Why Dogs Are Better Than Men


The dog was pooting again. That’s what she got for giving him a taste of her dinner – sauteed chicken-apple sausage and shredded cabbage. Ivy lifted the quilted throw up off the sofa and fanned it to let the noxious stench escape. Frosty raised his head and gave her an inscrutable look. “Don’t glare at me, dog,” she scolded him softly. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

He lowered his head back down to his paws and snuggled closer to her side under the throw. Relenting, she ran a hand down his back, letting the rough tan fur run through her fingers, making the white tips bunch up into tiny snow-capped mountains of hair. He sighed in pleasure and set his narrow head upon her thigh. Ivy took a sip of her latte and fondled his button ears obligingly. Frosty made a small happy doggy noise and farted again.

But if a few poots were the price she had to pay for his companionship? She’d had worse deals. The familiar sounds of Handel’s Water Music faded into the background as she turned back to the book on her e-reader. The action had shifted back to the “main” character and that was annoying. He wasn’t the one she wanted to read about. *Forget Nick. I want to know what Wisp is doing!* Ah, damn, she was falling in love with a fictional character again. She really liked post-apocalyptic fiction, and this series was an interesting read.

But the character that piqued her interest was not only a book character, he was a freaking robot. Even she didn’t understand her taste in men. Still, the robot was more intriguing than any date she’d had in the past ten years. Empty-headed pretty boys or calculating social climbers.

In the end, she preferred animals.