AN: Here's another! Let me know if you like it. Working on Ugly Duckling Bakery and researching In Bold Print. They will be up soon!
This is a short one.
Chapter 2: Pickles
That damn dog is nipping my leg. Here I stand outside the house that I shared with Edward, clutching a travel mug of precious caffeinated elixir and having my pants being destroyed by my little demon hound. My days are filled with being attacked by needle puppy teeth, cleaning up piles of poop and having her peeing on my new shoes. Sure, I got them on the sale rack at Target, but those sneakers were ten bucks. You don't pee on a bargain.
My dad thought getting a dog would be the perfect antidote for my loneliness. A dog, in his humble opinion, is a true friend. So when I laid on my couch in a fetal position watching a hokey Anne Hathaway movie after signing those divorce papers, my dear dad pulled me up and dragged me to the local pound. I was immediately smitten by a shivering and wiggling puppy. A black Labrador mix, she looked at me with her big, brown eyes and drew me in with this realization. Edward hates dogs. I had to get her out of some twisted spite and name her Pickles. Edward hates pickles.
Soon as we got back to the house she ate my favorite pillow and pooped on a white rug. Maybe I wasn't a dog person.
I pulled Pickles into the house and towards her crate; the cat immediately hissed at us and scratched the couch leaving a large rip down the side. The cat was Edward's. His new lady was allergic, so I got the vicious parting gift. He scratched the furniture and, along with the dog, leaves presents of excrement throughout the house. Along, with his overpriced kitty food, Hemingway was a costly bother. Hemingway was a costly bother with a pretentious name that was, of course, chosen by Edward. I think 'pretentious' was Edward's original middle name. I don't think I'm a cat person either.
I looked quickly at my watch and walked quickly towards my shoes when I felt something squishy under my toes. My life is poop.