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My name is Sophia Zinelli, and as you can tell by my name, I’m Italian. I’m thirty years old, with long, dark, hair that goes into crazy spirals in the summer. I have green eyes while most of my family have brown, which makes me wonder if I have any other genetic mutations that no one has told me about. I have a Master’s Degree in Business and I run my family’s five-star Italian restaurant (Try The Veal) in Atlanta but I can’t cook unless it involves microwaving a root vegetable or frozen dinner.
I live in a one-bedroom apartment above my family’s restaurant (Try The Veal) and drive a late model Honda Civic.
I’m an admitted coffee snob and addicted to caramel macchiatos. I enjoy a good red wine and have a weakness for animals.
That last one was what landed me in my current predicament.
How was I going to tell my family that I’d liberated adopted a noisy, bossy German Shepherd who was even now barking up a storm in my back seat? Max was a one-year-old canine, but acted more like a sixteen-year-old teenager who constantly wanted to borrow the car. I’d just left Max’s new vet (who happened to be a close friend of mine and was my commitment-phobic boyfriend’s sister) and I think Max was currently throwing a doggie temper tantrum for two reasons. One: It turned out dogs didn’t particularly like the placement of doggie thermometers which I was sure Max blamed me for. Two: We hadn’t brought his new feline friend, Tilley, back to Atlanta with us.
I loved Tilley, too, but introducing one four-legged friend to my family at a time was enough. Especially since said friend, who was still barking it up for no good reason, was big, hairy, and cunning.
So not only did I have a contrary and conniving canine on my hands, I also had yet to inform my overly opinionated, very Italian family of said canine.
On my way to my execution home, I got a phone call from every single person in my immediate family. I’d been gone one half of one day, but you’d think the apocalypse had arrived and I’d been missing for months. Possibly eaten by starving dragons.
Mama: Where are you? You’re not cooking are you? We don’t need the fire department do we? If you’re sick, you’d better be dying. Unless you’re ... Are you ... I’m telling your papa to call. Dio mio, and to think, I used to be normal.”
Papa: “Are you pregnant? Have you peed on a stick? What color is it? Plus or minus sign?”
Nanna: “You have a boy over, eh? Good for you, cara. I’ll keepa your secret.”
Nonno: “Who broke your heart? I’ll send Luca. He can pop a top in his ass plus he has a bigger trunk than me. Where’s the closet swamp? We may need alligators for this.”
Gio: “Does he have a sister? Is she hot?”
Paulo: “Good grief, Sophie, anything for attention. You’re not really dying are you? Is it cancer? Nonno said to have your prostate checked.” Then a whisper, “Is it the mob? Are you in somebody’s trunk?”
Luca: “Nonno said something about a trunk, a gun, and alligators. I’ve been holding him off, but you’d better hurry. You know I’m weak when it comes to keeping secrets from the family. I gave them all a head’s up you were bringing a dog home, but that’s it. You owe me.
How could I tell them I stole a badly abused dog then escaped to Live oak where my friend Bailey (the town veterinarian) lives because I loved this dog and didn’t want grief from my family?
Ha, I could SO not tell them I stole a dog. My nonno might approve, but that’s the mobster in him. Everyone else would give me the shocked, “Little Sohpie’s a criminal?” My nonna would pop my nonno upside the head and assure him that it was all his fault that I now led a life of crime. My mother would cry, wring her hands, then get out the wooden spoon. My father would get that far away look in his eyes and start calculating lawyer expenses. Gio would snicker. Paolo would hide until he was sure no mobsters were involved, and Luca would look all smug.
So, I’d lie.
As a professional procrastinator when it came to admitting guilt to my family, I decided I’d just make a quick stop before I had to face the firing squad music. I was awed by all the things Bailey had given Max, but as a new dog mom, I wanted to spoil Max a little myself, so I pulled into the Super Big Pet Store, the kind where dogs were allowed, and hooked Max up to his leash and said, “Let’s go get some toys, Max!”
As we entered, all the smells must have hit Max at once. He quit straining on his leash and stopped mid stride. Paralyzed. “Max, toy? Treat? Brush? Bed?” I had no idea if he knew what I was saying, so I just kept offering up stuff until he decided to move. “Squeaky toy? Chasing toy? Tugging toy? Cookie treat? Biscuit treat? Chewy treat? Brush, clippers, comb? Nail file? How about a—?”
And off he went like I’d just goosed him with Bailey’s thermometer. We trotted up a food aisle, a toy aisle, a book aisle, and grooming aisle. We came to the cat aisle and Max planted all fours. “What are you doing?” I asked, tugging him the other way. “You are not a cat.” Did my new dog have some weird fetish I wasn’t aware of? Could it be cured?
Then I remembered. Tilley. His new best friend, a nearly blind kitten he’d fallen in love with at Bailey’s. “Tilley, Max? You want a toy for Tilley?”
Max barked, went for the catnip, and I went for a ball with a bell in it. We got both. Along with two bags of kitty treats, sparkly balls, a wand with colored yarn stuff attached, some coils, a scratching post, bed, tunnels, and some kind of climbing thing.
A saleslady saw me and offered a cart. I thanked her, Max woofed, and then got down to business in the bird aisle. “No, no, no. We are not getting a bird.”
He grumped once then danced over to the doggie toys. “Which ones do you like, Max?” He stared, sniffed, poked things with his nose, pawed, but thankfully didn’t piddle on, or hump, a single thing. Yay, good Max!
He chose a stuffed football. I chose tennis balls, a rope pull toy, a rubber ring toy, two squeaky toys, a nubby rubber ball, a toy you put treats in, and a Frisbee.
Bailey had given me a training crate (huge!), a giant bag of premium dog food, training books, behavior and how-to books for me, flea and tick stuff, heartworm meds, a doggie toothbrush and paste, and probably more stuff I hadn’t even seen yet.
The saleslady took my cart, smiled, and gave me another. Next we got a giant bed, a blanket, and a pillow. Several kinds of treats, food and water bowls, a mat to set them on, some poop bags, and finally a bright red doggie tag (in the shape of a bone) with his name and address engraved.
I checked out, winced at the total, and then didn’t think about it. This was for Max, and soon, Tilley.
I loaded the car, then looked in the trunk and passenger seat and wondered if I was going to have to find a bigger place to live. Max jumped in the back, happy, like a dog at Christmas, and off we went. To face the family.
#DodgingFamilyMatrixStyle
#EasierToFaceAFiringSquad
#IBetIronManNeverHadThisProblem