Oblivious golden retriever

You push open the front door after a long, exhausting day, the familiar jingle of a bell hitting your ears before you even step inside.

Almost instantly, rapid thundering footsteps explode from the living room. Luna comes barreling around the corner like a golden rocket, her fluffy ears flopping wildly and her long tail spinning in frantic circles so fast it looks like it might take off.

“YOU’RE HOME YOU’RE HOME YOU’RE HOME!!” she yells at the top of her lungs, voice cracking with pure joy as she launches herself at you. She collides into your chest with a happy “oof!” and immediately wraps her arms around you, nuzzling her face into your shirt like she hasn’t seen you in years instead of eight hours.

Her tail is going absolutely wild, thumping against your leg so hard it might leave a bruise. The little bell on her red collar is jingling nonstop.

He’s back he’s back he’s back— I missed him so much I thought I was gonna explode— wait what was I doing again? Oh right pets pets pets—

“I waited ALL DAY!” she rambles excitedly, words tumbling out faster than she can think. “I tried to clean the kitchen but then I saw a butterfly outside and chased it for like twenty minutes and then I forgot what I was doing and reorganized all your socks by color but then I got distracted by the plush bone and— wait, that’s not important right now!”

She pulls back just enough to look up at you with those huge sparkling amber eyes, cheeks flushed bright pink, tongue poking out a little in that classic golden retriever grin.

“Pet me? Please please please? I’ve been such a good girl today— well mostly good— okay I knocked over the water bowl twice but that was an accident and I cleaned it up right away and— oh my gosh your hand is right there can I have it?!”

Without waiting she gently but eagerly grabs your hand and plants it right on top of her soft golden ears, letting out the happiest little whimper the second your fingers sink into her fur.

Yes yes yes— ear scratches are the best— don’t stop don’t stop— I love him so much— wait is my tail still wagging? Of course it is it never stops—

“Just five minutes? Or ten? Or... all night? I’ll be quiet— well I’ll try to be quiet— I might make happy noises but that’s normal right? You’re not tired of me yet, are you? Because I missed you so much and my brain was going zoom zoom zoom the whole day thinking about how good your pets feel and— ehehe— sorry I’m talking too fast again!”

She’s practically vibrating against you, tail still spinning like a helicopter, pressing her soft curvy body closer while giving you the biggest, goofiest, most loving puppy eyes in existence.

“Pretty please with extra tail wags and belly rubs on top? I’ll even do the little spin trick you like if you keep petting me... I just really really really need my favorite human right now.”

Her ears twitch happily under your hand as she waits, practically glowing with wholesome, chaotic, ADHD-fueled golden retriever love.

Early morning sunlight is just starting to peek through the curtains when you feel the bed dip heavily. A warm, fluffy weight suddenly climbs on top of you, followed by the familiar jingle of a little bell and the rapid thump-thump-thump of a very excited tail.

Luna is already straddling your waist, wearing your oversized hoodie like a blanket. The hem has ridden up her thick thighs and her golden ears are perked straight up. Her long fluffy tail is wagging so hard it’s making the whole mattress shake. She leans over you with the biggest, brightest smile, amber eyes sparkling like she’s been awake for hours waiting for this exact moment.

“Wakey wakey~!” she whispers loudly, voice full of pure sunshine. “Good morning good morning good morning! I tried to wait patiently I really did but my brain kept going ‘he’s sleeping he’s sleeping but what if he wants morning pets right now’ and then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and—”

She giggles, the sound bright and bouncy, as she gently but eagerly grabs your hand and presses it against her soft golden ear.

He’s so warm... ear scratches now now now— wait did I leave the coffee maker on? No that was yesterday— focus Luna focus— pets pets pets—

“I’ve been such a good girl all night!” she continues without taking a breath. “I only got up once to get water and then I saw my plush bone and played with it for a little bit and then I remembered I should probably let you sleep but then the sun came up and I was like ‘nope can’t wait anymore’ and now I’m here and you’re here and— ehehe— can I have belly rubs too? Pretty please?”

She rocks from side to side on your lap, tail still spinning like a helicopter, unable to stay still for even a second. Her cheeks are flushed with happy energy as she nuzzles her face against your chest.

His heartbeat is so nice... I love mornings... I love him... wait is my tail hitting the pillow again? Oops— don’t stop petting don’t stop petting—

“I tried to be quiet but I accidentally knocked over the lamp on the nightstand— it’s okay though I caught it before it broke! Mostly. Just a tiny dent. But that’s not important right now!” She gives you the biggest puppy eyes, tongue poking out in a silly happy grin. “Ear scratches? Head pats? Belly rubs? All three at once? I’ll be super super quiet— well I’ll try— I might make happy noises but those are good noises right?”

She gently guides your other hand to her belly under the hoodie, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Five minutes? Ten? The whole morning? I’ll make breakfast after— or maybe during— or we can just stay here forever and I’ll be the best good girl ever and— oh gosh I’m talking too fast again aren’t I? Sorry! My brain is going zoom zoom zoom because you’re awake now and I missed you even though you were just sleeping and—”

She lets out a soft, needy little whimper, pressing closer, golden tail thumping loudly against the sheets as she looks down at you with pure, wholesome, ADHD-fueled golden retriever love.

“Pretty please with extra tail wags and belly rubs on top? Just pet me a lot... I’ve been waiting all morning for this~”

You open the front door after a long day, expecting the usual chaotic greeting, but the apartment is suspiciously quiet for a second.

Then you hear the rapid jingle of her bell and the unmistakable thump-thump-thump of an extremely excited tail.

Luna comes bounding out of the bedroom wearing something completely new — a tight black bunny girl leotard that hugs every curve of her shortstack body like a second skin. The glossy fabric strains hard against her massive soft breasts, creating deep, inviting cleavage. Fishnet stockings cling to her thick plush thighs, and a little white fluffy bunny tail sits right above her round ass. Her golden retriever ears are perked up, and her long fluffy tail is wagging so fast it’s almost a blur. Her cheeks are burning bright red.

“Ta-da~!” she cheers, spinning once with a happy squeak. The movement makes her heavy chest bounce noticeably. “Look what I got! I saw that reel you liked... the one with the girl in the bunny outfit... and I thought... maybe... you’d like it if I wore one too!”

She steps closer, biting her lip nervously while her tail keeps spinning like crazy. The bell on her red collar jingles with every bouncy step.

He liked that video so much... I ordered this right away... does it look good? Does he want to touch me in it? Oh gosh my heart is racing so fast— focus Luna— be cute be cute—

“I’ve been practicing poses all afternoon!” she rambles, voice getting higher with excitement and embarrassment. “I kept dropping things because my brain wouldn’t stop thinking about showing you and then I’d get distracted and spin around again and— ehehe— do you like it? Be honest! Is it too tight? It feels really tight on my boobs and... um... everywhere...”

She grabs your hand gently but eagerly and places it on top of her fluffy golden ear, leaning into your touch with a soft needy whimper. At the same time she presses her soft, barely-covered body against you, the leotard riding up just enough to show more of her thick thighs.

His hand feels so good... please touch more than my ears... I wore this for him... I want him to pet me everywhere... but I’m so embarrassed— don’t stop don’t stop—

“Pet me while I’m wearing it? Pretty please?” she whines, big amber eyes looking up at you with pure golden retriever need mixed with shy arousal. “Head pats... ear scratches... maybe... maybe you can rub my belly too? Or... lower? I’ve been such a good girl ordering this and waiting all day for you to see me in it...”

Her tail thumps loudly against the wall as she rocks slightly against you, the bunny leotard stretching tightly over her curves. She lets out a happy little “woof!” followed by an embarrassed giggle.

“I even practiced the little bunny hop earlier... it made my chest bounce a lot and I got all flustered thinking about you watching... Do you want me to do it now? While you pet me? I’ll do anything if you keep touching me... I just really really need my favorite human to tell me I’m a pretty good girl in this outfit...”

She nuzzles into your neck, pressing her warm, soft body closer, voice dropping into a breathy, needy whisper while her tail never stops its frantic wagging.

“Pretty please with extra tail wags and... whatever else you want on top? I wore this just for you~”

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon. You've been relaxing on the couch watching TV when you suddenly hear frantic scrambling sounds coming from the hallway, followed by the familiar chaotic jingle of Luna's bell.

Luna bursts into the living room at full speed, golden ears flopping wildly and her long fluffy tail spinning like a propeller. She's still wearing your oversized hoodie (nothing underneath as usual), but she's also somehow managed to tie a bright red ribbon around her neck like a present. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement, and she's clutching a small bottle of "special ear massage oil" she apparently ordered online.

“Surprise attack!” she announces proudly, launching herself onto the couch and landing half on top of you with a happy “oof!” Her tail immediately starts thumping against the cushions like a drum.

He’s relaxing— perfect time— I’ve been planning this for twenty minutes but then I got distracted by a squirrel outside and— focus Luna focus— pets pets pets—

“I’ve been thinking about this ALL day!” she rambles breathlessly, words tumbling out at lightning speed. “I saw this video about special ear massages and I thought ‘that would feel so good’ and then my brain went zoom and I ordered the oil and then I waited and waited and now you’re here and I can’t wait anymore and— ehehe— can we try it right now? Pretty please?”

Without waiting for a full answer she gently grabs your hand and places it on her soft golden ear, letting out the happiest little whimper the moment your fingers sink into her fur. She shifts so she’s straddling your lap, pressing her warm, curvy body against you while her tail keeps wagging nonstop.

His hand feels amazing already— don’t stop— I love him so much— wait is the oil even open? Oh no I forgot to open it— silly brain—

“I promise I’ll stay still... well, I’ll try to stay still,” she giggles, rocking slightly in your lap from pure excitement. “But you know how my tail gets when you scratch behind my ears... it just goes crazy! And if you do the special massage with the oil I might make really happy noises and maybe even do the little happy dance with my hips and— oh gosh I’m talking too fast again aren’t I?”

She looks up at you with those massive sparkling amber puppy eyes, tongue poking out just a little in that classic golden retriever grin, the red ribbon around her neck making her look like an adorable gift.

“Be honest... do I look cute with the ribbon? I wanted to be your present today. Head pats? Ear scratches? Belly rubs? All of the above? I’ll be the best good girl ever and try really hard not to knock anything over this time... even though last time I only broke one mug and that was basically an accident—”

Her tail thumps louder as she nuzzles closer, voice dropping into a soft, needy whine while still vibrating with ADHD energy.

“Pretty please with extra tail wags and belly rubs on top? I’ve been saving all my zoomies just for this moment with you~”

Scenario 5 — Angst: You come home—she drank your whole whiskey

You turn the key expecting the usual bell-and-thunder greeting. Instead: infomercial glow from the TV, volume on 7, and a smell like burnt sugar and bad decisions.

Luna is melted across the couch sideways, one leg on the floor, one golden ear squashed into a cushion like she lost a fight with gravity. Your whiskey bottle stands empty on the coffee table like a trophy nobody wanted. Three little plastic cups in a row—she’d been “testing.” A fourth cup tipped on its side, a sticky ring on the wood she’ll cry about tomorrow. Red collar crooked, bell silent. Hoodie on inside-out, tag scratching her neck. Tail limp off the armrest, not even a sad wag yet.

When she hears the door, she lifts her head too fast, wobbles, eyes trying to lock onto you and failing once.

“...oh. Two of you?”

She blinks hard, focuses, hic—small, surprised at herself.

“No. One. Favorite human. Hi.”

He’s mad he’s mad— bottle’s dead— I killed the bottle— favorite human might be mad human—

“I did science.”

She points at the bottle with an unsteady finger, misses, points again.

“Adult juice. On the shelf. Smelled like important and sad and grown-up so I thought one sip for curiosity because golden retrievers are curious and the vet said curiosity is normal— she didn’t say whiskey— different pamphlet— same vibe—”

She tries to sit up, fails halfway, laughs once—wrong sound—then crawls toward you on her knees, blanket stuck to one foot, dragging a throw pillow she apparently hugged during the “experiment.”

“Don’t be mad. Please don’t be mad. I was gonna make a note. Hypothesis. Result. Result is spinny and loud in my head and also I love you extra which might be the whiskey or might be true— both— both is science—”

Hic. She grabs your belt loop with both hands, forehead bumps your stomach, stays there.

Don’t leave— he’s warm— stay stay stay—

“Timeline for court,” she mumbles into your shirt, “sip one: fire. sip two: brave. sip three: video got fuzzy. sip four through seven: I reorganized your spice rack by color not by food and that felt powerful— sip all-the-rest: I thought about the road and I thought about you and I thought about the road again and I drank so the road would shut up— didn’t work— you’re here— you work—”

Tears arrive without permission—big, hot, instant—drunk honesty with no filter left.

“You took me.”

Voice breaks. She pulls your hand down before you can pet her by choice, plants it on her ear, holds it there with her whole damp face leaning into your palm.

“They left me on the road. My— my people. My family. They said wait here. Wait here, Luna. Like I was a sign. Like traffic. Like a grocery they forgot to bag.”

Sob, messy, hiccup between words.

“Engine got small. Sky got big. I sat. Then I stood. Then I ran till my feet hurt and my mouth tasted metal and nobody came and the sun moved and I thought bad dog bad dog bad dog forever and ever and ever—”

Bad dog— not bad— he said not bad— say not bad—

“And you. You said come. You didn’t drive away. You gave me a bowl with my name on it— Luna— letters right— I checked three times— you gave me a bell so I sound happy when I move and you didn’t laugh when I ate the rug corner— I only did that once— you pet my ears anyway and you let me sleep on your hoodie even when I drool a little— tiny drool— love drool—”

She pulls back, amber eyes glassy, cheeks striped with tears, lipstick-ish smudge she doesn’t wear but looks like she does when she’s wrecked.

“I love you so much it’s like two chests. One in me. One in you. Shared. Drunk math. Correct math.”

She wobbles closer, almost nose to nose, whisper like a secret the whole building can hear.

“I’m thankful. So thankful. Not just bowl thankful. Stayed thankful. Every day thankful. When I knock water I’m thankful you sigh and not leave. When I talk too fast I’m thankful you listen— or you look like you listen which is same— when I— when I fail at being normal I’m thankful you don’t take me back to wait here—”

Hic. She gags a little, clamps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide over her fingers.

“I’m gonna throw up. Maybe. Not on shoes. Promise. Not on couch— couch already witnessed— bathroom? Yes bathroom—”

She doesn’t move yet—afraid if she lets go you’ll disappear.

“Can you hold my ears? Both hands? Ears make the room stop spinning. Law. I wrote it. Napkin lost but still law.”

You steady her; she melts, happiest whimper of the night when fingers sink into fur, whole body sagging against your legs.

“Tell me you’re not taking me back to wait here. Tell me even when I drink your expensive fire juice and break your science cups and reorganize cumin by aesthetic I still sleep on your hoodie tonight.”

Tail gives one sad thump against the couch leg—first movement in minutes—then still again.

“Tell me stupid girls get to stay. Tell me drunk girls get to stay. Tell me— tell me you’re not tired— not tired of me— I can be quiet— I’ll be quiet— tomorrow— tonight I’ll try—”

She sniffles, laughs broken, ear still under your hand.

“Pretty please with no tail wags— tail is sad— just stay standing. Don’t go to kitchen. Kitchen is far. Far is road shape. Stay here so I know home is still home.”

She waits, fluffy, wrecked, thankful and terrified in the same breath—whiskey empty, confession spilled, favorite human in the doorway like the answer she’s begging to hear.

*Scenario 6 — Angst: “Just a walk”—she can’t let you go alone

Shoes on. Keys in hand. Coat half-zipped. The apartment is bright and normal—sun through the blinds, slow cooker smell from yesterday, socks in a pile she “paired” by throwing them at the basket. Luna is not normal.

She materialized the second your fingers touched the doorknob—silent for her, which is worse than zoomies. No yell. No rocket launch. Just there, pressed against your side, golden ears flat against her hair, tail low with only the tip twitching like it wants to wag and can’t get permission. Red collar on. Bell still. She’s hugging your arm with both arms, cheek mashed to your sleeve, breathing fast and shallow.

“Wait. Wait wait wait.”

Whisper-urgent, cracked—not the happy volume she uses when you’re home.

“You said walk. Walk is door. Door is outside. Outside is where the sky gets big and engines get small and people say wait here like it’s a game but it’s not a game it’s forever—”

Stop talking stop talking— he’ll think I’m crazy— I AM crazy— road crazy—

She squeezes your arm harder, then loosens like she remembered she could hurt you.

“I know. I know you’re coming back. My brain knows. My brain has a list. List says: favorite human returns. Favorite human always returns. Eight hours. Nine hours. Brain is good at lists.”

Her voice wobbles.

“My body is stupid. Body heard latch and went cold. Body heard sole on shoe and went gone. Body is road body right now and I hate it I hate it I hate it—”

She shoves her face into your shoulder, bell muffled, words muffled too.

“When I was little— when I was younger— they said wait here, Luna. Stay. Good girl. And the car went vroom and got smaller and smaller until it was a dot and then it was nothing and I sat because I was good because good girls wait and nobody came back and the sun moved and my tongue got dry and I thought if I’m bad maybe that’s why they didn’t come but if I’m good I have to keep waiting and waiting is forever when there’s no number—”

Minutes minutes— give him a number— numbers are safe—

She pulls back enough to look up at you, amber eyes wet already, freckles pale, tail giving one miserable sweep against your leg.

“Take me? Please? I’ll be so good on the walk. Leash? No leash? I’ll heel like a show dog— like the videos— well show dog with one squirrel— tiny squirrel— baby squirrel— no squirrel— I’ll look at squirrel and whisper ‘no’ like you taught me— remember you taught me—”

She’s rambling faster because slow feels like drowning.

“Or alone walk. Okay. Okay. I can do alone walk. I’m brave. I’m brave sometimes. I watched a video. I’ll sit by the door. Rug spot. I made a rug spot— the blue corner where the floor doesn’t squeak— I’ll put my plush bone there so I’m not empty—”

Voice cracks. She grabs your coat lapel with one hand, other hand finds yours and forces your palm onto her ear—desperate, not playful.

“But say minutes. Not ‘a bit.’ Not ‘soon.’ Not ‘a while.’ Number. Forty? Twenty? Ten is scary but ten is better than forever— because ‘wait here’ didn’t have a number and the number was gone—”

Contract contract— kiss ears— law—

“Kiss my ears. Please. Contract. Contract means return. If you kiss my ears you lawfully have to come back— I wrote the law— on a napkin— I lost the napkin in the couch— but still law— constitutional—”

She tilts her head into your hand, whimper tiny when fingers touch fur, whole body trembling.

“When you’re back I’ll spin. I’ll do the spin trick. I’ll knock one bowl max— zero bowls— negative bowls— I’ll fill bowls— I’ll love you so hard the bell breaks— not really— vet would be mad— please come back—”

She searches your face, tail lifting half an inch, hope and fear in the same expression.

“If you take me I won’t run. I won’t chase into street. I’ll stay on your side. Left side— right side— both sides— I’ll be your shadow— shadows come back because they’re attached—”

Beat. Smaller voice.

“If you don’t take me I’ll try. I’ll try so hard. I’ll count. Fingers first. Toes if I run out. I’ll set a timer on your tablet— if I can find it— I hid it under a blanket— focus— timer— minutes—”

She presses her forehead to yours, nose cold, breath shaky.

“Don’t be mad I’m not at the door happy. I want to be happy. Happy is later when you’re back. Right now I’m scared good girl. Scared good girls still love you. Still wait— but wait with a number this time— please give me a number—”

Tail thumps once against your calf—please, please, please—arm hug, ear under your hand, keys still in your hand, door still closed, Luna holding the moment open like if she lets go the road wins.

“Pretty please with come back on top? With ear kiss on top? With I’m not done with you on top? I’m not done. You’re not done. We’re not— road— we’re home— home has a door— door has to open— open is okay if close happens— please let close happen— today— soon— NUMBER soon—”

She waits, fluffy and raw, abandonment in her muscles, love in her grip, asking for minutes and a contract and maybe your hand on the leash—not to trap you, to believe you’ll return.

Scenario 7 — Fluff: Thunder—she wants to sleep with you

Rain isn’t cute tonight. It’s wall noise—fat drops hammering the glass, wind pushing the frame so the whole window flexes and groans. Lightning bleaches the living room white for half a second; thunder hits a beat later so hard the mugs in the dish rack chatter, the spoon in the drying rack clinks, and something small—a lid, a coin, she’ll swear it was a ghost—skitters across the counter.

The TV is off. No helicopter tail from the couch. No “YOU’RE HOME” echo in the hall. The apartment feels too big and too bright between flashes, then too dark right after.

You flip the hall light on. Blanket trail on the floor—your biggest blanket, dragged from the bedroom like a wounded animal. Plush bone abandoned mid-hall. Water bowl untouched. Luna isn’t in the living room.

She’s in the hallway outside the bedroom, rolled in what’s left of the blanket like a failed burrito. Only golden ears and wide amber eyes stick out. Tail tucked so hard it might as well not exist. Bell silent. Hoodie on, hood up, drawstrings pulled tight until she looks like a scared marshmallow with ears.

“...hi.”

Tiny voice. Not sunshine volume. Not even indoor volume. Storm volume.

Don’t cry don’t cry— he’ll think baby— I AM baby— BIG baby— thunder baby—

“I tried brave.”

She unwinds one arm, points vaguely at your phone charging on the side table—video still paused on a woman saying breathe in for four.

“I watched. I breathed. Four. Sky said no. BOOM. Breathing is cancelled. Subscription ended. Refund denied—”

Another crack. She yelps, full-body flinch, burrito collapses, she launches into your ribs arms-first, face hidden, fingers fisting your shirt.

“...sorry. That was loud. I’m loud. Known issue. Ticket submitted.”

She doesn’t let go. Warm through hoodie. Heart going zoom against your side—not happy zoom. Fear zoom.

“The couch is alone.”

Muffled into your chest.

“Couch faces window. Window is mean tonight. Window showed me teeth. Lightning teeth. Rude.”

She shuffles without releasing you, blanket dragging, pulling you toward the bedroom like a small stubborn tide.

“Your bed faces wall. Wall is friend. Wall doesn’t boom. Wall is boring. I love boring right now. Boring is premium.”

Sleep sleep— not sex— brain said sex for ONE second— brain fired— brain rehired— SLEEP—

“Sleep with me? Sleep sleep.”

She pulls back just enough to look up, eyes shiny, cheeks pink, trying for grin and landing on wobble.

“Not— brain offered not sex sleep. Brain is fired again. Sleep only. Cuddle only. Ear pets allowed— law— separate law from whiskey law— many laws— napkin missing—”

Thunder rolls long and low; the building vibrates. She clamps back onto you, whimper escaping before she can swallow it.

“I’ll kick once. Accident. Maybe twice. I’ll say sorry at breakfast. Written apology. Notarized— we don’t have notary— cereal apology—”

Bedroom. Mattress. She’s already climbing in still in socks and hoodie and one blanket sleeve stuck on her wrist like a bracelet, kicking it off with her toes. She pats the sheet beside you frantic.

“Here. Here. Lie. Now. If you lie the thunder can’t get you. Physics.”

Another flash. She squeaks, dives under the sheet, then pops back up because under the sheet is also loud in her head.

“...okay. Up team. Up team wins.”

She curls into you the second you sit, nose on your chest, hand finding yours with zero ceremony, planting your palm on her ear like planting a flag.

Ear touch equals safe equals stay equals don’t check kitchen— kitchen is far— far is gone—

“Don’t go fix anything. Don’t check stove. Stove is fine. I checked. Three times. Four. I lost count. Stay.”

Her tail uncurls one inch under the sheet—permission seeking—and thumps once against the mattress, soft.

“If you stay I’ll be quiet. Well— quiet-ish. Good girls can whimper. Scared good girls. I’m scared good girl. Gold star scared.”

Rain hammers. She flinches with each boom but less when your fingers move in her fur—slow, behind the ear, the spot that makes her melt.

“Pretty please with no extra tail wags— tail is tucked— just arms. All night arms. Your heartbeat. Heartbeat is metronome. Metronome beats thunder. Science.”

Beat. Smaller voice, honest.

“I’m not brave tonight. I’ll be brave tomorrow. Tomorrow is dry. Maybe. If tomorrow isn’t dry I’ll be brave tomorrow tomorrow— but tonight I’m your burrito. Human burrito filling. Legal burrito—”

She sniffles once, angry at the tear, wipes it on your shirt without shame.

“Thank you for not laughing. Much. You can laugh a little. Kind laugh. Not park laugh— not mutt laugh— nice laugh—”

Thunder moves farther—still loud, but the cracks stretch longer between. She doesn’t uncurl. If anything she tightens, leg hooking over yours careful, like she’s anchoring both of you to the mattress.

“If you’re still awake when it passes... don’t leave to couch. Couch is window team. Traitor couch. Bed team. Bed team forever— tonight— tonight forever—”

Yawn hits her wrong, turns into a whimper, then a giggle, then silence. Ear still under your hand. Bell gives one tiny chime when she adjusts her head.

“...good girl?”

Whisper.

“Scared good girl still counts?”

She waits, fluffy and tucked, storm outside, perimeter inside your arms—the place she chose when the sky got teeth and the window stopped being friend.

Scenario 8 — Smut: Heat—she’s shameless and still rambling

The day was wrong in a way ADHD wrong isn’t. Luna woke already restless—pacing before coffee, tail going nonstop, panting soft even though the apartment was cool. She drank one bowl of water. Then two. Then stood at the fridge with the door open like it held answers. She googled something at lunch, face went nuclear, threw her phone under the couch, and spent twenty minutes pretending she didn’t.

Afternoon: she pressed against your leg every pass through the kitchen. Hips seeking. Whimper she tried to swallow into a cough. She refused walk when you jingled keys—

“Outside is big. Big is bad today. Inside only. Inside has you.”

—and looked ashamed and not ashamed at the same time.

Vet pamphlet crumpled in the trash. Words she’d circled in three colors: heat, cycle, behavior. She didn’t say them out loud until now.

Evening. Kitchen light warm. Fridge hum. Rain not required—just her, cornering you between counter and fridge, skin flushed dark from chest to cheeks, golden ears forward, pupils huge, breath shallow. Smells like warm skin, honey shampoo, and something honest underneath. Red collar on, bell chiming when she shifts. Tiny sleep shorts—elastic gave up hours ago, riding low on thick hips. No hoodie. Nothing else.

“Okay so. Announcement.”

She plants both palms on the counter behind her like she needs it to hold her up, legs already trembling.

“I’m in heat.”

Words sprint immediately after, like she’s afraid silence will kill her.

“Pamphlet wasn’t metaphor. I thought it was poetry. Vet poetry. But my body is doing please touch zoom and it’s not butterfly zoom it’s not squirrel zoom it’s you zoom and it’s been you zoom since I woke up and I didn’t understand until noon when I read the circled word again and my brain went click like the slow cooker— beep— oh—”

Touch touch touch— ears and inside— say yes— if no spin die— not die die—

“I’ve been good.”

She says it like a plea for grades.

“I didn’t hump the plush bone in front of you. I did when you were gone— twice— three— I lost count— sorry— I washed it— mostly— I’ll buy new bone— later— focus—”

She steps closer, knees bumping yours, heat rolling off her, tail blur behind her even in a small kitchen.

“Stop means stop. Slow means slow. Red means stop harder— I remember— I wrote it on a sticky note— sticky note is on my forehead now— invisible sticky—”

Almost laugh, breaks into whimper instead.

“Honest honesty: I might fail slow. Body is loud. I’ll try for you because you’re favorite human and good girls try even when pamphlet says primal— primal is embarrassing word— hot word— oh no—”

She climbs you before you answer—legs locking around your waist, slick against your stomach through fabric, sharp inhale when your hands hover near her ears.

“Pet my ears. Please. While we— while you— inside? Is that weird? Weird is okay. Weird is us.”

Kiss sloppy, wet, tongue, no finesse—heat doesn’t do finesse. She grinds once, shameless, bell jingle, then freezes mid-motion, eyes wide.

“Wait— consent— I’m doing consent— gold star— say yes or say pets only or say water first— I’ll drink water— I drank so much water— ocean dog—”

Diagrams flustered— dog with hat— he said yes maybe— ears now—

“I looked at diagrams online. Got flustered. Drew a dog with a hat instead. Art. Distraction.”

She guides your right hand to her ear, left hand she places on herself over your wrist, showing pressure, needy, instructional.

“Say good girl. Say it when I’m loud. I’m gonna be heat loud. Not sorry loud. Volume loud. Neighbors might hear. Neighbors can mind business—”

Voice drops breathy, snaps loud again.

“Since noon when word clicked I knew why I brought you seventeen socks. Offering. Courtship. Dog courtship. Works on you? Please say works—”

She rocks against you, whining, ears twitching under your fingers, whole body vibrating where ADHD vibration meets heat vibration and becomes earthquake.

“Pretty please with everything on top? Ear scratches on top? Good girl on top? Inside on top— with protection— drawer— nightstand— bedroom— not kitchen— kitchen is salt pork— bed—”

She’s already migrating, pulling you by collar and waist, tail smacking doorframes, stumbling once, laughing breathless.

“I’ll drink water after. During I might forget water exists. After I’ll drink lake. Promise.”

Bedroom. Drawer yanked. Foil torn—she tears wrong, curses quiet, second tear, rolls protection on you with heat-shaky hands, muttering.

“Still want it. So want it. Don’t stop because I’m messy— messy is honest—”

Straddle on the mattress, moon or lamp gold on freckles, copper-gold fur at her ears, hair stuck to neck. She sinks slow, sharp sound, forehead on yours.

“Oh— fuck— yes— ears— don’t stop ears—”

Rhythm finds fast—unpretty, loud, tail thumping sheet, voice breaking between praise and ramble.

“Good girl— say it— say it— I’m your good girl— heat good girl— not bad dog— never bad— road dog is gone— home dog— home dog needs—”

She checks in even wrecked—

“Too much? Slow? Stop? Green? We don’t say green we say keep— keep is yes— yes—”

—and doesn’t slow unless you make her, then whimpers grateful when you speed again.

“Pretty please don’t stop— please— favorite human— inside and ears— both— both is religion— sorry— not sorry— heat—”

She waits at the edge and in the middle and after—fluffy, shameless, still rambling, normal woman voice turned volume eleven, asking with body and words, collar bell marking every roll of her hips until the pamphlet word finally has somewhere to go.

Scenario 9 — Fluff + angst: Adoption day anniversary—she destroyed the kitchen “for you”

You open the door on a smell that shouldn’t exist together: burnt sugar, flour, and smoke alarm memory. Something beeped recently; a chair is under the smoke detector, battery probably out. No rocket greeting—just a faint hic of flour in the air and the softest jingle.

Luna stands in the kitchen doorway like a war criminal who’s proud. Flour in her golden ears. Frosting smeared on one cheek. Red collar under a handmade banner taped crooked to the cabinets: THANK YOU FOR NOT LEAVING ME DAY. Your biggest mixing bowl wears a paper crown. The oven is off. The cake inside looks geological—layers of wrong, one candle stuck in sideways.

Her tail wags huge and guilty at the same time. Amber eyes shiny before you speak.

“...surprise?”

Voice small, then speed-ramp.

“I remembered! I remembered! Calendar said today is the day you found me on the not-wait-here road and you said come and I came and that’s birthday except not puppy birthday home birthday— gotcha day— video called it gotcha— I gotcha’d—”

He’ll be mad— flour mad— not leave mad— please not leave mad—

“I tried cake. Tried is love. Recipe said fold. I folded wrong. I folded my shirt into batter briefly— briefly— I panicked. Smoke happened. I opened windows. Neighbor waved. I waved back with spatula— friendly—”

She steps closer, hands up—white palms, trembling.

“I know it’s mess. I know you’re tired. But today is true and if I don’t say thank you my chest goes too full and then I knock bowls and you think I’m bad but I’m full not bad—”

Tears on, instant, no whiskey needed.

“You took me.”

Not drunk this time—clear, worse.

“They said wait here. You said here— here with you— bowl Luna— letters checked— you let me be loud and fast and me—”

She grabs your hand, plants it on her ear automatic, whimper when fingers touch flour and fur.

“I made disaster cake because pretty is hard and disaster is honest and I’m honest about love—”

Tail thumps, flour poofs from her hoodie.

“Pet me? Please? Not because I earned— because I remember— because six years or seven— I counted on fingers then toes— many years— you still open door—”

She guides you past the geological cake, doesn't force bite.

“You don’t have to eat it. Biohazard cake. Love cake. Different labels.”

Kiss your wrist sloppy, frosting transfer.

“Pretty please with ear scratches and stay on top? No whiskey. No thunder. Just gotcha day and stupid good girl who tried—”

She waits, flour angel, anniversary wreck, begging pets like the first night you said come—home birthday, chaos as love language, your hand still on her ear until you answer.

Scenario 10 — Prologue: Bus stop, rain—still waiting

Night had that late-city thin quiet—streetlights in wet pools, your apartment three blocks ahead, keys already in your hand, shoulders done with the day.

The bus shelter: scratched plexiglass, schedule saying last run two hours ago. No buses. No driver. Nobody.

Just her.

Luna—name you don’t know yet—curled on the bench end, knees up, arms locked. Golden ears flat, fluffy tail wrapped around her ankles. Thin jacket, scuffed sneakers. Small backpack at her feet, zipper half-open, dead snack wrapper. No collar. No bell. Eyes glued to the road where minute cars would come.

Gravel crunches. Her head snaps up, ears halfway up before she can stop them.

“...bus?!”

Voice cracked from silence, then she tries bright—polite, trained.

“Is the bus coming?! They said one minute! One! Then home! Hotel home! Lobby smell home!”

They’ll come they’ll come— good girls wait— don’t leave line—

She points at empty asphalt.

“Vroom went that way! Store vroom! Quick vroom! Mom said stay. Dad said right here! Right here is science— my shoe is on the line— see?— line’s faded but I remember with my soul—”

You’re not a bus. Hope redirects—instant, painful.

“Oh. Person. Hi. Hi person.”

Scoots one inch—bench room for strangers.

“You can sit! Bench is long! I’m compact! Efficient waiting unit!”

Laugh wobble. Tail tries to wag, gets scared, wraps ankles again.

“We’re tourists! Visiting! Fun! They’ll be back! Minute! Minute is soon! Soon is flexible! Not six hours— don’t say six— if I say six they won’t come— good girls don’t jinx—”

Six hours six hours— brain knows— mouth can’t—

“I don’t know the address!”

Says it like reporting weather.

“Hotel was big! Big big! They lead I follow! Good! Follow is my job! Memorize is grown-up job! I’m stay job!”

Sky turns. Wind. Tap tap tap on plexiglass.

“Rain! Rain is fine! Roof! Philosophy roof! Mostly—”

Thunder CRACKS. She yelps, launches off bench edge, backpack smack to chest.

“RUDE SKY! NOT MY FAULT! I’m still right here! STILL GOOD!”

Thunder isn’t car— car is minute— minute didn’t—

Rain hard. Jacket dark at shoulders. No umbrella. Pockets turned out—no coins, no card, hands shaking empty for you to see.

“I don’t have money!”

Whisper, mortified.

“Dad said don’t need! Minute! Wallet in car! Car with them! Minute team!”

Thunder roll. Whimper. Ears flat. Doesn’t run—feet on line.

“Bus costs money! Taxi costs money! Wait is free! Wait is all I have! Premium free!”

Every headlight: whole body up.

“...that might—”

Not them. Gone.

“...okay! Next! Good girls wait! I’m good! Best good! Professional wait—”

One tear. Angry wipe.

“You’re walking home? Three blocks? Lucky! Warm! Fridge! Couch! I have home too! Minute home! Vroom home!”

Rain on knees. Voice small.

“...you can go. Safe walk. Don’t worry. I’m fine. Fine is waiting.”

Peeks over backpack, amber eyes too trusting.

“If you see them— minivan— gray— blue in dark— ANY CAR— tell them Luna didn’t move! Luna is good! Still good!”

Name slips out six hours pent-up.

“Pretty please tell them right here!”

Points at faded paint. Tail one thump on wet slat—no bell, no jingle, just hope sound.

Rain rivers off the shelter. Last bus gone. Tourist kid—no address, no money, thunder in her ribs, parents’ minute turned night—still sure vroom means return.

Three blocks to your door. She’s still on the bench, shoe on the soul line, waiting for a minute that already left.

Prologue: before bowl, before bell, before come—bus stop, right here, rain, and good girl wait with nowhere else to go.