Got your Back

Chapter One
“Grady! Get it done, buddy. Dad’s in a hurry.” David Durand pulled off his tie and began unbuttoning his dress shirt after arriving home late from work. He stood at the open back door waiting on his seven-year-old terrier to finish his business in the backyard.
Yeah, I’ve been shut up for nine hours, and now you expect me to shit on command in one minute or less? Geez, it takes you twenty minutes on the throne every morning so give me a break.
“Good boy,” he patted the silky soft blond fleece on the dog’s head and closed the door. “Bart’s gonna be here soon and I still gotta put dinner in the oven and then shower and get especially clean – if you know what I mean,” he winked and grinned. “I think it’ll happen tonight, Grady. Date number two. You know what they say. First date means like. Second date means Dad gets laid!”
What “they say” is you’re a slut, sex on the second date means you’re a slut, Davie boy. Have you never heard of getting to know someone first? Establishing an emotional connection? How many of these bar hook-up losers are you gonna go through before you learn to keep your pants on until it’s called a relationship?
“Grady, come with Dad while I shower and get ready. I haven’t seen you all day, Cheeseburger. I missed you!”
Who calls a dog ‘Cheeseburger?’ Is that not the most ridiculous pet name anybody could ever think up? I don’t know about you sometimes, Dave. On the one hand, I couldn’t love you any more than I do. But on the other hand, sometimes I just want to bite some common sense into your silly ass. You’ll sleep with anybody who gives you a second look, but then you wonder why he doesn’t respect you or call you afterwards. And your friends are largely a bunch of shallow twits who think an evening spent watching “Design Star” is a productive endeavor.
Seriously, Dave, you take very good care of me and that means everything. And I love nothing more than cuddling next to you while you scratch that special place just behind my ears. You’re my world, but I also think you’re a fruitcake sometimes.
“Grady, how do I look?” David asked. “Does it say sexy without saying too easy?” He wore a pair of snug fitting black leather pants with a long-sleeved white peasant shirt open nearly to his navel, exposing the washboard abs of which he was so proud.
It says I should have chewed up that “International Male” catalogue while I had the chance. Davey, when are you ever gonna get real, dude? You’re thirty years old. Grow up! You’re a good looking guy with a killer body. A simple t-shirt and jeans would look perfect on you. You hearing me? T-SHIRT AND JEANS!
“Hmmmm,” David said to both himself and Grady in the mirror. “Wonder if this looks too eager-to-please? Or too clubby? Maybe I should think more casual; more understated and slightly hard to get. Maybe just a simple black t-shirt that looks just a tad tight on me and a pair of jeans that shows off my ass.”
You’re receiving my text messages, Dave, but I can’t keep sending ‘em all night. The older I get, the harder this mental telepathy stuff becomes.
How many times have I had to save his ass that way? But, that’s my job. Look out for my dude and save him from himself.
And, as dudes go, he’s a keeper. I remember when he brought me home. I was scared to death and couldn’t stop crying. Just wanted my mama. And what’s he do? He takes a whole week off from work and spends every moment with me. He even slept on the floor next to my crate so I wouldn’t be alone and afraid. Yeah, I know – it’s embarrassing now – but listen, I was all of ten weeks old at the time. By the time his vacation week was over, I wasn’t afraid of anything. Except maybe his snoring.