Monday 22nd October
Alice
Another night of that goddamn dog crying at all hours. This time I ended up crawling into Tom’s bed. I’m actually starting to get desensitized to sleeping with him, and worse yet, liking the heat of his body against mine. I blame the wintry weather.
First thing, I’m googling how to stop your puppy crying in the night. I’m bombarded by information about crate training, clothes that smell of you, toys with heartbeats in them, and everything in between.
It’s giving me a headache just thinking about it. I storm into the kitchen, pissed beyond belief that Tom’s put this on me. It was hard enough getting a roommate and now I’m stuck with a dog too.
I turn the kettle on, desperate for a coffee. Something to shift this shit mood I’m in.
‘Good morning,’ Tom says, wiping the sleep out of his eyes as he walks into the kitchen carrying Pickles.
Damn it, what is it about a big burly man carrying a small dog that has me feeling all tingly? It must be the lack of sleep doing strange things to my mind. That’s all his fault.
‘Is it?’ I snap back, gritting my teeth.
His eyes widen. ‘Okay. I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep last night.’
I’m too exhausted to even roll my eyes. ‘We have to get this sorted. I can’t be living like this. I feel like I have a newborn baby, for Christ’s sake.’
He grimaces. ‘Yeah, I’ll admit I didn’t exactly see it panning out like this.’
At least he’s big enough to admit when he’s wrong.
‘Yeah, well you wouldn’t, because you only ever think about things for two seconds. Unless it involves your dick.’
My eyes betray me by looking down at it bulging through his boxer shorts. Dang, he’s well endowed. No wonder he’s such a cocky bastard with that concealed weapon.
He catches me looking and smirks. ‘My eyes are up here,’ he says pointing dramatically to his face.
‘Oh, shut up, Tom.’ I feel my cheeks burning. I turn to watch the kettle.
‘Maybe you’re right.’
I stare back at him, dumbfounded. ‘I’m... I’m right? Sorry, what?’
He must be bloody sleep deprived if he’s telling me I’m right. It’s not his style to admit defeat so easily.
He sighs, putting Pickles down onto the floor. ‘Maybe we should give her to a rescue centre.’
My mouth drops open. ‘Tom! You can’t just abandon her just because you’re a frigging idiot. You know how over-run those places are. She could be in there for months, years even.’
He sits down at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. ‘I’m just so fucking tired. I have no idea how I’m going to work today.’
‘Me either,’ I nod. I can’t help but look at Pickles drinking out of her water bowl. If she was ugly, this would be so much easier.
His eyebrows move inwards towards each other. ‘You’re not working today, are you?’
‘Yeah,’ I nod, eyebrows furrowed. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Since when has he been following my work schedule?
‘I looked at the calendar.’ He walks over to it. ‘You’ve got nothing written down.’
Jesus, since when did we become a married couple? I don’t have to check in with him.
‘Yes, I have. I wrote it in my handbag diary. I didn’t realise I had to confirm with you.’ I snort a laugh.
‘Jesus, woman. How many diaries do you need? Can’t you go digital like the rest of the world?’
I glare back at him. ‘I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t like to follow the mass crowd.’
He snorts. ‘You can say that again.’
Grr, it’s okay when I say it. Not when he says it. Dickhead.
‘But I thought you’d be able to look after her. Your job is flexible, right? You can bring her along?’
Is he serious? ‘No, I bloody can’t. My jobs are just as important as yours.’
‘Well then, she’ll just have to stay here on her own. I’m already on thin ice at work. If I try to sneak a puppy in, they’ll fire me for sure.’
What the hell is he talking about? He’s never mentioned this before.
‘Thin ice? Why are you on thin ice?’
He avoids my eye-line, choosing instead to stare down at the table. ‘It’s a long story, but at the end of the day, I can’t bring her in to work with me.’
At the end of the day, he’s still an arse hat and yet again it’s all down to me.
‘Oh, and did you ever get back to Alfie?’
Alfie? Oh, he means Charlie’s cousin. Why’s he so interested?
‘Nah. I don’t think he’s my type.’
He nods, turns and mutters ‘good’ under his breath.
* * *
So that’s how I find myself taking this mad dog for a walk before my appointment at a low budget fashion magazine, after getting the thumbs up from the vets that she’s had all her vaccinations. That way, I figure if I tire her out, she’ll just sleep through the interview. She’s only small. How much bloody energy can she have?
I take her to the open park and watch all the well-behaved dogs running off-lead. I look down at her walking, pulling eagerly against the lead. She looks back at me with a smile. Well, what I think is a smile. I mean, who knows if dogs actually smile.
If I let her off-lead it would be a quick way to burn off some energy. I bought a bag full of treats on the way here, so I know I can tempt her back.
Oh, fuck it. I unclip her and watch as she runs into the middle of all the dogs, her energy surprising me. I didn’t think that was possible anymore. She starts playing with them, bouncing off them like she’s on a trampoline.
Well, this is an easy way to get her to burn off some of that puppy energy. She’s been playing freely for thirty minutes when my phone starts ringing with a withheld number.
‘Hello?’ I answer dubiously.
‘Hi, Miss Watts. This is PC Edwards.’
‘Oh, hi.’
‘I’m just calling to let you know that we’ve seized Mr Cundy’s computer, and it’s been sent to high-tech crime.’
‘Okay, great. How was he?’ I can’t help but ask. ‘Ted, I mean. Did he seem angry? Do you think I’m going to get any repercussions?’ That’s the last thing I need.
‘He was defensive, but I doubt you will. If you do, please call me straightaway. In the meantime, I’m afraid that it could take some weeks before high-tech crime find something we can use. I just wanted to keep you updated.’
I thank him and hang up, keeping a close eye on Pickles.
I watch as the dogs leave the park one by one. When there are just a few dogs left, I call her over.
‘Pickles!’ I shout, patting my thighs like I’ve seen all the other owners do.
She turns to look at me, but then carries on playing.
I walk a bit closer. ‘Pickles! Home time.’
Again, she looks before running slightly further away, playing with the two remaining dogs. The little bitch. This isn’t going how I planned.
I walk right up to her, trying to remain calm and not look worried in front of the other confident dog walkers. They’re confident because they have well-behaved dogs. Pickles seems to stay where she is. Oh, thank God, she’s co-operating. I manage to walk straight up to her and I’m about to attach her collar to the lead when she bolts again. For fuck’s sake!
‘PICKLES!’ I roar, stomping off after her. I can feel the dog walkers looking on in judgement. ‘She’s a puppy,’ I offer pathetically, as a way of an explanation. My heart is beating out of my chest and my neck is sticky with sweat.
Every time I go towards her she runs further away. Right, maybe a bit of reverse psychology could work here. It’s worth a try. Anything is worth a try at this point.
‘I’m going home now, Pickles. Bye!’ I turn and walk away, praying to God she’s following me. I walk a few more steps before glancing around to see she hasn’t moved at all.
Shit. She couldn’t care less.
The two owners call their dogs back and like perfect little things they trot off to them and allow themselves to be put back on the lead. Pickles looks on and for a moment I think she’s going to copy them.
I straighten my spine, a new confidence in me. ‘Pickles,’ I call calmly, copying how they stoop down to the dog.
She starts walking towards me. Oh my god, she’s coming towards me. It’s working. Thank the Lord.
But... then she turns and fucks off again.
UGH!
This is a disaster. I should have never taken her off the lead. This must be on page one of Puppy Disasters to Avoid. I really need to order that book.
‘Pickles!’ I look into my pocket to get the treats out. Fuck, I must have left them in the car. Fuck my life.
Instead I find a half-eaten packet of vegan chocolate biscuits. I take it out in desperation, crinkling the packet, hoping the noise alone will get her back.
She turns from a distance, tilts her head to the left, and comes bounding over. Yes! It’s working! Thank God. My heart rate is already returning to normal. This is fine. She’s going to eat a vegan biscuit and while she’s doing that, I’ll grab her by the collar and put her back on the lead.
She’s just about to get to me when she stops mid step, her left foot stopped in front of her. Wait, is she on to me?
Two men enter the park from the other end with two other dogs. They throw a ball for them and that’s it, Pickles is off to try to get it. Grr, this dog is so dumb!
I make my way over to her as quickly as I can, my pits so sweaty I’m worried the marks are going to go through my top. By the time I get to her, I see that she’s stolen the ball from the dogs. Oh, for goodness’ sake!
Now they’re chasing her around the park to try to get it back. The dogs could kill her if she stops, but she seems oblivious, running with abandon, her mouth open in glee, her tail wagging.
‘Sorry!’ I shout as I walk hurriedly over to them, my calves burning. This is the most exercise I’ve done in years. ‘I can’t seem to get her back on the lead.’ I admit, feeling a fool.
‘You tried treats, love?’ one asks, eyeing me up like the idiot I am.
Does he think I’m an imbecile? Well, look at me right now. Probably.
‘Of course. She’s just like a dog possessed.’
‘We’ll try to help.’ He pulls out another ball and throws it in the air as if to entice her. She stops what she’s doing and turns to watch him, as if entranced.
She keeps the ball in her mouth but moves towards him. He throws it up in the air again but when it falls to the floor, he quickly covers it with his foot. She tries to get it out, lowering her guard for a second. He grabs her by the collar.
‘Got her!’ he says triumphantly. Thank the Lord.
‘Thanks!’ I take her collar, and kneel down to attach the lead, but she suddenly bolts. Before I have a split second to register what’s happening, I’m being dragged on my knees across the field in the mud. It burns.
I force myself to let go so that my neck isn’t broken. I land face down in the mud. Little motherfucker! I’m going to kill her. She’s gonna wish she made it to the animal shelter when I get hold of her.
I look up to see her at the opposite side of the park, looking back at me as if laughing. That little satanic bitch. She’s finding this funny. And this is the little dog I couldn’t see going to a dog shelter. She doesn’t know how good she’s got it.
I look back to the men. They cringe, as if not sure whether to ask if I’m okay or try to pretend like they didn’t see it.
‘I can’t believe her,’ I shriek, attempting an ironic laugh, when really, I just want to burst into tears. I force my tired limbs up to standing, the mud having gone underneath my nails. How humiliating.
‘It’s alright, love. I’ll try again,’ one of them says kindly, again trying to entice her with the ball.
That little bitch. Right now, if I ever get her back, I’m dragging her home and never letting her out again. And to think I’m against animal cruelty.
The man again throws the ball in the air, drops it to the floor but quickly stands over it. Pickles goes to get it, but this time the man practically jumps on her, rugby tackling her to the ground.
‘I have her!’ he shouts.
I rush over with the lead, my frantic fumbling hands barely able to attach her lead to the collar. Once it’s attached, the relief is all consuming. I could cry. I feel as if I owe these men my life.
I stand up before she can try to drag me across the park again.
‘Thank you so much. I really don’t know what’s gotten into her.’ A traitorous tear slips out.
They exchange a glance which I think says poor silly cow and then they’re on their way.
I drag her back to the car, cursing under my breath. The urge to lock her in a dark cupboard is strong, but I won’t let her push me. I won’t be turned into one of those mental people you see on those RSPCA programmes that have six dogs in cages full up of their own poo. No, I’m a fucking vegetarian for God’s sake.
I love animals. I love animals. I repeat it to myself over and over again all the way to the car.
With her safely in the boot, I let myself into the driving seat and allow myself a minute to collect my wits. I rest my head down onto the steering wheel and take a deep breath. It’s fine, Alice. No one died. No one got injured. Well, apart from me. My knees are throbbing from the grass burn of being dragged and my hands are slightly grazed. Just what a photographer needs.
I check my phone to see a text from Tom.
‘Have a great morning. I’ll pop home for lunch. Cook us something nice ;-)’
Gah, this bloody man!