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My sister is a few inches shorter than me with a fuller figure than I have, boasting a black pixie cut that Dad hates and Mom doesn’t understand. She squeals as she crushes me in one of her amazing hugs, singing, “Capybaracapybaracapybara. Capybara. Capybara!” Letting go, she rocks back on her heels, yanks out her phone, and shows me a video on Instagram of a baby capybara waddling up a sandy bank while music plays in the background. “It is a child. And I need one,” she states, seriously adjusting her black wayfare glasses. “Our mother and father say I do not need one, but as I no longer live beneath their roof, their opinions are moot.” With a frown, she notes, “A not moot point is the fact they claim they will not be treating my capybara baby as their grandchild, thus depriving him or her of grandparents. Isn’t that rude?”
“Incomprehensibly.”
“Who do they even think they are? My lifegivers? Ridiculous.” Rustling her hair, she dumps her phone back in her plaid skirt pocket and marches for my car. “Where is my nephew? I bought seventy dollars worth of treats, and this time he will love me.”
Ollie, still in human form, scowls in the front seat, crosses his arms, and looks right at her.
Oh. Wow. It all makes sense.
I’m his mate, but Alana is just a stranger trying to puppy handle him and give him normal dog treats from Petco. The only dog treat he’s ever accepted from me was from the gourmet pet store off main street. And it was a chicken foot.
Ew.
I wish I hadn’t remembered that.
We are going to have to have a conversation about that later, including information about when the last time he had one was because I kind of kissed him yesterday.
At least, graciously, it tasted nothing like any part of a chicken.
“Where is he?” Alana asks, cupping her hands to the window and peering in the backseat. “Did you not bring him?”
Did I not bring him? He’s spent a lot of time pretending to be a chihuahua. Maybe he wants a break.
Should I lie and say he’s not here? Can I tell Alana the truth? She would love this. It’s just like one of her crazy animes. Actually, it’s less crazy. In the last anime she told me about, clothes were evil aliens and the “happily ever after” resulted in everyone in the entire world being naked. So.
“There he is!” Alana chirps finally as she opens the back door.
Deranged puppy growls and barks explode from within, and I attempt to school my features into a cool mask.
It is not funny.
Not at all.
It’s very sad.
Oh my word. My chihuahua shifter soulmate sounds like a furious duck.
Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.
Alana crouches by my car, tone soothing, hand extended, and I navigate toward her side while counting my breaths.
“Hey. I’m a friend. Promise.” She tugs on my arm when I reach her. “B, tell him. Tell him I’m a friend. Tell him he remembers me.”
I bite my lips, clear my throat, and pat my sister on the head. “Alana is a good human, Oxy. See?”
“Oxy’s” eyes narrow on me, and he gives a tiny puppy head shake.
He’s so sweet in human form. Being a chihuahua must come with the meanness trademarked by small dog breeds.
Alana sighs. “Nope. He still hates me.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. He just… He’s just like any other small dog, fighting for the right to his bodily autonomy in a world too big for him.” I lean into the car, hesitate, then pick him up. “Isn’t that right, Oxford? You believe in pupper rights.” This is weird, isn’t it? Very weird. I’m a monster. What is wrong with me? I should have just said I didn’t bring him and found a discreet moment to chuck his luggage in a dumpster.
After all, he does not need to be tortured anymore.
“He has never attacked you, no matter how many outfits you put him in,” Alana quips.
My smile turns plastic. He’s been so kind in making sure I’m not weirded out by this situation, I’ve hardly considered the fact I have four thousand photos of him in various outfits with various props on my Instagram account.
