by Nelson
"What are you doing?"
"Crap!" I exclaimed, peeling myself from the stucco of the living room ceiling. "Don't DO that, Nelson!"
He was grinning at me in that way that he does, pleased with himself for having "gotten" me. "Sorry, Sweetpea."
"Bull. You're laughing."
He shook his head at me and shrugged, not repentant in the least. "I just asked a question. I wasn't sneaking up on you."
"Sure."
"I wasn't, Zach, I just wondered what you were looking at."
I took a deep breath and tried to swallow my heart back into my chest. It took a couple of tries because it was lodged like a melon in my throat. "I was watching the Richardsons leave. Good riddance."
"That's not nice," he said.
I climbed off the sofa, and the binoculars swung against my chest until Nelson grabbed them and lifted the strap from around my neck.
I said, "Don't tell me you're not glad to see them go. That kid of theirs was a menace. Just like their stupid dog."
"I meant it isn't nice to spy on our neighbors."
"What if they aren't our neighbors any longer? They've officially moved now."
"Still not nice. It's nosy," he said, shaking the binoculars in my direction. "Wash up and help me with lunch since you don't have anything constructive to do."
"It's the weekend! I'm allowed not to be constructive!"
"Lunch, Zach. Come on."
I sighed from my toes, but Nelson just ignored me. His remedy for curing nosiness a.k.a. boredom is to put me to work. We didn't do anything major for lunch, just the usual weekend fare of sandwiches and chips with a side of fruit.
Nelson said as we tossed our paper towels into the trash, "I thought we should wash the cars today. They're filthy."
Damn. "It's too hot, Nelson."
"It's 80. Hot but not too hot to wash the cars in the shade."
"It IS too hot. Let's do it in the morning when it's cooler."
He started shaking his head before I finished talking. That is just wrong.
"Tomorrow's excuse will be 'I'm tired, Nelson. Let's wait until laaaaater'."
I scowled at him. "I do NOT sound like that. I don't whine."
He started laughing from his belly at some joke I must not have heard or gotten. "What??" I asked, not appreciative of his laughter.
"You do so whine," he said, barely getting the words around his laughter.
"I do nooooot!" I said, then snapped my mouth closed to bite off the end of the elongated 'not' when he started laughing again, doubled over.
"I'm… I'm sorry," he said, wiping his eyes. "But you do."
"Whatever," I said, wounded. He didn't have to laugh at me.
He pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. "I'm sorry for laughing, but you can whine with the best of them. I love you anyway."
"I don't whine," I said indignantly. Much.
"Okay," he said. "Whatever you say."
He turned me away from him and patted my backside urging me toward the kitchen door. "Let's change into something old so we can wash the cars."
"It's JUST going to get hot-TER. Ow," I said, rubbing my one cheek.
"Quit arguing with me, or it IS going to get hotter."
He was still smiling and the swat wasn't hard, so I knew he wasn't mad. I think he just likes touching my butt; that's what I think.
It was hotter than freaking Hades outside and I sprayed water over the SUV to knock off what I could of the dirt before we started washing.
"Nelson."
"What?" he asked, crouched over with his hand swishing around in the bucket to mix the detergent and water.
"This is drugs," I said, with a finger pointed at the pavement. I stepped from the grass onto the concrete without losing my aim at the car and added, "This is your partner on drugs."
"My partner better not be on drugs. Toss me that rag, would you?"
I bent over for the rag and straightened up fast when I heard Nelson yell out. I turned to find a sopping wet partner, dripping all over the drugs.
"Oops. Sorry, Nelson."
He pushed his fingers back through his blonde locks, wiping them and the water out of his eyes. I could see him warring with what to say, whether to fuss at me or realize it was an accident. His reasonable side won, as usual.
"It's ok, Zach. It was an accident."
"Yeah, it was. I really didn't mean to."
"I know you didn't." He started on the top of the SUV since he could reach to the middle.
Isn't that sort of poetic? The Top doing the top? Hmmm…
Anyway, I was bent over to get the underside of the front quarter panel when I heard a familiar yapping next door. I frowned and straightened up, peeking through the pine trees separating our yard from the Richardson's.
"Is that their stupid dog?" Nelson asked.
"It sounds like him," I said, still trying to see. I finally found the right vantage point and saw the wiry white hair of the Jack Russell menace as he leapt into the air, barking at an unanswering front door with no one on the other side to open it.
"I thought you said they left for good," Nelson commented.
"Well, I didn't ask them, Nelson. I spied on them. Remember?"
"They must be coming back then. Cujo is still here."
"Maybe they left him on purpose," I said. "He's a pain in the ass."
"Zach."
"Well he IS. But they wouldn't do that. That would be cruel to do even to him."
It seemed like the yapping was trapped inside my head, bouncing off the walls of my cranium, by the time we were nearing the finish line on the cars. We had washed the SUV and were about halfway done on my car, but it seemed like we had way too much left to do. The sun was hot but nowhere near as irritating as that stupid dog next door, who I swear had not stopped for a breath.
Dogs must not need to breathe to yap. It was like one solid yap with barely a beat in between, and my nerves were raw between that and the heat.
"Yapyapyap. Yap, yap, yap," he barked out in some doggie Morse code.
I translated, "Lemmein. Let. Me. In."
I yelled through the trees, "No one's opening the door, dufus. They left you because you're a pain in the ass."
"Zach," Nelson said with an edge. "Hurry up."
"He's getting on my ever-loving nerves, Nelson! Make him shut up!"
"How do you suggest I do that?" he asked straightening up.
"Spray him with the hose. Here, I'll do it." I grabbed the hose from the ground and pointed it in the right direction, fingers poised to switch it to the jet setting.
"No, Zach!" Nelson snapped from behind me. I don't know what's worse: Cujo's incessant barking or Nelson's.
"What?!"
"Don't bark at me," he said.
???????????????????
"I'll bet he shuts up if I do it," I reasoned.
"We aren't going to find out. Wash the car," he said to me as he took the hose to his side. He sounded annoyed, probably irritated like me with the heat and the dog. But it was his bright idea to be outside.
"I don't know why we have to…"
"Zachary! Hurry up. I'm tired of arguing with you. You've been arguing about washing the cars since we stepped out here."
Well, that was just an exaggeration.
"I have not."
He huffed at me and wore a look at the same time. Not a good combo. "Ok, I'm washing," I grumbled at him, starting on the passenger's door. I looked away but kept him in my sights from the corner of my eye until he went back to washing his side.
I went around and got the hose from him, and noticed the sweat gathered along the expanse of his back, glistening against his tan skin. He was hot, poor thing. I went back to my side of the car and started spraying off the soap, watching it cascade down the side of the car, little soap bubbles scurrying out of the way.
"Yapyapyap. Yap, yap, yap."
Grrrrrrrr. Damn dog!
I swished the sprayer over the side of the car trying desperately to tune out the dog. It seemed like the more I tried to ignore him, the louder he got. Thoroughly annoyed, I certainly didn't feel like hearing from Nelson.
He yelled to me from the other side, still stooped over where I couldn't see him, "Are you almost done over there?"
Yes, master.
I angled the hose up slightly, just enough to form an arc over the top of the car. I brought it back down quickly when I heard an irritated yelp from the other side. Growling to the left of me, yapping to the right of me…
"Zachary," he said, low and growly, dragging out each syllable of my name into three distinct little words. He doesn't yell. Never does. But when he says my name like that it sounds really loud.
"What?" I asked as innocently as I could muster.
"Yapyapyap. Yap, yap, yap."
I could see him rising like the Creature from the Black Lagoon as he appeared beyond the roof of my Solara.
"You're wet," I pointed out innocently. He frowned at me and didn't really look like he was buying what I was selling. I had to try. "Did I do that?" I asked, with an angelic blinking of my eyes.
That didn't work either.
"You did that on purpose," he pronounced.
I couldn't outright lie. I'm just not good at it. He can see right through even the slightest untruth from me anyway. A question was the right way to go.
"Did I?"
"You know you did," he said, his lips disappearing in a tight line.
I gulped. He wasn't going to be happy about that, even though I was just trying to help.
"Yapyapyap. Yap, yap, yap."
God.
"I was just trying to help, Nelson. You looked hot."
"Oh, I'm hot all right," he said, shoving his hair back again.
I hate it when he's a smart ass.
"It's just water," I tried.
"Come here," he said.
Now that's tough. I knew that "come here" didn't usually bode well for me, yet I knew it would be worse if I didn't go.
"It was an accident?"
"Come. Here."
I glanced around quickly to see if any neighbors might be in their yards. No one was around and the Richardsons were gone.
Except for Cujo Richardson.
"Yapyapyap. Yap, yap, yap."
I dropped the hose to the ground with poor planning, and the nozzle landed squarely on the handle causing a burst of water to spout upwards. I sputtered and gasped in shock as the cold water connected with my face. It took my breath away.
I wiped the droplets from my face and looked at Nelson who wasn't even smiling. "Are we even now?" I asked hopefully.
"I said to come here and I won't say it again."
Crap.
That was Nelson at his limit. When he "won't say it again" it means he isn't saying anything the next time. The next time he's all action.
I went around the car, slipping my hands behind me. He pulled one arm away leaving my butt an open and defenseless target. He swatted me once, hard, the single staccato popping sound echoing into the air around me. I hissed and arched my back, clenching my butt against the next swat that never fell.
"You can finish washing this side since I can't seem to trust you with the hose," Sir Nelson declared.
Great.
"I'm sorry, Nelson. I was just playing around."
"You were mad and took it out on me."
Well, that too.
Without another word, he handed me the pail and went around to what was formerly my side of the car.
Despite the infernal barking next door, the heat, and the altercation with Nelson, we managed to finish without further incident.
~~~~~~~~~
"What are you doing?"
"Nelson! Crap! I told you not to sneak up on me like that."
"And I thought I told you that peeking at our neighbors wasn't a nice thing to do," he said, holding his hand out for the binoculars.
"Cujo is still barking at the door. I don't think they're back yet. Or coming back."
He looked confused by that statement and pulled back the edge of the curtain to see for himself. My air was cut off as he pulled the binoculars to his eyes while they were still hung about my neck.
"Nelson!" I exclaimed, wrenching them from him so I could take them off. "Here. Try using them without choking me."
"Sorry," he said and raised them to his eyes. "No lights on."
"They DID leave Cujo! They aren't coming back for him." As annoying as the little monster was, I couldn't believe they would do that to him.
"Maybe so," Nelson said. "Or maybe they're coming back later for him."
"What if they don't?" I asked. I felt so rejected for Cujo. How could anyone be so cruel?
"If they don't, we'll take him to the pound."
"The POUND?" I asked in dismay. "They'll kill him!"
"You don't know that. He's a cute little dog."
"He's annoying as crap, and you know it," I pointed out. "They'll kill him for sure - just to put others out of their misery."
"Yapyapyap. Yap, yap, yap."
Nelson glanced out the window and past the break in the pine trees. "I'm sure they're coming back. Don't worry about it."
Poor little Cujo. "He's probably heartbroken and hungry. That's why he keeps barking."
"Zach, that dog barked all the time when the Richardsons were home. They just let him in at night so we could sleep."
"He can't help it if he's hungry and dying of a broken heart. He knows they left him, I'll bet."
"How would he know?"
"Dogs can tell."
"Well, we aren't going to worry about it tonight."
But we did worry about it. Who can sleep with all that barking going on?
I threw the pillow over my head and turned over for about the hundredth time.
"You can't sleep either?" Nelson asked me.
"Who could?"
"I'll call the pound in the morning," he said wearily.
I shot up like a bullet in the bed. "You can't do that!"
"I have to sleep, Zach, and so do you. If they've left him, he needs to be looked after."
I snapped on the lamp next to my side of the bed. "We can look after him!"
Nelson covered his eyes and looked at me from under his palm. "Us? I don't think so."
"Why not? We don't have a dog."
"No, and there's a reason for that."
"Which is?" I asked.
"We've never wanted one."
"No, we've never discussed it. Doesn't mean we never wanted one." It's true, you know.
"And we aren't discussing it at," he paused to look at the clock, "two-fifteen in the morning either."
"He needs food," I said, pushing back the covers.
A clamp on my wrist stopped me. "Where are you going?"
"To feed Cujo."
"No, Zach. You feed him and he'll be barking at *our* door and we'll never get rid of him. He's loud enough next door. Leave him alone."
"He won't bark if I feed him."
"He wants inside, and he isn't coming in here," Nelson said, tugging on my arm. "Lie down and try to go to sleep."
Like that was going to happen any time soon.
The last time I looked at the clock it was three-something. I woke up at nine, thankful it was Sunday and I didn't have to be anywhere. Nelson was still on his side of the bed, which was a clear indication of how much trouble he had sleeping. He's usually up at the crack of dawn.
I slipped downstairs to put the coffee on and realized with a start that it was quiet. Deathly quiet.
What happened to Cujo? I cinched my robe around me and tiptoed outside, carefully stepping through the lawn with my bare feet, hoping not to inadvertently find a bee or anything sharp. I approached the spot where the space between the trees was enough to walk or peek through and I peeked first. I could see inside the curtainless windows and saw no movement or activity. The house was just as empty as it was the day before.
I didn't see Cujo right away. In fact, I didn't see him at all. I heard him.
It wasn't that annoying high-pitched yap from the day before. This was a low-throated growl. Every wiry hair was standing on end as though he'd never seen me before.
"Hey, Cujo, or whatever your real name is," I said, holding my hands out non-threateningly. "It's okay. It's me. Zach from next door."
Just when I was starting to berate myself for talking to a dog as if he could understand, the little nub of a tail started wagging a little, then his whole body wiggled with excitement.
"Come here, boy." I crouched down and snapped my fingers to invite him over. He came running to me and started licking at my hands, then my face.
Ew.
"Okay, that's enough. Are you hungry? Hmm? Where did your family go?" I scratched him behind the ears and he lapped at me some more. I stood up and wiped the doggie spit off my palm and thought about what in the world we had that I could give him to eat.
I coaxed him back across the lawn to our house and told him to stay put when I went inside. I heard his toenails hit the doorframe as soon as the door closed behind me. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
"Stop that!" I scolded, reopening the door. "Sit there and behave while I find you something to eat."
He sat as soon as I said for him to, which impressed me. Not so stupid, Cujo. I opened the fridge and looked under the lid of more than one Tupperware bowl, sniffing the contents, before I found the chicken casserole. Dogs eat chicken. They're carnivores.
I set the whole bowl outside with a dish of water for him, and he dove into the bowl like he hadn't eaten for days rather than one.
"I'll find you some dog food today, Cujo. I won't let anyone take you to the pound."
Read: Nelson.
I headed toward the house so he could eat while I made the coffee and the door was yanked out of my hand before I could push it open.
"Morning, Nelson," I said trying to block his view over my shoulder. Not easy to do when he's 6'2" and I'm 5'8. I dodged his head as he tried to look around me until he gripped my shoulders and moved me aside.
"Does that look like not feeding the dog?" he asked. He sounded a little bit irritated.
"He was hungry!"
I think he softened a little bit when I said that because the lines in his forehead disappeared. Anyway, he's a doctor and all. Took the Hippocratic oath they all take. I don't know what it says verbatim but I think it says they have to be nice to everyone and act doctorish. That would include not starving the neighbor's dog.
He glanced toward the pine trees marking the property line. "Are they still not home?"
"No, the house looks empty. They left him, Nelson."
"We can't keep the dog, Zach," he said, almost sounding like he was disappointed.
I didn't like it one bit. As ornery as Cujo was, he would be put down. No question. And I lived with a Top who I knew could straighten out the little ankle biter. "We have to! They'll kill him!"
"You don't know that," he said.
"Wait, I have an idea," I said. Brilliance, that what it was. "Let's just keep him until we can find a home. Please?"
Nelson looked down at the makeshift dog bowl and frowned. "Is that my chicken casserole?"
Oops.
"I had to feed him something."
"I was planning to feed US that for dinner, Zach," he said, grimly. "I don't suppose you could find a disposable bowl? You had to use our good Tupperware?"
"I didn't think about that."
As if Cujo knew we were talking about him, he started licking chicken casserole spit on Nelson's ankle, and I almost laughed at Nelson's expression of disgust.
"Sugar water?" I tried.
"That applies to baby spit. Not spit from a hyper Jack Russell next door."
He swiped at his ankle, still grimacing. I said, "Sit down and show Nelson how smart you are."
Cujo plopped down like there had been a weight in his backside. "He's smart, see Nelson? We can make him a better dog. Teach him not to bark so much."
Nelson cut his eyes at me and gave me his You Must Be Shitting Me look. "He IS," I said.
"Any moron of a dog can sit. And I don't know anything about training one. Do you?"
"We'll get a book! Come on, Nelson."
He looked at Cujo whose tail was thumping against the porch deck, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Nelson tossed his head back and looked at the clouds. "We'll keep him until we find a home. He's not staying here permanently."
I hugged Nelson and he hugged me back, lifting me until only my toes touched the porch. With that kind of a hug I knew I was forgiven for feeding the dog. And I also knew the longer Cujo stayed, it would be harder for Nelson to say he had to go.
"I'll go get him some food today," I said as my feet landed back on the deck.
"Pick up a couple of bowls while you're at it. I'd rather he didn't eat out of our Tupperware," Nelson said.
"Tupperware is overrated," I pointed out.
"It's guaranteed for life."
"Does that cover dog lick?" I said, smiling at Nelson.
"I'm not asking," he said, as he held the door for me. "We need to talk about what I mean when I say 'don't feed the dog' over breakfast."
Damn. Heartburn for breakfast. Coming right up.
I perused the aisle at the pet shop trying to pick out the right food. There were tons of varieties, and I had no idea what he ate before. After consulting with some pimply-faced 12-year-old who was clearly working as an underage immigrant, we decided on an Iam's variety for Cujo. I heaved the bright pink bag into the cart, and tossed in a couple of bowls and some treats. The essentials done, I selected several toys and called my mission accomplished.
Cujo was still in our yard when I pulled up, lying on our front porch as if he belonged there. He dashed down the steps and over to the driveway, barking all the while, when I pulled in. He was happy to see me. Despite his annoying self, I found I couldn't help smiling at the greeting.
I left the garage door open and stooped down to pet him. "Hey, there, boy. Did you miss me?"
He licked at my hands then found the hem of my shorts interesting, and he nipped the edge, pulling at them. "Stop it!" I demanded, but he apparently didn't know that command. I think "sit" is the only tune in his repertoire.
I had to stand up to get him off my shorts and for a second, I thought he was going to hang on and go swinging against my leg. He let go finally and went back to his usual.
"Yapyapyap. Yap, yap, yap."
"Sit. I'll be right back," I told him, and he promptly settled his hindquarters on the grass.
I grabbed the food out of the trunk, and tossed the bag of treats, bowls and toys over my wrist. When I came back out, I didn't see him at first. Apparently "sit" doesn't come with a timeline. I glanced over in time to see him cocking his leg against Nelson's azalea.
"Stop that!" I said, unheeded. He continued his business then trotted over to me not the least bit ashamed that he probably killed half a bush. I looked down at the bush and wondered how long it had before it left this earth, at least the front side of it. Nelson would have a stroke.
"Don't pee on the landscaping," I said, shaking a finger at him. His tongue flopped over his lower jaw giving him a goofy dog-smile. I rolled my eyes and walked toward the front porch, and he barked and danced around my feet, catching my right shin just as I was about to take a step.
I saw the porch coming up to meet me and I landed with a thunk on top of all the crap I was carrying. The bag of food ground into my bladder and diaphragm, knocking the wind out of me - and darn near pee, too. I heard Cujo yelp about the same time I did.
"God damn it," I grunted when I got my breath back. I glared at him but softened and didn't curse him out when I saw him sniffing at my leg, licking it as though that might help.
"It's okay," I said, getting up. "I'm not hurt."
I was in one piece but the bag of dog food wasn't. As I stood up, it cascaded all over the porch, tiny pellets scattering all over. I belted out another expletive and looked at Cujo. "You're more trouble than you're worth," I grumbled.
I instantly felt like shit, knowing that his owners must have thought the same thing. "I'm sorry, boy," I said to him. When I bent over to pet him, I lost still more dog food on the porch, not thinking about the rip up the side of the bag when I leaned down. I straightened up fast and tried to recover what I could.
Cujo spied the pellets and chased after a few, crunching a nugget here and there. I laid the bag on the porch and went inside for a container to salvage what I could, and also to fill the water bowl. I arranged his bowls on the porch and looked around at all the dog food.
I pointed to the mess and did my best Nelson imitation. "Are you getting that up, young man?" His little head tilted and he panted at me with a blank look. "Well, it's your fault it's there."
I looked at the size of the bag versus the food all over the porch and wondered how in the hell it all fit in there. "You'll eat it, right?" I asked, sitting on a nearby rocker.
Cujo ran over to me and promptly wrapped his front paws around my shin and went to town fucking my leg.
"GROSS!" I yelped, standing quickly. I somehow avoided launching him across the yard in the process, as that was my first instinct. I did the full-body shiver and gave Cujo a disapproving glare. "That is just WRONG," I complained. Nasty. "You're not my type."
I went in to get a paper towel and used it to wash my leg off. Scrubbing my calf with dish detergent, I had to stop to answer the ringing phone. It was Ben, and Nelson had come in the kitchen by the time I hung up.
"Did you get everything?" he asked, tipping my head up for a kiss.
"Yeah, I think so. I got some toys and the other stuff we needed."
"I put an ad in the paper today," he said, and I deflated.
"Nelson!" I said. "Couldn't wait at least a day?"
His eyebrows dipped down and he said, "Why? We need to find him a home." Then he gave me that look. The Nelson Warning Look. "Don't get attached to him, Zach. He's not staying."
I frowned right back. "I'm NOT."
"I'm just reminding you," he said. "Don't roll your eyes at me."
Ah! I can't do anything!
"It was reflexive, Nelson. I didn't think about it first."
"You get far too much practice doing that." Nelson cocked his head almost like Cujo had done earlier and said, "Is that him scratching on our front door?"
Nelson was on a mission, stalking toward the door before he ever finished his question, apparently knowing the answer without my help. I trailed him toward the door, and started belting out a defense for Cujo before Nelson strangled him.
"He doesn't know any better, Nelson. Don't be mad at him," I said.
"He's about to know better," he said, yanking the front door open.
"Wait!"
"NO," Nelson growled at Cujo, who backed away thoroughly admonished. "That's a good boy."
"Which is it? You're sending mixed signals," I pointed out.
"No, I'm not. He stopped what he was doing like I said, so he needed to hear that was good." He paused and frowned, surveying the mess on the front porch. "What is this mess?"
"Dog food. I tripped," I said. "But I'm ok."
"You're sure?" he asked with concern.
"Yeah."
He looked around the porch again then back at me. "You need to get this up, Zach."
"Why? Cujo will eat it."
Well, he would.
"We aren't waiting for him to get it up. Get the broom and sweep it up, please."
And that was that. Damn.
I got the broom and looked at the pellets all over the place. What a mess. Deciding it probably wasn't the best idea for Cujo to eat food from the floor anyway, I swept the tiny pellets out into the lawn, Cujo chasing and nipping at the bristles of the broom the whole time.
"Quit it," I said, but he didn't.
"Yapyapyap.
Sigh.
Pellets sailed into the air, dropping into the grass and mulch, but it was off the porch finally, so I could say I had cleaned it up. A job well-done.
~~~~~~~~~
A few nights later, I was on the internet when Nelson came in bellowing my name loud enough to reach the next county.
"What?!" I yelled back.
"Come here, please," he said.
Aw, crap. I hate those three words. Did I mention that? I think I did, but it bears repeating. As soon as I hear them, if I'm not already in trouble, my mind starts reeling, digging for some idea of what I might have done that could have gotten me into trouble. Today? Nada. I couldn't think of a thing.
"What's wrong?" I asked, coming into the living room.
"Where did you sweep the dog food when you cleaned the porch?" he asked. His hands were on his hips and that wasn't a good sign.
"Um…"
"Where, Zach?"
"Into the yard?"
"The yard, Zach? Would you like to know what I just saw?" he asked, his left eyebrow sliding up his forehead.
'No' would be the wrong answer here, in case you didn't know that. "What?" I appropriately asked.
"Mice."
Ew.
"Mice?" I asked.
"Two of them in the flower beds and it looked an awfully lot like dog food that they were after."
My nose crinkled up at the thought of furry rodents playing in our flowerbeds, and I made a mental note not to use the front porch if at all possible. "That's nasty."
"You think?" he asked.
Sarcasm just doesn't look good on him. I shrugged. "I didn't know that would happen."
"I'm sure you didn't, but you knew to get the food up, not toss it into the yard."
"They'll go away when the food is gone," I suggested. "They won't stay long."
"So let's give them as little to eat as possible. I want you to go out and pick up every pellet you can find out of the flowerbeds. And DON'T toss them into the yard. I want them in a bag."
No way!
"Nelson! Those pellets are SMALL! That will take forever!" I reasoned. He just needed to see reason; that was all.
"Then you'd better get started," he said without a sliver of heart.
Then it hit me.
"MICE! I can't go out with the MICE!"
"They're more afraid of you than you are of them," he said. "They won't hang around after you get out there and you have your little dog, Cujo, to ward them off."
"A lot of good *he's* doing," I said, marching behind Nelson as he dismissively walked away. "The mice were out there when YOU were out with Cujo."
"Shoo them away," he said, calmly.
"SHOO them away?! They aren't FLIES, Nelson. They're MICE. And, I don't want to be around MICE."
"Zachary," he said, stopping abruptly to turn to me, almost causing me to kiss his chest. He really needs to signal before he makes sudden moves like that. He caught me by the arms and said, "It has to be gotten up before it gets worse. You'll be fine. You're much bigger than they are."
He wasn't budging. "Come with me?"
"I didn't help you put the food in the flowerbeds, did I?"
"No, but that doesn't mean you have to be hateful and send me to the beasts alone."
"Mice, not beasts. Hurry up. I need to finish dinner. You started it?"
"Yes," I said, sullenly. "I do everything around here."
Both eyebrows shot up at that. "I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing," I muttered, shoving past him to get a plastic bag from the kitchen. My elbow was captured as I passed and I looked over my shoulder at a not-so-happy Nelson.
"We share in the responsibilities around here and you know it. If I had been the one to sweep the food into the yard, I'd be the one cleaning it up." It was true and I knew it. "I want you to clean it up without another complaint. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," I said, which is the only thing TO say under the glare and the circumstances.
I tiptoed onto the porch and Cujo came bounding up the steps, yapping as usual, all around my feet. I scanned the beds for anything living and was pleased to see nothing but the plants alive.
I kneeled in the mulch and started gathering the little pellets bit by fucking bit and tossing them into the bag. Cujo was right at my side the whole time, jumping on me and licking whatever skin he could get to.
"Why didn't you eat this, huh? Work with me here," I scolded. I saw a little pile of pellets in the corner of the bed. A stash for later, it looked like.
I reached to scoop up the pile and my breath caught in my throat as a pair of little beady eyes blinked out at me from beyond the latticework. "Shit!" I exclaimed, backing away and dropping the bag all at the same time.
Cujo saw it immediately started digging at the mulch in front of the latticework, barking at the rodent who skedaddled immediately into the darkness under the porch. I let out a breath and looked at the bag on the ground.
"What's wrong?" Nelson asked, darting onto the porch.
"Mouse," I grunted. "I TOLD you."
"Are you finished?"
"I WAS until I dropped the bag."
He came over and with Top-like finesse, managed to pick up the bag without spilling the entire contents, only losing a handful of pellets.
"There," he said, looking over the mulch. "Get those few up and I think you're done."
Finally.
~~~~~~~~~~
I came home the next day with new toys for Cujo, and I left the car in the driveway so I could play with him in the front yard. We hadn't had a single call from any takers and I was beginning to really like the idea of keeping the little fart. He wasn't so bad. Still annoying. Still licking me. Still humping my leg. But despite it all, he was cute and I liked having him around.
He was as smart as a tack and we had taught him some tricks that he picked up really quickly. It seemed like he just needed some attention and training. He was even yapping less, because Nelson barked louder than Cujo when he did it. Just to get his attention. He would shout a "no" and put his finger to his lips. After only a couple of days, Nelson was able to just use his finger to get Cujo to stop.
I was about to sit on the steps when I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see what it was then almost broke my neck darting from the steps.
"MOOOOOOUSE!" I yelled to the empty yard.
Or should I have said, "Mice". There were at least five of them that I saw, eagerly feeding from Cujo's food dish on the front porch.
I stood way out in the middle of the yard, frozen, watching these little beasts help themselves to the dog food. The two from the mulch had told their neighbors and they had all come over for a barbeque. They had the lawn chairs set up, and beer in the cooler.
"Damn it," I said. "Nelson will blame me for this, I'm sure of it."
No way was I going in the front door, and I wasn't leaving Cujo out. I scooped him up and dodged his tongue, which I swear was at least 8 inches long, from licking my mouth. My face was bad enough, but I could wash that. I ran around the house and went in through the back door, depositing Cujo on the kitchen floor.
He sidled up to the table leg, and I shrieked, "NO!" barely stopping him before he peed on the table. "Did you do that at the Richardson's? No wonder they left you!"
He blinked at me, interested eyes watching my every move. "I'll have to watch you," I said.
I stayed on the sofa for the next hour with Cujo beside me, waiting for Nelson to come home. Finally, I heard the garage door open.
"Zach! I'm home!"
"I'm in here!" I called toward the kitchen.
A thundercloud settled over his face when he came in and saw Cujo on the sofa. "I told you he wasn't to come in the house," Nelson said.
No "why" at all, just jumped RIGHT to conclusions.
"There's a reason he's inside."
He folded his arms, and raised an eyebrow. Lecture mode. "What would that be?"
"Look at you. You're already ready to accuse me and not listen."
"Oh, I'm listening. Go ahead," he said, leaning against the doorjamb.
"There's an army of MICE on the front porch! An ARMY, Nelson."
That got his attention, and he walked to the front door with purpose, swinging it open to see the minions of hell on our porch. "I can't believe that," he said, looking out the glass. "There're at least four of them."
"Try FIVE. I saw that many."
"They must have come onto the porch for food when you cleaned up the pellets in the yard," he surmised.
"So it's your fault," I said in defense.
"Zach, this isn't about placing blame," he said, picking Cujo up and sitting next to me. "But if we have to, the mice wouldn't be here at all had they not been drawn by the food in the mulch."
"I knew you'd blame this on me."
He rubbed Cujo, scratching behind his ears. "No biting," he scolded and Cujo immediately let Nelson's wrist go. "I'm not blaming, I'm just stating what happened. I'll pick up some d-CON and put it out."
"NO!" I said, pulling away from him in horror. "You can't kill them!"
"Look, we kept one stray, we aren't keeping mice, too."
I heard angels sing as the heavens opened. "We're keeping Cujo?"
Nelson started shaking his head. "I didn't mean that, I just meant…"
"But you said, 'we kept one stray'. Past tense."
"No, we're still looking for a home."
"He has a home, Nelson," I said.
Cujo propped against Nelson's chest so he could lick his face, and Nelson turned his head this way and that to avoid The Tongue. He put the dog down in his lap and scratched his head again to distract him from his intent to lick.
"This dog is a," he paused and covered Cujo's ears, "pain in the butt."
"You love him."
"He's okay," he conceded. "Worrisome but okay."
"He's just young. He needs to be trained. He's better already after just a few days."
"I guess he is," Nelson said. "I'll go get some d-CON. We'd better keep him inside until we get rid of the mice so he doesn't get into the d-CON and the mice won't have anything else to eat."
"Please don't kill them," I pleaded. "Can't we trap them or something?"
"We can't, Zach. We have to get rid of them." He patted my leg and stood up, depositing Cujo back in my lap. "I'll be right back."
One week later….
"I don't understand why they're still out there. The d-CON keeps disappearing, but they don't."
"Maybe new ones are coming?" I shrugged, trying to look at him, but not able to. I focused on my cereal instead. "They must have food hidden under the porch. There's no new food to keep them coming."
"I haven't seen any dead ones around," Nelson said.
Thank God.
"I don't understand it. They've been through five boxes of d-CON."
"Hmmm," I said, noncommittally.
"Zach."
I looked up more at the tone than the summons. "What?"
"Do you know anything about why they're still out there?"
Gulp. "How would I know?"
"Quit answering my questions with a question. Do you know anything?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, then realized I did it again. "I mean, I don't know what you mean."
He put his spoon down, and shoved his bowl away. "All right. What's going on?"
"I didn't say anything!" I protested.
"No, and by that, I know you have something to say. What have you done?"
"Why do you always assume I've done something?"
He studied me, making me squirm, and I jabbed my spoon back in the bowl.
"Zachary, if I find out you're having anything to do with this…"
"What? Quit accusing me of stuff, Nelson."
"IF I find out you're having anything to do with this, you'll be in trouble. You'll be better off admitting it now than making it worse."
"Down, Cujo," I said when he leaned his front paws on my leg. "Why do you think I had anything to do with the mice? They'll go away, just quit fretting about it."
"They should have been gone days ago."
"It just takes time," I said.
"I'll pick up some more d-CON on the way home tonight."
"Okay," I said, grateful for him letting the subject go.
~~~~~~~
I heard the front door close behind Nelson as he came in from the porch. "I only saw four of them this time," he reported.
"So they ARE going away," I said, wiping my hands on a dishtowel.
"Maybe. Or maybe he just wasn't where I could see him. You have things under control here?" he asked, looking over my shoulder at the stove.
"Yep. Go change," I urged, kissing him before sending him on his way.
Cujo chased behind Nelson and I listened from the kitchen door until I was sure they were upstairs. I pulled a Ziploc baggie from my back pocket and hurried to the door with a soda can of pennies we had put together to shake at Cujo. The training book Nelson picked up had said it was a good way to get a dog to stop whatever he was doing, the noise getting their attention and distracting them.
It was also an excellent way to scare mice away.
I poked my arm around the storm door and jiggled the can and watched as the foursome Nelson had seen, scurried away. I quickly dashed to the d-CON box and shook the contents into the Ziploc bag. Damn. He set TWO out this time. Nelson is anything but a quitter. Determined is a good adjective for him.
I tipped the second box and watched as the last of the little pellets of poison fell into the baggie while I glanced around occasionally to be sure the little furballs didn't come back while I was there.
"What are you doing?"
"GOD - bless America!" I screeched, my heart exploding against my chest. "NELSON! Would you QUIT doing that?"
"WHAT are you doing?" he repeated. His calm demeanor didn't fool me. He was not happy. Not at all.
The evidence was in my hands and he saw it. He had already served as jury and I could almost see him pulling on his judge's robe, gavel in hand.
"Um…"
"I'm waiting for an answer," he said.
I shrieked again when one of the Fantastic Four ran back onto the porch, and I shoved past Nelson in record time to get back into the safety of the house.
He was right on my heels and I heard him calling Cujo back inside.
My chest was heaving as I panted from the sprint and adrenalin. I looked at Nelson who wore a dismal expression of foreboding. Things did not look promising.
"I can explain," I said, knowing I was busted.
"Please, do," he said.
"I didn't want to kill them, Nelson. It's cruel. I just wanted them to go away. I decided to use a different plan from yours, that's all."
"And you denied knowing why they were still around this morning when I asked you."
"Before you say it, I didn't lie," I protested.
"Didn't you?"
"No, I didn't. I DIDN'T know why they were still around. There's no food, so they should be leaving," I explained.
"That's weak, Zachary. Weak."
"No, it's not! It's true!"
"Upstairs," he said.
Damn.
"But dinner…" I said.
"…Can wait," he finished. "I don't like being lied to."
"I didn't lie, though!"
"Do you really think your argument is strong enough to win this one?"
Well, that's not a fair question. I shuffled from foot to foot, my nerves getting the best of me. My stomach turned to cement when Nelson pointed up the stairs, intent on seeing to my doom.
I was a martyr I realized glumly. My life for the lives of the mice.
After enduring a lengthy Nelsonesque lecture on honesty, I found my pants around my knees and Nelson's lap digging into my torso.
His hand was lying heavy and warm against my butt, and I saw a flash of white out of the corner of my eye, just as Nelson's hand lifted and fell a twice. Cujo came running over and I was defenseless as he ran his wet tongue all over my face.
"Ah!" I exclaimed, trying unsuccessfully to ward him off with my hands. I was overwhelmed by emotions struggling to take priority in my mind, torn between feeling helpless over Nelson's lap and grossed out by dog lick. Whether to cover my butt or my face was left undecided as Nelson pulled me upright off his lap.
"Cujo!" Nelson admonished. He picked up the dog and sat him in the hallway, closing the door firmly behind him.
With a Where Were We sigh, he sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled me back across his lap. Here we go again I thought as the horizon shifted.
He swatted my other cheek twice and had raised his hand for more but he stopped again. "Cujo!" he yelled toward the door. "Stop scratching on the door."
I hadn't even noticed. My mind was on other things at that moment. Cujo did as he was told and stopped scratching the door, choosing instead to scratch the carpet. The scratching didn't stop at a second demand from Nelson, and I found myself on my feet again while he went to deal with Cujo, my sentence commuted for the moment. After a thorough tongue-lashing and a command to stop and sit, Nelson came back to finish me off.
I was hoping for more scratching or something from Cujo as a distraction, but my last reprieve was spent. Alas.
My ass was quickly on fire as I met my doom for saving the souls of Mickey and the gang. I gripped at Nelson's pantleg and prayed for it to be over quickly, and promised to never save another mouse as long as we both shall live.
He didn't seem to care, and kept pummeling my ass until I was bawling like a baby. He finally figured me for completely dead and stopped, sitting me on his lap long enough for me to catch my breath. Then we moved to the chair downstairs with Cujo chasing after us to be sure he didn't miss anything else after he missed the main event.
I cuddled up to Nelson. Even though I should have hated him at the moment, I always needed to feel close after he spanked me.
"Next time I ask you a question, I want the truth," he said softly. I heard him in stereo, both from one ear lying against his chest and the other from being just under his chin.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't want them to die. I just wish they'd go away or we could catch them or something."
"I don't want them living with us, though," he said. "And even if we *could* catch them, where would we put them once we did?"
"I just wish they'd go away on their own," I said, my voice sounding rough and nasally. I sniffed past swollen nasal passages and added, "I don't want to kill them to get rid of them."
"I don't know another way," Nelson said. "I don't exactly want to kill them either, but they need to go."
My plan was clearly not working. And Nelson had been quite persuasive. I didn't argue or confiscate any more d-CON.
~~~~~~~~~~
"There," Nelson said, sitting back on his heels to survey his work.
"You're official," I said to Cujo, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he panted at us. His shiny red collar was brilliant against his white fur, and the gold tag identifying him as Cujo Jameson-Bartholomew glinted in the sun. It took three lines of text to get his whole new name on the dangling tag.
"How much longer do you think we have to watch him outside?"
"I think we might be good. I found cadaver number five yesterday and haven't seen any more alive or dead. We just need to be sure Cujo doesn't eat one."
"You wouldn't do that, would you, boy?" I asked the dog. He jumped up on me until Nelson told him to get down and he promptly dropped to all fours.
"Just in case. We wouldn't want anything to happen to him." He stooped down and petted the dog. "Welcome to the family, Cujo."
~End~