by York, Allie
“I’m leaving the boutique now. I will be there in a few.” I hung up without waiting for a response and faced my bestie’s wrath.
“Ozma Jane Greenlee, we’re opening our dream boutique tomorrow after working months to get it ready, and you just agreed to go pick up and drop money on another fucking dog. Those vet bills could buy new curtains, and I don’t even want to start on the time you are about to waste. You and I both know damn well Lyric can’t help us this time.” I winced as Blair punctuated the f-word. She was as bad as me when it came to pets, but her weakness was any bully breed and cats. I was less picky, but she was right; I didn’t need to be dropping money and time on a charity dog. Despite not having the time, or the money, I gave Blair one more pleading glance and tugged her from our store. No matter how pissy I got about Annie and her poor decisions, I would always be the one bailing her out. Especially if bailing her out had four legs and no voice. I couldn’t help her kids, but I could help the dog.
Twenty minutes later we pulled Blair’s fiesta in front of a real-life hoarders episode. The trailer had bags of trash lining the porch and several half-dressed children in the yard. Broken toys, worn by the sun, littered the driveway as we pulled around to the back. Annie stood with her baby on her hip and a smile on her face. Why is she smiling? I’m taking her dog! Gracie, her ancient black dog, was tied to a barrel out to the side and a small plastic cat carrier was bouncing wildly near the back door. A few stray cats were digging in piles of trash near the back porch. The place was disgusting and some of the kids hanging around weren’t even hers.
“Thanks, Ozma. Oreo is the worst dog ever.” Annie led me to the crate and Blair hung behind, burning holes in my back with her stink eye. She would get over it eventually, but until then I would hear about it. I already had a mental list of potential fosters for the new pup, so her anger was silly. I could totally handle a foster dog.
I crouched in front of the crate and popped it open, releasing the beast inside. The smell hit me hard as the captive bolted from his prison, and I gagged, shoving the crate back. I scrambled backwards from the smell, nearly falling on my ass, “My house stinks, he chews everything, and bit Toby last week. Toby pulled his ears, but he still shouldn’t bite.” Annie showed me the bruises on her baby’s fat hand, and I noticed her newly manicured nails. I did feel bad for Toby, but if you let your kid be mean to dogs, the kid will get bit. I focused on the dog bolting through the yard. It was probably supposed to be black and white, but looked more yellow and black. The smell was the worst part. Dead animals smelled better. No, dead animals that had been shit on smelled better, but I whistled, making the dog freeze and make a circle back toward me. I caught “Oreo” by the scruff of the neck and heaved him up, ignoring that the smell would permeate my new t-shirt dress, and started toward the car. Blair protested, pinching her nose. I paused just before loading into the car and looked at my cousin.
“This is revolting, Annie. Do not get another animal if you can’t feed it or care for it. This is abuse and neglect. I won’t help you again. Next time, I will call animal control, and you’ll get fined. Then a dog dies and the blood is on your hands.” With that, I climbed in my friend’s car, rolled down the windows and called my vet. Most cases could wait a day for a vet visit, but there was no way this smell was going in our house. Blair backed down the gravel driveway, shaking her head at me, but not saying a word while I talked with Ember, the vet’s office receptionist, about the appointment. The dog needed a bath at least, but shaving the poor thing bald was going to ensure the stench was gone. I made the appointment for half an hour later, asked for the works, and looked over at Blair, hoping she kept her rant short and sweet.
“You have lost your damn mind. Like, completely and utterly. We are stuck with the thing. I texted Lyric, she can’t help, Oz. What kind of dog is that anyway? It just looks, and smells like a piss covered trash bag.” Her nose curl intensified and I looked down at the dog cowering in my lap. He was black and white, or black and yellow, with huge hanging knots of hair all over. His ribs and back bone were protruding from his thin body, but his eyes were young and happy. Then I noticed the blood. It was all over my dress and the dog. I frantically started searching for the source of the blood and found that all four of his paws looked like burns, all open and weeping blood. Blair gasped, eyes darting from the road to the dog and back.
“You wouldn’t have left him there either and you know it. His size makes me think he might be a cocker spaniel, but until the hair is gone, I have no idea.” I leaned back in the seat and stroked his head, trying to calm him. The poor dog was deadly still, but I could feel his heart racing against my leg. He was completely terrified, too scared to even react. We pulled up at The Shores Veterinary Hospital and Pet Resort just shy of our appointment and I carried the pup in to meet Dr. Jenkins.
Ember greeted us at the front, Blair filled out the paperwork, grumbling as she went. Ember came from behind the counter to pet the dog curled in my lap, letting him give her chin a few tiny licks.
“What happened? Who is this?” Ember patted his head.
“Annie strikes again.” I sighed and Ember gave me a knowing look. She’d seen the aftermath of Annie before. This one was easily in the worst shape we had seen, but probably not the worst for her. After two years at the vet’s office, and a few months of volunteering at the rescue center, Ember had seen the worst of the worst.
The office was homey and clean and reminded me of my childhood. Dr. Jenkins had been my go-to vet since forever and was my Grampa’s best friend. Dr. Jenkins had dinners with us occasionally, played poker with Grampa, and made the best cherry pie. He had treated my grandparents’ farm animals and dogs. Then all our rescues. At seventy-five, the doc was still kicking and the best vet in town. He was slightly old-school, but had never failed us and never sugarcoated anything.
A new vet tech, a guy named Paul, called us back to a room and weighed the poor dog, lifting his tiny frame onto the metal table that doubled as a scale. Twelve pounds. A cocker that size with that much extra hair should have weighed more. A lot more. The dog cowered on the cold metal table, but his tiny tail wagged when I stared into his deep brown eyes, almost like we were sharing the same thought. I’m so screwed. The fear and longing in the brown depths had tears pooling in my eyes for the sixth time that day.
“No, Oz. No! NO!” Blair’s threatening tone made me swallow, and I knew my best friend had noted the exchange and read it perfectly. “You are not keeping that dog.” I opened my mouth to protest, but the door hit the wall with a thud and a very irritated looking man moved his green eyes from the dog on the table to me. I wanted to meet his accusing glare when it came to the pitiful dog cowering, but I was too busy looking at the rest of him. I inadvertently started at the thick thighs covered by black scrub pants and moved up. Trim waist, huge chest, and bulging biceps covered in freckles. Then I got to his face. Holy hell. A deep red stubble covered his angular jaw and chin. His shaggy hair was a matching red, and damn was he sexy as hell. I shuddered involuntarily. Who is he and where can I get one?
“You know dogs need to be fed, right?” He snapped, looking over the emaciated dog. I had just gotten to the piercing green eyes when he spoke, but he ruined it by talking. The deep baritone rumbled through the room and through me. Blair giggled like a flirty school girl. Skank.
“Yeah, most living things do. Who are you?” Tall, rude, and ginger moved past me to the dog, completely ignoring me. “Where is Dr. Jenkins?” The guy felt the dog over from head to toe, taking the dog’s temperature and writing it down. “Hello?” I waved my hands like wipers to get his attention.
“You also can’t let a dog sit in its own excrement for hours, or days. These are urine burns from his own urine.” The asshole showed me the feet I’d already seen and I gave up on getting an answer, huffing and rolling my eyes instead. I shot Blair an irritated look and crossed my arms over my chest. It was a true struggle to not yell at him, but I managed to keep my mouth shut
while he finished his exam. I may have been known for being a little heated… or a lot heated. Blair liked to call me spicy.
Once the new vet was done making notes, he gestured theatrically for me to talk, looking completely put out with me, “I’ll start with, who the hell are you and where is Dr. Jenkins, any Dr. Jenkins will do? I just really don’t want you.” I cocked my head and waited, arms still crossed.
“Dr. Oswin. Dr. Jenkins is out sick, and the young Dr. Jenkins is busy. So, you’re stuck with me.” Dr. Oswin cracked a sarcastic smile, “Now what did you do, or better yet, not do to the dog?” The jerk was actually accusing us of neglecting the dog, so the older staff hadn’t filled him in on who we were. His tone was completely off base, but his body was on point.
“Ozma Greenlee, Blair Smith. Nice to meet you. Actually, it’s not. I haven’t done a damn thing to the dog. And the dog’s name is Ziggy,” the lightning bolt shape on his sweet face reminded me of the late Ziggy Stardust, so I threw out a name just to piss the good doctor off. “We picked him up and brought him straight here.” I glanced at my watch, “I have had him a total of half an hour. Now, let me tell you how this is going to go, Dr. Oswin. Ziggy needs a groom, the wounds on his feet cared for, and he obviously needs some food. I can feed him; the other stuff is up to you. What I don’t need is you accusing me of things I’m not responsible for. Got it?” Hoping my tone got the point across, I crossed my arms and stopped gesturing like a moron. Dr. Oswin had me all pissy, and I did weird things with my hands when I got pissy, like wave them around like a freak.
“Fine. I’ll get Ziggy set up for a groom in a couple of hours and some antibiotics for his feet. They need to be kept dry and clean. He also needs vaccines since I doubt you two have given him any.” My mouth fell open and I nearly launched at his stupid face. Blair grabbed my arm when I started forward, holding me back, but I still had a free finger to stick in his stupid, beautiful face.
Standing on my toes, I gave him a piece of my mind, “Look asshole, new doctor or not, you don’t get to assume things about us, or speak to us that way. We have helped a dozen dogs get vet care in the past year and Ziggy is no different. I didn’t cause his problems, but I’m here trying to fix it, which is more than I can say about you right now!” I got off my toes and out of his face. “So, do your job and stop being a judgmental jackass.” With that I stormed out of the room, slamming the door into the wall, and leaving Blair to deal with Dr. Douchecanoe and Ziggy. Ember watched me pace the lobby along the row of couches for a moment before waving at me with a manila folder. She was the cutest thing ever with her big brown eyes and perfect makeup.
“I see you met Dr. Oswin.” Ember gave me a pitying glance as I dropped my purse on the counter and pulled out my check card. “He’s a little moody, but a really good vet, and nice to watch walk away.” I’m not sure if Ember was trying to convince me or herself about Dr. Oswin, and I hadn’t even gotten to see his backside, “He was hired a few weeks ago, he’s amazing in surgery but could use a lesson in bedside manner.” Her voice was hopeful, trying to calm my irritation. I didn’t care how good he was at his job.
“He’s an asshole.” I stated it plainly and handed her my card.
“Jackass or asshole? Which is it?” His voice thundered around me, but I didn’t turn to face him. I just closed my eyes and blew out a slow breath. I signed the bill, thanked Ember and confirmed my phone number for when Ziggy would be finished up. Blair held the door open and I stuffed my wallet back in my bag as we left. I could feel his eyes on me, burning into my back as I rounded the corner toward Blair’s car. Stupid, jackass, asshole jerk. Just before I shut my door, I caught sight of vanity plates on a Mustang behind us in the side mirror. OsWin. He had the nerve to judge me, but had douchebag vanity plates on a stupid overpriced car. Of course.
I looked at the dog lovingly, trying not to stare awkwardly at him. He looked like a different dog than I picked up this morning. Blair stared at me from the end of the couch, her icy blue eyes moving from the remote in my hand to Ziggy lying comfortably across my middle. I tried to ignore the look on her face, but my best friend looked like she might murder me, “What the hell is wrong with you, Oz? We can’t have a dog.” The last part sounded more like a plea than an actual statement. Ziggy lifted his head for a second before dropping it back down on my stomach for me to scratch his nose. The dog obviously agreed with me, we could have a dog. Not that I thought Ziggy was a fashion accessory, but the red booties covering his feet matched my pajamas perfectly.
“You have Artemis and Percival.” I pointed the remote at her, reminding Blair of the two cats that had moved into our boutique the day we rented the space. Blair admitted defeat and huffed at me. I only won about a third of our arguments, so keeping Ziggy was a huge win for me. Blair was the impulsive one of our dynamic duo, but somehow, she always won out. I was the safe, cautious one with a sassy mouth, and it got me a dog.
“If that dog pisses on anything, he’s gone.” Blair patted Ziggy’s head, gave me one more glare, and started toward her room, “And quit holding that grudge, you’re getting wrinkles. He was an ass, but I picked up the damn dog so you didn’t have to see Dr. Asshat, and now it’s over. Move on.” Her words just stirred up the anger I had settling in my gut. I heard the shower start and relaxed back on the couch, stroking Ziggy to calm myself. I was holding a grudge, but not against Dr. Douchecanoe, it was against myself for letting him get to me, but Ziggy calmed the anger with a lick to my hand and a butt wiggle.
I hadn’t had a dog since leaving home. Dad had a tiny terrier mix that was a little shit, but he loved him, and Rocky seemed to keep Dad’s crazy side in check, for a while. Blair and I helped tons of animals between Annie and the animal shelter, but never kept any until the pair of kittens that were supposed to be temporary. Ziggy spoke to me though. Part of me wanted to prove Annie wrong about the poor dog, the other part just genuinely liked Ziggy. He was beautiful and uninhibited, but calm. Ziggy loved my affection, maybe more than any human I had ever met. Definitely more than any human I had ever met, especially any male.
I went back to watching Tyra Banks order around aspiring models with Ziggy in my lap, trying to listen to my bestie’s advice. People were assholes all the time, so why was Dr. Douchecanoe getting to me? I mean, I was tough as nails and didn’t take crap from anybody. I blamed it on stress from our grand opening the next day and shot a snap to Ivy about the events of the following day. Having everything laid out with an hourly schedule made me feel better about the life altering event tomorrow. Adding silly filters helped me relax too.
Ivy came sniffing around our renovations as soon as our sign went up and always looked cute as hell. When she finally approached us with gourmet donuts and coffee asking for a job, we hired her on the spot and Ivy jumped into the boutique with us. Fresh out of high school meant she was a little young, but our target audience, and the girl was stylish. She had the perfect thin build for modeling our clothes and a flair for accessorizing. Her long brown waves and cute round face didn’t hurt either.
Unfortunately, my snapchats with Ivy didn’t wash away my anger about those accusing green eyes. Why couldn’t Dr. Assclown be ugly? I mean, really, the guy was rich, arrogant, and hot as hell. Like an orgasm on legs hot. Not that I would know about orgasms from experience, but if he weren’t such a jerk, I’d want to find out. The whole situation was unfair. He was a vet at the most successful practice around, so the guy had to be smart and driven, but he was a complete dick weasel.
I went back to the models on TV and looked down at my own lacking physique. I’d never been a thin girl, but the busy hours of getting the boutique ready to open meant tons of fast food and little time for exercise. Yeah right. I never exercised, before the boutique or during, but my junk food habit had kicked up a notch. Blair was a different story, getting up before dawn to hit the gym and staying fit. Every short blonde needs a tall, sometimes brunette, bestie. Even that train of thought brought me back to Dr. Dickhead. He obvi
ously wasn’t lacking in the healthy eating and exercise department. His bulging thigh muscles were apparent through his scrub pants and his chest was broad enough for two of me to lie against. Not that it would ever happen. Ever. And I really didn’t even want to think about it. I’d be happy never seeing that jerk again, but I could still appreciate his nice chest. Right?
I jerked awake the next morning, falling off of the couch and landing on my side on the floor. If only Adam Levine actually woke me up by singing me into the floor instead of it just being my alarm. I groaned and Ziggy eyed me from his place on the couch, silently asking why I was on the floor. I scrambled up when I realized what day it was. It was the day. The day of days. Not even thoughts of Dr. Asswipe could kill the high of our grand opening. Why is he even crossing my mind? No matter how sexy the guy was, or how mad he made me, I was putting him out of my mind for the rest of the day, and hopefully eternity. No more anger over the sexy asshole. Only good vibes.
Ziggy switched into full tear-ass-through-the-house mode when I made it to the kitchen to feed him and make my coffee. The goofy dog stole bites of his food as he made mad dashes between the living room and kitchen, bouncing off of the couch and ricocheting off of walls. The boots were obviously helping his feet. Crazy mutt. I finally made it past the puppy insanity to the shower and let out an orgasmic sigh once the hot water hit my shoulders. The water was hot and the green apple shampoo was heaven. Thirteen outfits, five pairs of wedge sandals, and three applications of eye shadow later, I was ready. Blair had already left for the gym and would fuss at me for being late, but she could kiss my ass. I had to look perfect for our opening day.
Ziggy hopped willingly into the front seat of my yellow bug, like he knew exactly what was going on, and then we were off to the boutique. Ziggy looked amazing in my front seat. Despite being thin, the dog was beautiful. The white places that were formerly yellow had black speckles and the groomer left his ears wavy and flowing with the rest of him smooth. So, precious.