Daisy leaped out of the tub and ran in naked, sliding pursuit. He somehow squeezed behind the couch with his captured treasure. She pulled the couch away from the wall and retrieved her panties. There was, of course, a hole in them. He wagged his tail.
“You little demon,” she said, picking him up and carrying him into the bathroom with her. She closed the door so he couldn’t get out, put her clothes on the back of the toilet where he couldn’t reach them, and got back into the shower. He spent the whole time yapping and standing on his back legs, trying to crawl over into the tub with her.
She had learned from the mop episode; instead of stepping out onto the bath mat to towel off, she stood in the tub. He eyed the towel with longing, sitting on his haunches and looking angelic.
His little face was so happy, she thought, his mouth open in a perpetual smile. His dark eyes, the rims dark, as if someone had lined his eyes with kohl, were very exotic with his pale fur and long blond lashes. He was so curious and enthused about everything that his tail wagged nonstop, like a souped-up metronome.
“So what if you’re a little devil,” she said. “You’re my little devil, and I fell in love with you when you climbed in my lap.” His tail wagged even faster as he listened to her voice and the crooning note in it.
“I have to come up with a good name for you, something that sounds big and tough. You’re supposed to protect me, you know. I don’t think it would scare many burglars if I yelled, ‘Sic ‘im, Fluffy,’ do you? How about Brutus?”
He yawned.
“You’re right; you aren’t a Brutus. You’re too pretty. How about Devil?” After a moment, watching him, she vetoed that choice herself. “No, I don’t like that, because I just know you’re going to be a sweetheart when you grow up.”
She tried out names on him for the rest of the evening: Conan, Duke, King, Rambo, Rocky, Samson, Thor, Wolf. None of them were right. She just couldn’t look at that smiling little face and make a macho name fit.
She learned not to leave water in his water bowl, or it ended up on the kitchen floor. When he went to his bowl, she poured a little water in, and after he’d lapped that up, she poured some more, until he quit lapping. Unfortunately, there was usually some water left in the bowl when he finished, and he pounced into it. Daisy mopped up water seven times that night, with him in fierce pursuit of the mop head.
He was so intelligent she was amazed; in just that afternoon and night he had learned to go to the back door when he needed to go outside. Finally he seemed to be winding down, so Daisy introduced him to his dog bed, which she had placed in her bedroom so he wouldn’t be lonely and cry at night. She closed the bedroom door to keep him corralled for the night, placed the stuffed duck in the bed with him, and wearily crawled into bed. She turned out the lamp, and exactly two seconds later he started whimpering.
Fifteen minutes later she gave up and lifted him into the bed with her. He was almost hysterical with joy, jumping and tugging at the covers and licking her in the face. She had just gotten him settled down when the phone rang. It was Jack. While he was talking, the puppy found her robe, which she’d tossed across the foot of the bed, and began tugging at the sleeve. She said, “Killer, no! Put that down! I have to go,” and hung up to lunge across the bed and grab him just before he tumbled backward to the floor.
Not five minutes later, the doorbell rang. Sighing in fatigue, she got out of bed, picked up the puppy, and carried him with her to the door. That seemed the safest thing to do. A quick peek revealed Jack standing impatiently on the porch. She turned on the light and with one hand unlocked the dead bolt and let him in.
He stepped inside and froze, staring at the puppy. “That’s a puppy,” he said in almost stunned astonishment, which was really observant of him considering she’d already told him she had a dog.
“No!” she said, pretending shock. “That lady lied to me.”
“That’s a golden retriever puppy.”
She cuddled the baby to her. “So?”
With measured movements, Jack closed the door, locked it, then rhythmically beat his head against the frame.
“What’s wrong with my puppy?” Daisy demanded.
In a strained voice he said, “The whole idea was to get a dog for protection.”
“He’ll grow,” she said. “Look at the size of his feet. He’s going to be huge.”
“He’ll still be a golden retriever.”
“What’s wrong with that? I think he’s beautiful.”
“He is. He’s gorgeous. But goldens are so friendly they’re no protection at all. They think everyone is their friend, placed on earth just to pet them. He might bark to let you know when someone comes up, but that’s about it.”
“That’s okay. He’s perfect for me.” She kissed the top of the puppy’s head. He was squirming, trying to get down so he could investigate this new human.
Sighing, Jack reached out and took the little guy in his big hands. The puppy began licking madly at every inch of skin he could reach. “So his name’s Killer?”
“No, I’ve just been trying out names. Nothing seems to fit.”
“Not if they’re like Killer, they won’t. You name goldens something like Lucky, or Fuzzbutt.” He lifted the puppy until they were nose to nose. “How about Midas? Or Riley? Or—“
“Midas!” Daisy said, her eyes lighting as she stared from him to the puppy. “That’s perfect!” She threw her arms around him, stretching up on tiptoe in an effort to kiss him, but the newly named Midas got there first and licked her on the mouth. She sputtered and wiped her mouth. “Thanks, sweetie, but you aren’t half the kisser the guy is.”