"Aaron, no!"
I've just opened the door to escort the small creature out of our house when Ella's footsteps echo behind me. As she reaches me, she bends down and scoops up the grimy dog before I can exile him to our front porch.
He looks to be only a few weeks old. Had he not been so covered in mud, I might assume him to be a golden retriever, or perhaps a similar breed.
"Love," I sigh, "we can't keep collecting animals."
In the past week only, Ella has rescued several birds and nursed a rabbit back to health. She flashes her pleading eyes at me and I know I'm done for.
Ella and I aren't certain how the puppy made it into our house, although I'm the only one who seems to care.
She asks me to make breakfast — which I assume is more on account of the dog than on account of her — while she bathes him.
I agree only because I love her. Retiring to the kitchen, I scour the refrigerator until I decide that the best thing I can do for a starving animal is offer him some meat.
I hear Ella laughing in the bathroom, water splashing, as she cleans our visitor. I smile not on account of the dog but because he makes her happy.
Several minutes later, I've secured three plates of food and arranged two of them on the kitchen table. The third, loaded with nothing except sausage, is resting on the floor between Ella and I's seats.
"I blow-dried him." Ella's smiling as she joins me in the kitchen, holding her fluffy pet as though he's the center of her word. I'll admit, I'm jealous. "Isn't he cute?"
"If by cute you mean malnourished, then yes."
Ella frowns, but I smile.
She obviously got wet in her efforts to clean him, because she's changed into nothing but a small white robe. Goosebumps are covering her thighs but she doesn't seem to notice.
Her smile returns, however, when she notices that I've prepared a plate of food just for the puppy.
"I named him Butterscotch," she tells me, setting him down on the floor.
As suspected, he snarfs down the plate in mere seconds.
"He could use a few manners," I say.
Ella giggles. "He's just a puppy, Aaron. And he's been starving for who knows how long."
She reaches for her fork but pauses, staring at the omelette I've made her. Considering I'm not much of a chef, I'm quite pleased with the turn-out.
Even my own, although not at all like hers, could be worse.
Ella asks, "Do you think he likes eggs?"
I place my hand over hers, meeting her eyes. "Sweetheart, I made this for you."
Although she looks grateful, she can't help a glance at Butterscotch. "He's practically skin and bones."
"I'm sure we can find him some dog food," I tell her.
Her kaleidoscope eyes brighten. "You mean we can keep him?"
"For now."
Ella drops her fork and reaches for me.
I pull her into my lap and kiss her hard, ignoring the puppy clawing at both of us for more sustenance.
After I've exhausted kissing every inch of her bare skin, I release her so we can finish our breakfast before it gets cold.
I don't even mind when Ella gives half of hers to the dog.
As a matter of fact, I smile.
