New neighbors Andi and Hayden don't get off to the best start - and neither do their dogs. When the hostility between their pets, Bart and Rosie, leads to noisy barking, Andi and Hayden must solve their pet's tension or risk eviction from their apar...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Look here, Pickles! Over here!" Micah and I's deep voices echo as they bounce off the studio walls. I'm kneeling on the floor as Micah dangles a cupcake plushie by my ears, the beads ringing furiously as he shakes it.
My left eye is shut, and my right eye hovers over the camera's viewfinder as I stare at my uncooperative subject. With one of my hands underneath the lens, the other holds the grip, my fingers curling around the groove to the shutter button. I use my pointer finger to press the button halfway, keeping the stubborn chihuahua in focus, but I don't click it fully and complete the picture since all it would be is a picture of a dog's ass.
"Pickles!" I call. "Turn around, sweetie!"
Pickles doesn't budge, her body still facing the stark white backdrop. The plain white sheet can't be that interesting, but still, she stays put, and all I can see through the lens are the little wags of her tail.
Sighing, I lower the camera and glance up at Micah. His bearded jaw is clenched, and his bushy eyebrows are drawn together. He rubs his forehead with a tan muscular hand, tickling the ends of his jet-black hair.
I'm ready to be done for the day, and, without a doubt, so is Micah. In fact, if Mrs. Thompson, the elderly owner of Pickles, wasn't sitting on the other side of the room completing a crossword, I'm sure Micah wouldn't have any sort of trouble dropping a few F-bombs for the holdup. Diana also sits next to Mrs. Thompson, helping with the crossword, so not only would cursing lose us a client, but it would also get Micah a lecture from his wife on how much she hates his overuse of vulgar language.
The toll Micah's restraint is inflicting on him is obvious. He stares dead at me, raising his eyebrows in a plea to hurry this up. Urgency and anger swirl behind his fiery eyes as he tilts his head toward the dog—the dog still facing the white sheet as if it's the most interesting artifact in the world.
It's nearing 5:00 pm, closing time. I just need a couple more shots of Pickles in her pink cowboy hat, but every time I've picked her up and turned her around, she twists right back toward the backdrop like a spring.
I release my camera, letting it hang by the strap around my neck. "Micah, just hold Pickles still. I'll edit your hands out."
Micah sighs in relief, relaxing some of the tension in his broad shoulders. "Thank God."
Usually, I like to avoid any extra editing that isn't necessary. Removing Micah's large-ass hands from the shot and making Pickles appear natural will take a few extra minutes, but at this point, it can't take longer than it would to wait for this damn dog to turn around.
Micah scoops Pickles right up, twisting her toward me, and I gaze into the viewfinder again. Her tiny tongue hangs loose as Micah holds her sides, preventing the inevitable spin that would happen if released.
I snap some shots, releasing the shutter and capturing the giddy chihuahua and her adorable cowboy hat. "Good girl!" I call, not because Pickles is actually being good—she's not—but because it widens her grin, displaying more of her pointy teeth and dopey smile. As I take more shots, her shaky body vibrates, and her mouth grows even bigger.
