Love That Dog
Author Indigo Willowsun
Disclaimer I do not own SWAC, nor do I encourage the recreational use of cannabis. *wink*
Summary His golden, scruffy hair was soft to the touch. His arrogant way of prancing around my room was endearing. His obsession with my full length mirror I found a little odd, but he kept looking at himself even when I told him to stop. Chad. Sonny. Dog.
Notes I was watching my dogs, and then BAM! It hit me. This story. The dogs are based on my dogs, and I hope you love reading this as much as I loved writing it!
Indy
.
I'm a dog person, through n' though. Yep. Love me some doggies!
NO! No, I didn't mean like I ate them or anything. Please take that comment and re-think the way you thought about it and think about how I really meant…hot dogs! Yea! I meant—Sonny loves hot doggies! Wieners!
Oh god. That could be taken bad places too. Oh geez, maybe I should just stop talking, yea? How did I even get to be on a television show that is watched in millions of households worldwide? I could literally create WWIII by opening my big mouth and saying something stupid, like, Jamaica is a lame country, because all the drug violence Ja-make-ya wanna leave. If I said that on air I expect I would get about a hundred hate joints in the mail. Then I would get kicked off the So Random and sent to a teenage correctional facility for drug possession, because I'm too young to be thrown in jail.
And ya know what?
Chad Dylan Cooper would probably get to smoke all my weed.
That vile name reminds me of what I was originally talking about: how much I love dogs and don't want to eat them—or just the love part.
So, yea, I was jogging in the park by my apartment this weekend when this couple ran by me yelling after something. My helper instincts kicked in, and I changed my course, so I was running after them. I spotted what they were chasing before they even knew I was behind them. A little dog, maybe about yay-high, had a huge chuck of rotisserie chicken in its chops. It was scampering about in a zig-zag playful pattern making it difficult for the upset couple to catch him and what must have been their picnic lunch. I sprinted ahead until I was in front of the dog and surprised it with some killer ninja-like moves. It skidded to a halt and just looked up at me with these huge eyes. I glanced up to see the man and woman pant up to me and the frozen dog.
I felt like I had just shot Bambi's mother.
"Um, hey, sorry about my dog. He—" I discreetly made sure it was a he. It was. "—ran off a while ago and I was trying to find him."
"This is your dog?" the man growled. Isn't that what I had just lied about to save the poor pup? His bald head glittered with sweat as he glared at me.
"Yes?"
"He just ruined our dat—"
I interrupted him, not wanting the dog to bolt. "Look, I'm sorry. I really am. I'll keep him under a tighter leash next time. How much was your chicken? I'll pay for it."
The woman stared at me queerly before nodding her head and grinning. "You're Sonny Monroe from that children's version of SNL!" she laughed.
Relieved, I smiled. "Yea…"
"Honey!" she said slapping the man on the chest, "Mike loves her! Our son loves your show…and you…he's fourteen."
"Oh!" I said not knowing what else to say. I then thought about a certain heartthrob who probably has these awkward conversations a billion times a day, and determined what he would do. "Want me to sign…this leaf for him?"
The husband no longer looked so scary. "How about you sign that leaf and my head for him. He'd love that."
"He so would!" clapped the woman.
I nearly glimmered with happiness. My first bald head signing! Beat that Cooper!
When the whole ordeal was over, signing and all, I turned my attention back to the dog who sat at my sneaker clad feet snacking on his stolen prize. He was quite charming and I'll admit I aww-ed even if he was a proven trouble maker.
"Hey! Hey you! Dog!" That adorable face turned up to me as innocent as a wittle wabbit. "Hey."
That is how I found my dog.
.
Now this is how I convinced my mother to keep him.
After carrying him in my arms back to my apartment, I thought of different ways to help my mother see the positives of keeping the dog.
First, off he was most likely under our complexes pet weight limit of 20 lbs. He couldn't be over twelve. Second, he was peppy and sunny, but not hyper-active. Okay, so he wasn't 'sunny' at all. He seemed like a very cynical dog the whole way home. If glaring was possible for dogs, it would seem mine was very good at it. The dog also seemed very full of himself, but I didn't know that until I let open the door and he jumped on the couch and curled up as if he owned it. He stared at me like I was stupid.
Anyway, (we'll go with sunny and peppy) thirdly, he has the face of doggie-god. Really. What a cutie! His golden, scruffy hair was soft to the touch. His arrogant way of prancing around my room was endearing. His obsession with my full length mirror, I found a little odd, but he kept looking at himself in it even when I told him to stop.
"Look, dog, I like you a lot. Love you, even. You seem like such a prima-donna that I just can't resist," I exclaimed.
The small thing came up to me more humble than I had ever seen him in the last two hours, and set his muzzle on my knees. His sweet eyes took their time before peering up at me from below his eyebrows. Oh! How full of expression they were. A million infinitesimal emotions swam across the deep pools of charisma and I could feel little pieces of me being sucked into the two black holes that we call pupils. My heart swelled up, and just when I thought I was gunna burst into confetti sized pieces of sunshine…he turned away. The dog just turned away, and walked to the mirror. He curved to face me once, and all I could see in his face was boredom.
Within moments of feeling crushed by his sudden snub, I felt the prickling sensation of déjà vu.
"Whoa, whoa, what?" I asked aloud in my squeaky voice that I apparently use when I'm lying or in denial.
I checked back over at the dog and as soon as he saw me looking at him he turned over. He wanted a tummy rub, that bastard.
.
Right, so I was supposed to explain how I convinced my mom to say yes to the dog.
Well…
"Hi, Mom! How ya doin'? I'm doing good. Really good actually. Well, I mean. You know…I am well, not good. Least I'm learning something in English. Yea, so, uh, I was kinda wondering…pondering really…about how I was gunna ask you this, but, uh, canIkeepthisdogIfoundhe'sreallycuteprettyplease?"
My mom sighed. That's when the dog sauntered in. My mom smiled.
"Sure."
.
"What are you going to name him, Sonny?" asked Mom while re-heating some green bean casserole for dinner.
I'd been thinking about that since I had met him. "I dunno. Any suggestions?"
"Rob Lowe."
I grimaced, "No!"
"Buddy?"
"Naw."
"Andy Warhol."
"Eh."
"Jimmy Dean!"
"Oh baby!"
"Is that a yes?" Mom said.
"No."
"No, that isn't a yes, or no, that is not not a yes?"
"Huh? It's a no to Jimmy Dean. Beautiful man…"
Mom's voice was clear as she asked, "Chad Dylan Cooper?"
"WHAT?" yelled I.
"What, what?"
Oops. I didn't mean to sound horrified over the proposal. I mean, I did have a poster of him hanging in my room. It was from before I had met him; it was one of the first things I had put up when I moved into the apartment, and I just, uh, never had the chance to rip it down, and put it through my shredder.
I tried to backtrack my exclamation. "Well…I mean…Chad Dylan? Really, Mom, do we really?" Oh goodness.
My mom looked at the face of the dog that soon could have the name of my worst 'frenemy'. "He kinda resembles Chad."
"Cause' Chad's a dog when it comes to women," I muttered venomously.
"Excuse me?"
Rolling my eyes, I grinned, "Kinda."
"The hair, the attitude, the weird way he keeps looking at himself in the reflection of the broken toaster near the trash can."
I had to laugh. I had to laugh or else I might've cried. All. So. TRUE. "I guess."
"I vote his name to be Chad Dylan Cooper. Hello, Chad! Hewo!" she cooed at him. The dog twisted around to us leaving the toaster behind. His tail wagged.
"Oh no!"
"He is Chad!"
The dog barked in agreement.
Turns out, the dog wasn't Bambi. I was.
.
As I tried to fall asleep, Chad (oh it is so difficult to say that name), kept licking my nose (aw man, I can't keep going if statements like that will be made!) and whining as I pushed him off my bed. Chad would then jump back on and try to snuggle with me underneath my covers like a spoiled little brat.
But I'm a dog person, and I couldn't not let him sleep with me.
The next morning I found half my body falling off the foot of the bed. Wondering groggily what happened, I lifted my head it see that Chad had stationed his little body on top of my pillow and had all this limbs splayed out, so he took up the most amount of space his size allowed leaving me with the bottom half portion of the bed.
Jerk.
As if hearing that name slid out of my thoughts and muttered out of my mouth, the dog awoke, and sprung to his feet. He yawned as he stretched, not even acknowledging me—the kind owner who let him on the bed last night. He had sweet licked me until I was stupid enough to go along with what he wanted! I had an evil genius of a dog.
Chad Dylan was also very sweet when he wanted to be. My dog, of course. The real Chad Dylan is as sweet as a lime.
My Chad liked bacon. He liked peeing lampposts. He enjoyed watching television…especially Dynasty reruns. When I showered, he liked joining me which I found a little awkward, because he had proved he was very intelligent, and doesn't that just creep you out a bit?
The day passed slowly and soon night fell once again, and my first day with Chad Dylan had gone from less-than-stellar to quite nice. The real test was leaving him behind when I went to work the next day.
That next day, I came home to a house that was not peed upon or destroyed. It seemed like I could trust Chad Dylan. That's the way it seemed for three days, but…
…Nope.
.
Chad Dylan Cooper, the boy, was a mean, mean teen king. I was stomping off to Stage 2 to tell him exactly that minus the 'king' part, because he'd love that.
The details were unimportant. All I wanted was to get close to Chad's face and try to make him flinch. I wanted him to show some sort of weakness for once. (Tawni liked to tease that I was the teen king's Achilles heel, but I think that's just stupidity talking).
"Chad!"
A mellow voice drifted from the makeup area. "Sonny? Honey?"
"Don't call me honey."
"I thought you attracted more bees with honey than vinegar."
"You're not trying to attract me, Cooper. You're trying to trick me."
By this point I was standing behind his chair. His California boy hair was right below my nose and I couldn't help, but casually sniff. Old Spice. Damn. Good smell.
"Who says," he murmured turning to face me, "that I'm not trying to attract. Maybe trickery is left to the fools who are afraid of love."
He was using his blue-eyed gaze on me again. I rolled my own dull eyes and said, "Chad. You have a To Do list taped to your mirror. Oh. And look at number two. 'Trick Sonny Monroe for shits and giggles'."
"It does not say that!" Chad cried out as he spun to take a look for himself. He smirked. "Well…what do ya know. It does say that! Wow, Sonny, you're almost as good as Nancy Drew."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I always liked the Hardy Boys better."
"So why are you here? Some finally killed Tawni? I'm betting it was Old Man Jenkins."
I huffed. God! He was so annoying! "Look, I have to times for games! I'm all serious business righ—"
A moo interrupted what was going to be a kick ass speech.
I saw that it was my mother and immediately pushed talk unknowingly pressing it twice so that she was on speaker.
"Sonnnny!" Her voice shattered through wavelengths. "Chad Dylan is chewing on my favorite pair of boots! And he ripped up your baby blue bra! Chhhhaddd!"
Embarrassed, I very quickly hung up on her.
"So…" Chad the boy said. I could feel his smirk on forehead, as I looked at my shoes with my face fifteen different shades of red.
"I have to go."
"You named some crazy animal after me?"
I sighed, "My dog is named Chad Dylan just, because—"
"No, no, no. Say no more. I understand."
"No you don't!" I cried out.
"I think he does," a new voice called out sing-a-song-y. It was his co-star Portlyn.
I could have sworn Chad paled a bit, but that might have been an effect of my mortification.
"No I don't!" he said.
I gaped at him. "But you just said you did."
"And you just said I didn't."
I had to at least tell him why he was his namesake. "I named him Chad Dylan, because he is sooo much like you. Like, he is in love with himself, and—"
Portlyn spoke up again. "Say no more, Sally."
"Sonny," Chad and I corrected at the same time.
"Whatevs. Girl. You don't have to explain to him why you have a dog with the same name as him."
"…I don't?"
"Nope."
Growling, Chad stood out of his chair. "Shut up, Port."
The girl did, but to add to the irony another castmate spoke up and said, "Oh yea, I know what she's talking about. Hey, CDC, don't you have a new dog? A chocolate Labrador named Sonny?"
I stared blankly at Chad as he turned crimson.
"Her name is, uh, Sunny…like the Sun. With a-a, uh, 'U' not an 'O'. Totally different."
Portlyn opened her mouth. "Nu-aw. On your Christmas cards it was spelled with an 'O'."
"Oh," was all I could say. I'm sure I looked like a shot deer.
Chad was faring no better.
"Yea," he stuttered.
"Okay…gotta go!"
I ran off into the open hallways of Condor Studio like Speedy Gonzalez.
.
I'm a dog person. I love dogs. I adore my dog Chad Dylan.
And you know what…I like his name now.
.
End
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That's all folks! What are your thoughts?
Extra Tidbit:
SONNY: I nearly glimmered with happiness. My first bald head signing! Beat that Cooper!
Oh Sonny. Silly Sonny.
I've signed many a bald head. In fact, I've signed a grand total of seven, yes seven, bald scalps. I mean, what were you really trying to prove with that statement? I'm Chad Dylan Cooper, for goodness sakes, and Chad Dylan Cooper is going to make a list for your enjoyment! (When I say enjoyment, what I really mean is pain.)
1. Baby - This one lady shoved a baby in my arms. Her eyes were full of tears as she told me that she named her son Chad Dylan after me and that she wanted me to give him my blessing. I decided that meant sign his hairless head.
2. Michael Jordan – Greatest basketball player of all time gets his head signed by the greatest actor of this generation.
3. Vin Diesel – Didn't think Vin was a Mack Falls did ya? Thought he had too much testosterone, huh? Well guess what…you're wrong, sucka!
4. Old man – for his granddaughter. I asked for a picture first, of course, to make sure she was hot. She was.
5. Hell's Angel Biker – Sonny, don't mess with me too bad, ai'ght? I've got a whole chain gang who tunes in every Wednesday. This guy was really bad ass. My sharpie signature was just the stencil for the tattoo!
6. Cancer girl – Her name was Stacy and with a wig she was hot. So I signed her head, so she'd be hot even without the wig. (Sorry, what that offensive? Sonny, Sonny, Sonny. It was a joke!)
7. Britney Spears – Remember when she hit rock bottom? I consider this to be my greatest autograph signing achievement. It was almost too much—even for me.
Oops, I did it again!
I won.
Sorry,
Chad Dylan Cooper