Page 27 of Logan
Julius Caesar; Ella’s dog—Hawk and Jas’s kid. I only know because he tried to hump my leg once at a barbecue. Hawk is the club’s Road Captain—he organizes all the club’s motorcycle runs and what route we’re gonna take.
One thing I’ve always loved is getting out on the open road on my Harley.
“Oh, yeah, you’re good with faces I see?”
I roll my eyes. “What about toilet training?”
“He’s fully house trained, but because he’s lived in an apartment before, he’s used to a pee mat.”
Phew, that helps because I have no lawn and no back yard for him.
“Okay, well, I hope he likes living upstairs from a bar. Let me know if Betty changes her mind.”
“Will do, thanks Logan. I really owe you one on this. If I bring any more animals home, Tag is gonna throw a fit.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I can see that about him.”
“Do you think?”
Tag isn’t exactly known for his moderate temperament.
“Call me anytime, okay?”
“Alright.” He whizzes past, Julius on his heels. “Now we just gotta catch him…”
Last night I got a ton of toys and dog chews courtesy of Payden. That was thoughtful of her.
She also got him a penguin stuffy which he brought to bed with him last night. It’s almost as big as him but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s really small.
I glance down when the little guy nudges me with his nose. “Gotta go out for a bit,” I tell him.
He nudges me again. “You wanna come?” He does a circle. It’s remarkable how he’s learned how to balance.
He’s been leash walking before, but Luna said Betty wasn’t consistent with it, so this should be fun. I just don’t want him to get whiny or sad when I have to leave him. Suddenly, I wonder what he’d be like on the front, or back, of my motorcycle. I chuckle because West built a dog carrier for Tilbury, and she goes everywhere with him since Audrina can’t exactly ride on the back with the baby.
I’m getting ahead of myself. He isn’t my dog. I’m fostering. Waiting until he finds a new home, and hopefully someone to adopt him fully. I’m helping out a friend, that’s all this is.
I hold up his leash and he spins again.
I smile despite myself. He’s a clever little boy. I clip his little collar in place and attach the lead. I pick him up as I descend down the stairs. The bar isn’t open until five, so there’s nobody in sight, plus, I have to start moving shit later when my staff arrive. The sooner I accept the fact the bar is gonna be changing—for the better—the easier it’ll be on my soul. I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this place, and I have good memories. Change is always hard. I’m an old dog in many ways, and I don’t like change, but this is what the bar needs. It needs repair. A fresh lick of paint. New equipment. New flooring.
Plus, with the club’s funds, I’ll be able to do all the things I wanted, and keep the bar as mine. The restaurant next door will be a different story and I’ll be sharing profits, but it’ll be more income and hopefully I’ll have to work a lot less. Overheads aren’t cheap though, and neither are staff, but I’m gonna make it work. I know how things operate, and my dingy old bar is gonna end up long forgotten if the updates aren’t done. I want to keep the integrity of the place, that’s what worries me more than anything.
I go out the back door, pulling it closed behind me. I glance down as Dozer looks up at me.
“It’s okay, bud,” I say. “We’re gonna go get some breakfast.”
I start to walk and he follows dutifully. Once we get to the street he carries on, and it’s like I’ve been walking him forever. I don’t know what Betty’s issues were, but I’ll make a note to ask Luna. Maybe it was the other dogs who needed more than he did, because he’s happily hopping along. I get a few “awws” and “Oh, isn’t he adorable!” from passersby, and I quickly start to understand this is the equivalent of a man carrying a baby: a chick magnet.
I pick him up when we get to the crosswalk. He doesn’t like honking, and I don’t want him to get scared. When we get to my favorite coffee shop, more “oohs” and “ahhs” continue asDarla and Meg, the two owners, coo over him and make him a goddamn pup cup.
“You know, you should make an Instagram or Facebook account for him,” Meg says with a laugh. “I know someone who’s making more than her day job.”
“What do they make money on?” I ask, completely confused. I don’t have any social media, and if I didn’t need a phone for work, I wouldn’t even have that. I’d be happy to go back to 1988 any day of the week long before technology took over in the mid nineties.
“Dog influencers,” she says. “That’s their job. They make videos of their daily doings and Meta pays them.”
I scratch my head. “People get paid for that shit? And I’m here workin’ my ass off everyday?”
