After returning to campus from an early morning’s work, you stop at your apartment to gather your books and the flash drive that holds your final paper. You’re short on time, and lose a few minutes after having to break into your room after realizing you’d locked your keys inside it (again).
Within twenty feet of leaving your house a dog approaches you. He’s an orange-colored, normal-sized, unleashed dog. You look around for an owner.
“Dog, where is your owner?” you say. A combination of being tired and hungover and ready to call this day finished at ten in the morning has left you insane. You are talking to animals in public.
You decide that it’s time for priorities. You need to stop at the library where you work, print off your paper, and go to class. There is no time for this dog. You will ignore it, no matter how adorable he acts.
The dog follows you. God. Damn. It.
“Come on Guthrie,” you say, realizing that passing strangers probably think you’re insane, “Looks like you’re with me for now.”
You’ve named him Guthrie after your favorite superhero. You’ve always wanted a dog named Guthrie.
When you get to the library, you bring him into the lobby, which is closed off by a second set of doors.
“Guthrie, I swear, if you shit on anything I will hate you forever,” you tell him. Coworkers and students stare at you in confusion as you leave the dog in the lobby. You print off your paper and return to the lobby to find that, thankfully, Guthrie hasn’t shit on anything. A girl is petting him and asks if he’s yours.
“For now at least,” you say, “Come on Guthrie, let’s get to class.”
As you walk you use your phone to post a craigslist ad for a found dog. Without a leash, Guthrie runs circles around you, occasionally getting distracted by all the students walking around campus. Every few minutes you have to release a sharp whistle and say, “Guthrie, get over here!” as bystanders look at you like you’re a crazy person.
At this point you can’t disagree.
Your class is on the third floor of a building, but luckily the stairway is right at the entrance, so it’s easy to sneak him up the stairs. You make Guthrie pinky-swear that he won’t shit in the classroom, but you’re not sure if you trust him. He doesn’t seem very serious about his promise and his pinkies are questionable.
Your teacher, being a lover of all creatures, doesn’t mind him curiously sniffing around the classroom as she lectures.
After class you find an e-mail from a girl who is almost sure that it is her dog Cinnamon.
You look down at Guthrie, “You’re a chick? And possibly a stripper?”
You never thought to check for dog balls. But in your defense Cinnamon was acting very boyish.
You return Guthrie to his… her owner, who lives three blocks from your apartment, and who judging by her attire, is either a Hooters waitress or a Hooters enthusiast. You don’t think to ask.
She attempts to give you twenty dollars, but you decline.
“Nah it’s all right. Guthrie’s a cool dude. We had a good time.”
You return home and collapse into your bed, exhausted from eighteen hours of “What the fuck?” and “Seriously?”
Man, I should have returned Guthrie after my nap.
I bet he’s the best cuddler ever.