Wednesday
The most entertaining thing about Campbell, I have to say, is the way he talks to his mom when she calls him 9 times a week. Call me sadistic, but his facial expressions when she yells at him are downright priceless. He either rolls his eyes a certain way, or gives me a look that says, "Please kill me now."
It's downright hilarious.
"Mother," he now says a hand to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. "I doubt she's actually seventeen."
Ah, you humans and your desire for more than one person. Dogs? Three words: Mate for life. Simple as that.
"You underestimate your father, Campbell," I hear his mom say through the phone.
"Mom, I'm late for court," Campbell lies. He's good at that. "I'll check back in with you later." Really good at it.
He hangs up with a sigh just as she starts to begin another conversation. He looks down at me and points the phone at me. "Reason number 106 why dogs are smarter than humans…" There's a 106 reasons? Wow, I underestimate myself, "Once you leave the litter, you sever contact with your mothers."
Very true, but not the best thing about being a pooch. Humans don't look at what they have till it's gone. I wish I remembered my mother…Campbell on the other hand does not….(Well, he's not that heartless, but you know what I mean.)
I follow Campbell into his kitchen. If I could see colors, being color blind is very inconvenient by the way, his apartment would look the same. That's how utterly bland it is. He thinks it's fashionable. To me it just looks like someone sucked the life out of everything.
"You need a woman man," I tell him. "Brighten the place up."
"What do you think? Rosie's sound good?"
I immediately forget about the girl. Rosie's is where Campbell and I spend most of our time. The people watching is great, and they have the best chocolate croissants in the neighborhood. Campbell tried feeding me hypoallergenic dog food once. It looked like dirt, and smelled of cats.
"That's disgusting," I'd looked up at him when he'd sat a red food bowl in front of me one afternoon. "It doesn't even have my name on it!" I'd complained.
I've been eating "people food" ever since.
He fastens my harness on and then we leave.
It's bright and early and the coffee shop is bustling when we arrive. I bring us to the nearest free table and take a seat. I look for the waitress Campbell usually flirts with, but she's disappeared. Shame.
A gangly-looking boy comes up to us instead.
"I will never understand why your race does that," I comment to Campbell as I stare at the flashing silver rings attached to the boys brows. "So primitive."
He looks at me and I almost jump out of my vest. "Sorry, dude. No dogs allowed."
"Where has education gone these days? Can people not read anymore?" I murmur.
"This is a service dog," Campbell says for the trillionth time I've heard him say so. "Where's Ophelia?"
"That's her name?" I look at Campbell. "Thought it was Cruella…" True. She wore dead animals on her sleeves. I had a thought to call Ace Ventura, but remembered it was just Jim Carry with a crazy haircut.
"She's gone, man. Eloped last night."
Good riddens.
"Here's the Braille menu."
"I want a double espresso and two croissants, and I'm not blind," Campbell says.
"Then what's Fido for?"
"I have SARS. He's tallying the people I infect."
Campbell has made up so many excuses for me I've lost count.
"I'm allergic to peanut butter and the dog comes between me and one of those Reeses filled chocolate bunnies when Easter rolls around. (Trust me if that one were true, the solution would be simple. I'd eat it.)
"I'm allergic to dogs." Yeah he didn't think that one through…
But the excuse works, and the waiter leaves us be.
I suddenly catch a whiff of something I haven't smelt in a long time. I usually only smelt it around some of Campbell's old photographs. But there it was.
I looked out the window, and saw a woman with ebony curls. She spills coffee on her shirt, and I look up at Campbell to see him dumbfounded.
Bingo. If this job fails, I call Scooby's job.