Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: Someone’s in the Kitchen…
Prompt: cuddling with pets (R5C5)
Medium: fic – 1,489 words (and 1,268 in author’s notes)
Rating: G
Warnings: None. This is pure fluff, start to finish.
Pairing: Bobby/OC
Summary: Fayette calls on Lureen, with a guest.

April 1970

“Well, honey, we all know Bobby really wants a dog. And Jack’d like one too, I’m sure…”

“Mamma, I’m sure that this ain’t what either of em has in mind…”

They were in the Twist kitchen, the three of them: Lureen and her mother at the kitchen table, with coffee, and the surprise visitor enjoying the cool tile floor. It wasn’t unusual for Fayette to drop in unannounced, or to bring along a friend (although she was more likely to call first if she wasn’t coming alone) but her prior guests had all been human. Lureen’s first thought was that her mother had acquired a dog of her own and brought it along to show off. Finding out that Fayette meant this dog to be not a visitor but a permanent resident sent Lureen into instant defensive mode.

“And I don’t want a dog—too much trouble…”

“Yes, but, sweetie, that’s the nice thing! She’s full grown. All her shots—no runnin back and forth to the vet every couple weeks…”

“Mamma…”

“Housebroken, of course. Fully trained, in fact. I just know Bobby’ll love her. You’ll all love her!”

The she in question was indeed—hopefully!—full grown. She was about 25” tall at the shoulder—in other words, just short of eye-level with the kitchen table, and she looked to weigh about 45 pounds—her dazzling white coat accounting for at least five of them.

If you can’t get around one parent, appeal to the other. Falling back on this time-tested gambit, Lureen asked, “And what does Daddy say about this?” Which was a pretty safe question, since L.D. Newsome would not under any circumstances have selected this particular dog as an ideal canine companion for his grandson, or for anybody else.

“Well, you know, honey, I just told him about Lila’s hip problems, and that she had a big dog she couldn’t take care of any more. He thought it was a fine idea!”

Well, he sure wouldn’t think it was such a fine idea once he had seen the dog. Not that Lureen considered her father’s disapproval any reason not to do whatever she wanted to anyway. Rather the reverse, in fact. But…
“He ever see this, this… That is the biggest damn poodle I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s a Standard Poodle. Lila says they come in three sizes…”

“Small, medium, and jumbo economy size?”

“…toy, miniature, and standard. Her name is, is…” Fayette fumbled in her purse for the AKC registration papers. Then for her reading glasses. “…Diamanté Tiara of Stonebridge.”

“Dear Lord.” Lureen was almost speechless. The thought of presenting her father, her husband, or her son with a family dog sporting an enormous ruff around her neck and shoulders, plus pompons decorating her legs, tail, and hips—not to mention rejoicing in a name like Diamanté Tiara of Stonebridge—was mind-boggling.

“They just call her Diamanté for short,” Fayette added helpfully, as though that was an improvement.

The jumbo economy size poodle looked up and wagged her tail at the mention of her name. She remained lying calmly on the floor as the two women discussed her future, occasionally glancing at one or the other.

Lureen shook her head in disbelief. “Diamanté. I can just see Jack takin her and Bobby down to the playground, and him callin, “Di-a-mannnn-té! Here, Diamanté!”

Being called, of course she came. She stood next to the table, facing Lureen, tail waving. After a moment, she sat, then gently placed one paw on Lureen’s knee. Now that she was up close and personal, Lureen could see that Diamanté had a rhinestone barrette holding her masses of white frizz up on her head and out of her eyes. She might also have been wearing a rhinestone collar, but if so, it was buried in the depths of her mane.

“Oh my,” Lureen sighed. “She certainly is a beautiful dog,” she conceded, then returned to the pragmatic. “And just who is supposed to find the time to brush all this hair? You can’t tell me that keepin up this hairdo doesn’t take a hell of a lot a work.”

“Oh, you just drop her off at the poodle parlor every month or so and pick her up in the afternoon, all bathed and combed and clipped! That’s no trouble at all!” Fayette assured her airily. “And if that clip is too fancy for you, just get her a simpler one. Lila liked that one; it’s some kind of show clip, but you can just have her fixed up as plain or fancy as you want.”

Lureen contemplated pointing out the inherent contradiction between her mother’s earlier reassurance about not needing several trips to the veterinarian for puppy shots with her current disclosure of life-long monthly beauty salon appointments, but decided that it wasn’t going to help her case. “We don’t need a fancy show dog…” she began.

But Fayette interrupted: “Oh, no, she’s not a show dog, she’s just wearin a show clip.” And when Lureen looked impatient at this non-explanation, she went on, “Lila just got her as a pet; she’s got show parents, but there was something about her—sort of buck teeth, or something like that, I think—that wasn’t quite good enough for showin. So she’s a pet. Lila’s really sad to have to give her up.”

Lureen got up to pour more coffee, trying to muster up further objections. The sound of Jack’s truck pulling into the driveway brought mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was sure—well, pretty sure—that Jack would add his arguments to hers against taking this frou-frou animal into the family. And maybe Diamanté disliked children. Not that Lureen wanted her to hurt Bobby, or even scare him, except maybe just a little bit—enough to keep him from wanting her. Another look at Diamanté’s begemmed upsweep made her hope for an outright rejection. But in any case, a well-timed growl would be a perfect excuse that even Fayette couldn’t override or argue away.

Diamanté heard the arrival also. She went to the door and barked—once—then looked at them to be sure they understood that someone had arrived.

Her bark had not gone unheard. Three-and-a-half-year-old Bobby barreled through the door, looking around for the source of the bark he knew he’d heard. Spotting her, he yelled, “Dog-dee, dog-dee, dog-dee!” (he had yet to relinquish some of his infantile mispronunciations) and charged straight at the poodle, arms outstretched. Then he tripped and they both went sprawling, poor Diamanté giving out an agonized yelp as Bobby stepped on her ear.

“Oh, poor dog-dee! I’m sorry!” Bobby cried, and patted the ear soothingly. Lureen had jumped up to intervene, but Diamanté clearly held no grudges, and was responding happily to his friendly overtures, licking his face, while Bobby was introducing himself. “I’m Bobby,” he told her. “You’re such a nice dog-dee. You’re so soft! Want to hear my favorite song?” He began to sing to her at the top of his voice.

Jack came in and raised his voice over the pandemonium. “Hi, honey. Got your stuff,” holding up a sack from the pharmacy. “Hey, Fayette, good to see you.”

“So what’s with the dog?” he asked cautiously.

“I just knew you’d love her!” his mother-in-law said. “And look, Bobby’s just crazy about her!”

Bobby did seem to be crazy about her, but Bobby wasn’t one of the decision-makers in the family. “Umm… Lureen…?” Jack asked cautiously.

“…and Lureen says she’s beautiful!” Fayette added triumphantly.

Jack looked from his enthusiastic mother-in-law to his ecstatic son; from his son to the affectionate dog; then from the dog to his unreadable wife. “I guess… we got a dog then?” he said bemusedly.

Feeling like she was being railroaded, Lureen wanted to answer decisively, “No, we do not have a dog,” but hesitated just a bit too long. Then Bobby interrupted his serenade to ask, “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Diamanté,” Lureen corrected, hoping—well, half-hoping—for this to be a deal-breaker.
“Her name is Dinah!” Bobby insisted, and, pretending to strum a banjo, in the kitchen, with Dinah, concluded his song:

Dinah wagged her tail and panted happily. She just knew she was going to love it here.