The Stray

Logan knew his day had started badly when he arrived at work an hour late because his alarm hadn’t gone off that morning. But what he didn’t know was that it would turn out to be the worst day of his life.

“Excuse me!” A customer waved him over, “I ordered the Mediterranean Chicken Salad, and this”—she gestured at her plate dramatically—“has olives in it.”

Logan blinked in confusion. “Yes… it does. The Mediterranean Chicken Salad comes with olives.”

“Well, I didn’t want olives,” the customer snapped.

He inhaled deeply, trying to keep his tone even. “Did you request no olives when you placed your order, ma’am?”

She scoffed. “I shouldn’t have to! You should anticipate things like this. Who even eats olives, anyway?”

“…People who order Mediterranean food?” Logan said sarcastically, immediately regretting it.

He hated dealing with Karens, unfortunately for him, the diner he worked at was filled with them and this was his fifth messed up order of the day. With the rate at which things were going, he wasn't sure of getting a dime on his paycheck. Even though each complaint he had received was more outrageous than the last. 

The customer’s eyes narrowed at him. “Are you saying I'm wrong?”

“Absolutely not, ma'am, I'll get you a fresh plate—”

“No need,” a cold voice cut in. It belonged to his manager, Mr. Pearson, who had been standing behind him armed crossed, watching the whole scene unravel. “Logan, my office. Now.”

A pit formed in Logan’s stomach. He had been working here for almost a year—not the best employee, sure, but good enough to get by. Today, though, Mr. Pearson looked done

“That was the nineteenth complaint this week, kiddo,” Mr. Pearson said, rubbing his temples. “Look, I'm gonna be real honest with you and cut to the chase. You're a good kid and I know you mean well but I've got a business to run. The restaurant doesn’t thrive off bad reviews, so I've made a decision. I'm letting you go kid, you're fired.”

Logan felt his knees turn into puddles as the manager's words hit him, “What? Wait, Sir I—”

“It’s final.” His manager said, handing him a paycheck. “Go clean out your locker.”

———

Logan's hands trembled as he made his way out of the diner, his legs carrying him to the one place that echoed comfort. His boyfriend–Jared's apartment. He needed a hug accompanied by a hot fuck session to ease his mind off his situation and probably a chug down a couple cans of beer later. 

Getting that job hadn't been easy for him, compared to how he had easily lost it. 

He knocked on the door of his boyfriend’s apartment, feeling his hands turn cold in contrast to the hot summer evening. Jared would understand, he had thought to himself. Maybe he’d even let him crash at his place until he figured out what to do next.

After a second knock, Logan tried the door knob and realised it wasn’t locked. It was strange, because Jared never left his door unlocked.

“Jared?” He called as he stepped into the apartment, "Babe, you home?" Then he heard it.

A soft moan coming from the bedroom.

His stomach churned—it couldn’t be, surely he was hearing things. 

Slowly, he stepped inside, his breath hitching as the voices grew louder with each step. 

“Take it like the slut you are.” He heard Jared curse, “Oh! Fuck Carmen, you're killing me!”

Logan tasted the ramen he had that morning on his tongue and realised he was going to throw up, but his legs still pushed forward hoping that somehow, he had all of a sudden developed schizophrenia. 

The bedroom door was slightly open, with clothes sprawled at the entrace, they were women's clothes. Then he saw them—Jared, naked and a woman straddling him, bouncing on and off his dick.

For a moment, Logan just stood there. He felt frozen, as if his brain refused to accept what his eyes were seeing.  

Throwing his head to the side, Jared looked towards the door, his eyes widening. “Logan—”

Logan didn’t wait to hear whatever excuse he was about to give. He turned and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

An hour later, he found himself at a small convenience store near his apartment. He grabbed a pack of beer and tossed some crumpled bills on the counter. The cashier barely giving him a glance as he left.

He needed air. His chest felt tight. He was falling apart. 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out, looking over the screen he saw he'd gotten 43 missed calls from Jared, 13 messages and a weather notification about an oncoming summer monsoon.

'Baby, I'm at your apartment where are you?'

The last message from Jared popped up and Logan hissed in irritation—the nerve of him.

He turned his phone off and slipped it back into his pocket, looking up at the already darkening sky.

Logan made his way to the park, settling onto a bench. He cracked open a beer, ignoring the drizzle that had started falling from the sky.

That was when he felt a nudge against his leg.

Looking down, he found a dog staring up at him. It was the stray that always visited the diner. It was surprisingly large and healthy for a dog without an owner, or maybe it was because he'd always fed it left overs from the restaurant. 

“Hey, buddy,” Logan muttered. “What are you doing here? Looking for me?” 

The dog whined, resting its head on his knee.

Logan exhaled shakily. “I don’t have any food for you today, sorry, I got kicked out of work.” 

The rain picked up, but Logan didn't seem bothered at all about getting drenched by the rain.

The dog nudged him again. 

“Okay, fine,” Logan sighed, wiping at his wet face. “Let’s go.”

Without a second thought, he took the dog home with him.

By the time Logan reached his apartment, the rain had turned into a full-on downpour. He fumbled with his keys, shivering as water dripped from his clothes. The dog sat beside him, just as soaked, looking up at him expectantly.

“Guess you’re staying, huh?” Logan muttered as he pushed the door open.

The dog trotted inside without hesitation.

Logan kicked off his wet sneakers and grabbed a towel from the closet. He crouched down and started rubbing the dog’s fur, trying to dry him off. “You’re a mess,” he said. “But then again, so am I.”

The dog sneezed.

He huffed a tired laugh. “Alright, let's wash you off.”

It took him some effort, but he managed to get the dog into his tiny bathtub. Surprisingly, it didn’t struggle at all, it just sat there as he lathered shampoo through its fur.

“There, that’s better,” Logan said as he drained the tub and wrapped the dog in a towel. Its fur, now clean, was a mix of cream and golden brown. He ruffled its head. “You know, you’re actually kinda cute under all that dirt.”

The dog wagged its tail excitedly at him.

Shaking his head, Logan walked into the kitchen and rummaged through his fridge. The only thing he had was leftover instant ramen. He sighed and placed the bowl on the floor.

“Not exactly gourmet, but it’s all I’ve got.”

The dog sniffed it before digging in.

Logan grabbed another beer from the pack, took a long sip, then collapsed onto his bed. His whole body ached. His mind was a mess.

He was Jobless. Cheated on. Sex deprived. Nearly broke. And now, apparently, a dog owner.

A soft thump pulled him from his thoughts. The dog had jumped onto the bed and was staring at him, as if asking permission to stay.

Logan sighed. “Fine, but no licking me, got it?”

The dog tilted its head.

Logan shook his head and let out a tired chuckle. He reached out, ruffling its ears before pressing a lazy goodnight kiss to the top of its head.

“Night, buddy,” he murmured, letting the alcohol and exhaustion pull him under.

As he drifted off, he thought he heard the dog let out a content sigh.

———

The next morning, Logan woke up to someone breathing down on him. Had Jared made his way into his apartment last night he wondered as he reached for his glasses on his night stand.

Putting on his glasses, his vision focused and he realised that it wasn't Jared on his bed, but a strange man—naked and asleep—was lying beside him.

Logan screamed.

The man jolted awake and screamed back.

Logan scrambled away from him, nearly falling off the bed. “Who the hell are you?!”

The man blinked at him looking clearly just as startled as him.

Panic surged through Logan as his eyes darted around the room. His clothes were still on. Nothing looked disturbed. But where was the dog?

Logan grabbed the nearest thing—a book—and pointed it at the stranger like a weapon. “What did you do to my dog?!”

The man only stared at him, still giving him the startled expression. Logan's mind ran through a number of possibilities but he immediately began to observe the man in order to have a definitive description in case he ran away before the cops arrived.

“Blue eyes, definitive jawline, cream and golden brown hair—” Logan thought to himself pausing at the last description. It couldn’t be—

No. That was insane, the dog had the same colour of fur, but anyone's hair could match a dog's fur—right? 

Logan's breath came out shaky. His hands trembled as he reached for his phone, turning it on. “I’m calling the cops.”

The man’s eyes widened. He quickly shook his head, he tried speaking but he couldn’t make a sound.

Logan's heart pounded, as he dialed 911. “Yes, hi, I have a—uh—an intruder in my apartment.”

Before he could finish, the man suddenly moved. Not aggressively—just shifting to sit up.

And then Logan noticed it.

The way the man tilted his head. The way his eyes followed movement. The way he twitched, almost like he was—

Like he was a dog.

“Oh my god,” Logan whispered, the phone slipping from his fingers.

He knew he wasn’t crazy. 

The man was the dog.