He strolled over by me and hopped up on the couch. Incredibly, his fur looked even fluffier.

“Don’t get too comfortable, I don’t know Rachel’s rules about pets on the furniture.” I curled my legs under me to give him more room.

Forgetting myself, I leaned over to smell him.

“Much better,” I said straightening. At his intense look, I went back to reading my book and pretended I hadn’t just leaned over and smelled a man. We stayed like that, side by side in companionable silence, until lunch when both our stomachs rumbled.

On the way to the kitchen, I noticed his wet towel on the bathroom floor.

“Next time, fold it over the edge of the tub,” I said. The bathroom lacked any other available space to hang a towel, and I didn’t want his towel hung in my room, either. That seemed a little too domestic.

I made us both dry ham sandwiches. Dry because I’d refused to pay four dollars for a miniature jar of mayo.

“I’m guessing your bowl of dog food will always be full,” I said as I set his plated sandwich on the floor. Sitting at the table, I started to eat my own sandwich. He finished his in two bites.

“So, we have a week before my classes start up. What’s your plan?”

He cocked his head at me.

“Did you want to try to enroll in any classes? Study anything?”

He lay down on the floor next to his empty plate, eyeing it sadly.

“Okay...well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

I washed our dishes and went back to reading. Eventually, he joined me on the couch.

Later that night, Rachel breezed into the house and tossed her keys and purse on the table. She had a manly spiked collar in her hand along with a leash.

From my position on the couch, I watched her kneel down next to Clay, who stood near his bowl of water. I wasn’t sure, but she appeared to have interrupted his contemplation of drinking from the bowl. The thought made me smile.

Trying to ignore the pair, I focused on my book. Shuffling movements sounded from the kitchen. Rachel mumbled something that was too quiet to hear. When the noises didn’t stop, I went to investigate.

“This is a joke,” she said. She knelt in front of Clay, face to muzzle, trying to get the collar on him.

I laughed from the doorway as I watched them struggle. She would wrap her arms around his neck to buckle the collar, and he would duck or shift to avoid her but he never got up and walked away. I caught a twinkle of amusement in his canine eyes.

I knew Rachel wouldn’t give up getting a real collar on him. He needed proof of license. Yet, he appeared very determined to avoid the collar. It served him right. He was the one who chose to be a dog.

Rachel mumbled again, and I decided to take pity on her. I knew how to reason with him. If Clay ever wanted to leave the house with me, he had to have a collar. I just needed to point that out.

“Here.” I held out my hand. “I’ll try.”

“Good luck,” she said with a laugh as she got off her knees and handed me the collar. She took my position in the doorway.

“It was the biggest collar they had. I don’t even know if it fits, he won’t let me get close enough.”

With a half-smile on my face, I knelt in front of Clay. I liked that he had a sense of humor when he interacted with Rachel. It made having him in the house tolerable...almost. I looked him in the eye.

“Clay, if you want to be able to go anywhere with us, you need a collar we can clip a leash on. Not just the twine you have holding your tag around your neck.”

He didn’t move so I leaned forward and reached for the string that held his current joke of a tag. He held still for me while I removed the twine and replaced it with the real collar.

“At least it’s not pink,” I said and patted him before I realized what I was doing. I’d forgotten myself again and treated him like a dog.

I quickly stood and avoided Clay’s direct gaze.

Rachel laughed. “Hey, I wouldn’t do that to him. No pink for our man. I don’t know why he sat still for you and not me.”

I’d forgotten about Rachel. She moved to pet and praise him for his good behavior. If I wanted a chance of having a friend as a roommate, I knew I needed to deal with Clay as a pet. But, I needed to watch myself. The direction of my thoughts—his assumed permanent residency in the house—troubled me. Making him comfortable and buying him a license wouldn’t help me get rid of him.

Rachel gave him a kiss, and he sighed. Maybe, he’d grow tired of her affection and run back to Canada. I held onto that happy thought.

“He’s moody,” I said, looking into his eyes. Moody and stubborn with a quirky sense of humor. Not a good combination.

Chapter 8

As soon as Rachel sufficiently praised Clay for wearing the collar, she went to her room to change. From her room, she asked if I wanted to join her for a girl’s night out. She explained she typically didn’t stay in too much; when not busy working, her social life called. Still too unsure of our relationship—I didn’t want to risk having someone Rachel might be interested in hitting on me—I declined. Thankfully, turning down her invitation didn’t seem to bother her.

While Rachel exceeded my expectations as a roommate, adjusting to Clay’s presence was something else entirely. When I woke Tuesday, Rachel was already gone. Clay still lingered at the foot of my bed.

“Get out,” I said as soon as I opened my eyes. He left without complaint.

I took my time to dress, then went downstairs to check out the basement. Clay followed me. I tried to ignore him as I looked around. There wasn’t much to see. The washer and the dryer were right by the steps, and there were a few utility shelves against the walls for storage.

With nothing else to do, I decided to take advantage of my idle time by sunbathing. I walked back upstairs and went to my room to change. After our talk the day before, Clay didn’t attempt to follow me.

The second time wearing the suit was a little less nerve-racking. I didn’t stare nervously in the mirror and eye all the pale skin glaring back at me. Instead, I appreciated the vivid coloring on the suit. Rachel had good taste.

Intent on finding the beach towels Rachel had used, I opened the door and stopped short at the sight of Clay. His huge dog head moved up, then down, as his eyes traveled the length of my body. I flushed, slammed the door, and changed back into shorts and a tank top. I opted to cut the grass, instead.

Clay sat on the porch and watched me push the mower back and forth. When I moved to the front, he followed. He was never in the way, just always there. After I went back inside to read, he did disappear for a bit. He had apparently taken my complaint about his hygiene seriously and had chosen to shower again. I hoped he would make it a daily routine.

Since he’d bathed and given me privacy as I’d asked, I had no reason to complain when I went to my room that night and saw him lying on the foot of the bed. However, when I woke Wednesday morning with him lying next to me, I did complain. Lividly.

“Now, just hold on,” I whispered with a scowl. “You’re a dog. Act like one. Fur stays at the foot of the bed.”

He grudgingly moved to his place at the foot of the bed, watching me the whole time.

“Don’t give me your doleful eyes. This is your choice, not mine.” As soon as I said that, I recalled his talent for misinterpretation which had caused this co-ed housing in the first place. “Not that you’d get to sleep next to me in your skin either. So, don’t even think about it. If you don’t like the end of the bed, you can always sleep on the floor.”

After getting the paper, I scoured the classifieds for a beater car and found two promising ads. Both required a long walk. I fetched my bag, tucked the folded newspaper inside, and grabbed the house keys.

Clay beat me to the door. I scowled down at him. He stared back at me. After a moment, he shook his neck, jangling his tags. Defeated, I clipped on his leash. He negotiated well without using a single word.