A Tense Dinner
Over dinner that evening, I brought up the incident again. The air grew thick as we sat before plates of fragrant spaghetti bolognese. My appetite vanished. "Tom," I set my fork down, "about this afternoon—I need you to understand. Janet genuinely minds people touching Bella. Please don't do it again, okay?" He paused mid-bite, glaring impatiently. "Seriously? Can't even touch the damn thing? Is it made of gold?" he mumbled through pasta. "Looked perfectly fine to me. Lying there begging to be petted."
A Futile Correction
"It's not about Bella's feelings," I countered. "It's Janet's wishes—the owner's. We must respect that." He fell silent, shoveling food into his mouth, sauce smeared chaotically on his plate. After a long pause, he spoke irritably: "Fine, fine. Got it. Stop nagging." But his tone held no contrition—only annoyance. My appetite withered entirely. Watching him devour his meal, I felt utterly helpless.
Escalation
I hoped my warning would suffice. How naive. Days later, I caught him again in the yard—this time worse. Not only was he fondling Bella's hindquarters through the fence, but he also tried lifting her back leg, as if inspecting something. Bella squirmed uncomfortably. I was tidying the barbecue grill; the sight sent blood roaring to my temples. I dashed over, voice rising uncontrollably: "Tom! Stop it!"
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Over dinner that evening, I brought up the incident again. The air grew thick as we sat before plates of fragrant spaghetti bolognese. My appetite vanished. "Tom," I set my fork down, "about this afternoon—I need you to understand. Janet genuinely minds people touching Bella. Please don't do it again, okay?" He paused mid-bite, glaring impatiently. "Seriously? Can't even touch the damn thing? Is it made of gold?" he mumbled through pasta. "Looked perfectly fine to me. Lying there begging to be petted."
A Futile Correction
"It's not about Bella's feelings," I countered. "It's Janet's wishes—the owner's. We must respect that." He fell silent, shoveling food into his mouth, sauce smeared chaotically on his plate. After a long pause, he spoke irritably: "Fine, fine. Got it. Stop nagging." But his tone held no contrition—only annoyance. My appetite withered entirely. Watching him devour his meal, I felt utterly helpless.
Escalation
I hoped my warning would suffice. How naive. Days later, I caught him again in the yard—this time worse. Not only was he fondling Bella's hindquarters through the fence, but he also tried lifting her back leg, as if inspecting something. Bella squirmed uncomfortably. I was tidying the barbecue grill; the sight sent blood roaring to my temples. I dashed over, voice rising uncontrollably: "Tom! Stop it!"
NEXT >>
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