What can I say? People tended not to like us snooping around in their business. We got scratched up a lot. “Come on, Mr. Johnson ,” Peter said, turning to lead him toward the back as I dropped back down at my desk. “Val, sit,” A said to the dog, dropping his leash and leaving the dog a few feet from my desk. “Stay,” he added, tone both commanding and kind somehow at the same time. When I glanced up, A was standing in front of my desk, his dark gaze on me. “The fuck you let them talk to you like that for, mama?” he asked, knocking his knuckles on my desk, then turning and swaggering away. Leaving me with my anger and embarrassment, and a dog that was looking at me from all of three feet away. “I don’t like dogs,” I told Val, whose tan ears perked up at being spoken to, but stayed put. “It’s nothing personal. I don’t really… get the whole… animal-loving thing,” I admitted. “Christ, I’m talking to a dog,” I mumbled to myself as I got some triple antibiotic on a q-tip and swiped it
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