Chapter Three: Uncle Shug

"Son, you've got to change the name of that dog."

"But Uncle, a cooter is pseudemys concinna, a common freshwater turtle. They are found in swamps and rivers all over. It comes from the word "kuta" which means "turtle" in an African language. They have sleek, dark carapaces and red streaks along their head. Cooter looks just like that. His name is perfect."

My nephew, Emmett, smiled fondly down at his canine buddy who was lolling lazily at his feet. The dog didn't care what you called him. Emmett had been playing with his Legos at the kitchen table. Now, this nine-year-old child didn't just play with Leggos, he constructed with Leggos. Each piece was carefully placed to create a design that would be worthy of Frank Lloyd Wright. Even the colors had to be just so.

But Emmett wasn't just picky about his Leggos, he also loved reptiles. His room was a zoo of terrariums containing lovingly cared for turtles, frogs, lizards, salamanders, you name it. He's been lobbying for a snake, but my sister put her foot down on that one. Emmett could tell you everything about each one of his critters, from their various subspecies to what they preferred to eat. Not sure if he knew much about their mating habits. Haven't asked. Don't want to know. Cooter, the dog, was his parents' attempt to give him a more normal pet pursuit. I'm not sure it worked.

Sis, who was washing dishes, laughed. "We've tried to convince him to name the dog something different, Shug, but he's adamant."

I gave her a side-long look. She was setting that boy up for trouble. What happened to me that morning was just a small example. It sure got me started off on the wrong foot with the pretty, prickly lady I met at the beach this morning.

Sighing, I grabbed a dish towel and started drying the pile of dishes Sis had stacked on the counter and said, "Yeah, but the boy's got to learn his social rules as well as his phyla."

"Yes, I know. But it's sort of cute, don't you think?"

"Emmett's cute for a nine-year-old, but it won't be so cute when he's twelve."

My sister was a little soft on her kid. She had a right to be. He was born a little early and it was touch and go for a bit, but he's coming along well. He's brilliant about the things that interest him, but completely oblivious to the things that don't. And he truly doesn't care.

But I've found it's always the things you don't see that hurt you the most in the end.

Maybe ol' Uncle Shug can help him out a bit with this.

*A few days later*

I woke up from a sound sleep and sat up, accidentally knocking Angie off her pillow. I had been dreaming again. Or was it a nightmare? For some reason, my dreams lately revolved around the beach, a smile, a look, and, oh lordy, what a body! What in the world is wrong with me? Why was that boy taking up so much of my headspace? I rolled over and punched the pillow down. The clock told me it was too early to get up and I had a long shift at The Bishop today. I shut my eyes and immediately I saw his grin, his hair, and that insouciant tip of the imaginary hat. I rolled over again, and Angie whined. I was disturbing her beauty sleep, I guess. Well, no use staying in bed trying to get back to sleep. I'd just have another nightmare about him, again.

I got up and did my morning routine. I couldn't take Angie to the doggie daycare until seven a.m., so I decided to stop by Aster's for a morning cup and croissant for me and a dog bone for Angie. Aster's was a lovely little morning place that served the best coffee in town in a tropical setting. Angie and I could sit on their patio under the palms and bougainvillea and enjoy the peace and beauty of dear Parma. Not many outsiders knew of The Aster and so the folk you'd see there you'd already know, or at least recognize.

"Hey, Angie!" I looked up as Jessica strode up and squatted down at Angie's side. "How's my good girl today?" Of course, my effervescent dog was glad to have the adulation. Jess was completely ignoring me, but I was used to people paying more attention to my sweet doggie anyway.

"How you doing, Jess?" I asked.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Doing fine. Why are you here at this hour?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd get out early today."

"Where you at work yesterday?" Jess stood, an excited flush dusting her cheek.

"No. I had off."

"Oh my god. Miss Audrey's Sugar came by to see her. I think I'm in love."

Jess was in love with someone new just about every other week, so I wasn't too surprised. "Really? The cowboy? I didn't think those were your type."

Jess sat down on the chair across from me. "He's gorgeous. And so friendly. He didn't look like a cowboy. Why do you say that?"

"Miss Audrey said he was a rancher in Montana. That qualifies, I think."

Jess shrugged. "I hope he comes by again when I'm on shift. I'm going to figure out how to give him my phone number or something."

"Be careful, Jess, that's a little on the iffy side. The Bishop admin might have a problem with that."

"Pfft. They won't know."

It was getting close to seven, so I stood. "I've got to drop Angie off at daycare. You working today?"

"No, tomorrow. You?"

Looking down at my scrubs, I said, "I usually don't wear these unless I am working, so yeah. But I'll see you tomorrow."

Hmmm, I thought as we drove away. Seems like Sugar was now in town. I wonder if he's a Hoss Cartwright or a Sam Elliot?

Notes:

Culture differences. In some parts of the US, if you call someone Ma'am or Sir, it's just a sign of respect, and does not reflect their age difference. It's perfectly fine for a young man to call a young woman Ma'am, if fact, it's considered mannerly, in some parts. In other parts, it is something only a man would address to an older woman and therefore some women would be insulted by it. This is not the case in Sweetness.

Now, Sugar's family is from the south. Though he grew up in the northern west of the US (Montana), he was raised by southerners (his mother and her family). His father adopted their mannerisms. Hence, his accent and manners.

Cooter is a Catahoula Leopard Dog. I'm modeling him on my son's dog. A friendlier, goofier, gentler, lovable goofball there never was. My son's dog's name is Augie, though.