Ben sat on the living room floor surrounded by motel room couch fluff as Elvis pranced around proud of his kill.
"You know I should be mad at you," Ben said to the dog as he paused his victory lap of the room. "But I really can’t make myself be bad. You’re just being you. And by doing that you got me talk again for the first time in well over a week. And you know, Elvis you really can’t be doing this when we go home. Just so you know. Mom and Dad’ll flip their shit if you do that to the furniture at home. Like you’d be living out in the yard so fast you wouldn’t know what hit you, Elvis."
The dog sat down, resting his head in Ben’s lap looking pathetically adorable.
"Stop looking at me like that," Ben said at he reached over to pat his dog. "You’re in trouble, remember? In the figurative dog house?" Ben sighed and hugged the dog. "I should probably call somebody, huh boy?"
Elvis just whined and inched towards the door again.
"Shit," Ben said quickly grabbing Elvis’s music note leash. "Let’s get you outside to handle your business."
And this was how the best day of the month was starting for Ben Winchester.