your topsiders is social suicide. You'll never get a date."
We all stopped what
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