“Yogi, come.” I didn’t like the poodle’s body language one bit. Yogi turned to me with cautious sideways steps, his eyes never leaving the dog.
He was nearly up to me when the poodle launched herself on him with a savage snarl. Yogi dived behind me. “Hey, hey,” I said, keeping my voice gruff and my stance wide. “Cut that out!”
The poodle’s white teeth snapped less than an inch from my ankle.
This was so not going to end well!
“Shadow!”
Finally! It was the owner.
“Get over here,” she said to the dog. “She’s not like that usually,” she said to me.
Sure, lady. That was another animal who had attacked us the last time we’d met. And the time before that. Shadow retreated. “Come on, Yogi,” I said as calmly as I could. “Let’s go.”
The magic words unfroze Yogi from cowering behind me, and we took off up the dirt path. The poodle and her person headed in the opposite direction.
I pulled out my cell phone with shaking hands.
“Hello.”
“Shayla,” I said, relieved to have someone to unburden myself on. “A dog just jumped Yogi.”
“No way!” Shayla said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“What kind of dog?” Shayla asked.
“A poodle,” I said, only to hear laughing at the other end. “It’s not funny, Shayla!”
Meanwhile Yogi decided to run through the trees and assume the I’m-about-to-take-a-dump position on a manicured lawn with a series of signs nailed to the tree above it.
KEEP OFF THE GRASS
DOGS MUST BE LEASHED
NO TRESPASSING
I was so rattled I forgot that we had entered the on-leash section of the trail.
“Wait, Yogi! Yogi, STOP!” I yelled.
“What’s up?” Shayla said. “Is the poodle back?”
“Call you back,” I said, and herded Yogi off the grass. The lawn was unsullied by Yogi doo-doo. Whew.
“Go. Potty. In. The. Woods,” I explained carefully. I think I may have made helpful hand gestures to help him understand.
“Good advice.” There was a laugh hidden in that deep voice, even though it was trying to be deadpan.
“Thank you.” I nodded civilly at the runner who tossed that at me as he jogged past.
But when he vanished into the leafy distance I freaked and screamed silently at fate.
Really, Universe, really?
Did that guy have to pass me at that exact moment?
This was even worse than our first meeting—and that is saying something!
I’d first seen mystery guy three weeks ago. I had taken Yogi out early that day, around 7:30 AM—it was that freakishly hot week in June when the temperature was into the eighties by nine. So there we were, having a nice cool early-morning run along the lake, with the sun just coming up, when what should we see but a cat—an enormous gray Maine Coon—just sitting in our path like it owned the place.
Now, Yogi is a sweet, friendly dog—he even gets along with cats if they’re introduced to each other indoors—but he is, after all, a dog. And when a dog sees an unknown cat, he is morally obligated to chase it.
Next thing I knew, Yogi had bolted after the cat. The cat had morphed into a yowling, bushy-tailed puffball that sounded like it was being skinned alive. I chased Yogi, who chased the cat, and suddenly there was this great big hulking guy looming over us all. And then the cat jumped into his arms and magically calmed down.
I had grabbed Yogi’s collar and was fumbling around trying to untangle his leash, so I didn’t at first get a good look at him. Then I straightened up, fully apologetic about my dog’s antics, and realized that the guy was wearing Burberry plaid pajamas and a Dr. Who T-shirt, and that he was barefoot, sleepy, slightly stubbly, and—even with a bad case of bedhead—utterly gorgeous. Also, he looked completely baffled.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Is the kitty okay?”
The cat had attached itself firmly to his shoulder and was lashing its tail.
“He’s in one piece, I guess,” he said—and what was that accent—British?
The cat let out a bloodcurdling yowl that was straight out of a horror movie, and Yogi’s hackles shot up from neck to tail. He tugged the leash so hard I slid to the ground and landed in a shallow puddle, splattering mud all over myself.
“Whoa! You all right?” the guy asked, keeping a firm grip on the cat.
“Yes,” I said, getting to my feet red-faced and wiping a muddy hand on my shorts. There was definitely dirt on my face as well. “I’m fine.”
“Nothing bruised or broken?”
“Nope!” I was too winded to say anything else, and it wasn’t smart to stick around anyway. “Come on, Yogi!” I dragged Yogi away from the scene of the crime, jogging off with as much dignity as I could muster around the bend in the trail.
So there you have it—our first meeting—wherein my generally sweet-as-petha dog chased down his poor defenseless pedigreed cat, forcing him to come to its defense barefoot, in his designer pajamas, and me to trespass on private property to leash my dog before landing butt-first in a mud puddle and beating a hasty and disheveled retreat.
Not exactly a proper introduction, huh?
After that I saw him 3.5 times (the .5 was a day when I saw him but he didn’t see me), and each time we simply nodded and smiled as we ran past in opposite directions. And now this. Not much of an improvement, frankly.
“It’s all your fault, Yogi,” I said. “Again!” And it was. But Yogi pricked his ears and cocked his head so trustingly that I couldn’t stay mad. Time to call it a day—it had been a long one. I trekked back to the parking lot, feeling hot and sticky and cranky, and reached for my car keys.
Only, they weren’t there.
Whaaat?
They weren’t there!
Yogi whined, waiting for me to open the car door, and I had nothing. I racked my brain. I must have dropped them when the poodle incident happened.
Oh, crap.
Chapter Three
“They were right here!” I wailed, cell phone clutched to my ear. “Shayla, I
