Stepdog by Nicole Galland

thanks. Not into bestiality. Not that I’m judging you for the suggestion or anything.”
    He bellowed briefly again. “What’s the worst thing about the dog, then?”
    â€œThe dog is fine, it’s the way Sara treats her that sends me round the bend. She talks to it like it can understand her, she’s constantly touching it, patting it, scratching its ears, she keeps telling me what’s going on inside the dog’s head as if she could know, and Iwant to say to her, ‘That’s not what the dog is fuckin’ thinking, all the dog is thinking is feed me .’”
    He shrugged. “Sure all girls are like that with dogs.”
    â€œAnd our lives circulate around the dog—we have to be home to feed it and walk it, we never can go away for the weekend, she plans her week around when the dog needs a bath. She doesn’t plan her week around when I need a bath.”
    â€œWell, in fairness, Rory,” said Danny. “You’re not so dependent on her as the wee dog is.”
    â€œShe encourages the dog to be dependent,” I said. “It’s maddening to watch, to be honest.”
    Danny looked confused. “Are you saying that if she convinced the dog to be less dependent, then the dog could somehow give itself a bath?” He grinned and raised his glass again. “Now that, I’d pay good money to see.”
    I GOT HOME before Sara, and of course the dog, as always, greeted me with her usual delirious joy, as if she thought I had been abducted by aliens and my safe return warranted a tribal dance. And maybe a treat. No sooner did I calm her wriggling than she heard Sara’s key in the door, glanced at me—checking to see if I wanted to turn in circles with her, I suppose—and then threw herself ecstatically at Sara as she entered. I waited for them to have their moment, which lasted longer than my moment with Sara when finally she gave me a hug and a kiss.
    I boiled the kettle for tea and we sat with our mugs at the counter, reporting on how the news had gone over in our respective camps.
    â€œIt’s fine,” she said. “Steve was so excited I think he wants tothrow us a party, and Elliot was, you know, cautiously approving. I got a little speech about the meaning of marriage and all that, which I can understand after all they went through for the right to wed.”
    â€œSure,” I said. “What about Lena?”
    Sara brushed her thick bangs off her forehead with one hand, then nodded with her lower lip protruding a little, a tic of hers when she had tricky news.
    â€œWhat?” I said. “What?”
    â€œNo, it’s fine. She just wanted me to tell you that she’ll lock you into Queen Hatshepsut’s sarcophagus if you’re taking advantage of my good nature.”
    â€œI promise not to take advantage of your good nature,” I said solemnly, “as long as I can take advantage of your obvious desire to give yourself to me on the counter. Right now .” I grabbed her round the waist with one arm suddenly, pushed both mugs out of the way with the other, then reached down to lift her legs up toward the countertop. She shouted with surprised laughter, pretending to fight me off, but I got her fully supine on the counter with little effort, and leaned over her. I reached toward her chest, to slip my hand under her bra, and dove toward her lips for a kiss, which I got, the tart. But before my hand had touched flesh, I realized that the dog was leaping up and down behind me, trying to find purchase on the countertop with a forepaw. Finally she stood upright enough to land a paw on the counter right at Sara’s head, and was (barely) able to peer over. She glanced up at me, terribly pleased with herself, tail wagging, and then right at Sara, whose face was only inches from the dog’s eyes.
    â€œHey, puppy.” Sara laughed. “Whatcha doing up here? Who’s a good dog? Who’s a