" so, wait... you're asking me to what exactly?"
"Feed it, walk it, make sure it doesn't die in the process; all else other than that, I could care less where it does its business, although I'm pretty sure you'd prefer he do that outside.
"Constance, I don't have time for that." I looked down at her brand new puppy sitting contently at her heels, "Besides, I can't guarantee that little runt will survive, even if it's just a week."
Constance gave him that look of you are full of shit and I know it and I'm fully aware that this look I'm giving you is one of the two things in the entire world that make you feel guilty so you will do as I ask or I won't stop, "Oh please! Like the ever important Mr. Hobbes has anything more important to do than sit back and clatter away at his little keyboard or conduct his 'cultural research'; which we both know amounts to little more than surfing the net for hours on end." Her lips purse a bit as she allows the corner of her eyes to soften. "Please, help me out here. I don't trust anyone enough to take care of him while I'm gone."
Damn it, she pulled the trust card. "One week. That's it. Anymore than that and I may debate adding canine to my menu."
"Aw, come on, Lu; it's just a little puppy. How bad can it be?"
"It breathes air, don't it? That's already two strikes against it. All I'm saying is this little shit-machine better mind its step while it's a guest in my house. I catch a hint of urine stench and he goes in the blender."
"You'd have to clean the stench of your own urine, liquor, and rotting food first before you could notice. To be honest I just hope Sartre doesn't catch anything incurable while he's here."
"Sartre?! That's his name?" Are you kidding me? Now I'm sure he can't stay."
Her brow furrowed, "What's wrong with Sartre? It's a classy name."
"First of all, it's not a classy name: it's pretentious. Second of all, that's an American Bulldog." I glared as the dog stooped over to the edge of the bushes and relieved himself. "Puppy or not, I highly doubt a dog like that will ever grow into a name like Sartre."
"Even if it affords you the ability to make bad jokes about how full of shit they both are?" Constance giggled at her own cleverness. Damn if she didn't know how to hit all my buttons, though I'm pretty sure she had no idea how cute I think she is when she laughs.
"Ha fucking ha." I smiled, "Fine, the little bastard can stay."
Her face lit up like a bulb as she jumped up to give me a hug. "Thanks, Lu!" Damn it, damn it, damn it. As much as I can appreciate a hug from one of the only people I can actually tolerate (or can tolerate me; personally I've found little difference), there is no describing the mess of conflicting should's and should not's playing pinball with my brain, stomach, and balls every time she touches me.