My Wife's Doberman

Work keeps me on the road more often than not these days.

My wife, Sophia—seven years my junior—is left to her own devices back home. The solitude got to her, so she hired a personal trainer and brought home a hulking Doberman named Apollo.

After a month away on business, I came back to a version of my wife I barely recognized.

That first Saturday home, I was trying to unwind. Apollo was sprawled on the balcony, nuzzling into Sophia with a sickening sweetness. He even licked her face—slow, tender swipes of his tongue.

The second I stepped closer, his lips curled back, baring a set of teeth aimed right at me. A low, rumbling growl vibrated in his chest. The look in his eyes was pure menace, like I was some intruder.

"Look, honey—he's jealous of you!" Sophia laughed, her voice light and musical. She gave the dog's head a meaningful pat.

A cold knot tightened in my stomach.

"We should find him another home," I said. "A dog that size is a liability. You hear stories all the time about big breeds turning on people."

"Don't you dare!" she shot back, her tone sharp as glass. "Apollo is my lifeline. He's the only one here when you're gone. You get rid of him, and I'll get rid of you. Apollo, come!"

The massive dog trotted over and started circling her, nudging his head against her hips.

Then I watched her call her fitness coach.

"Don't forget my session today," she reminded him.

A man's voice, slick and flirty, spilled from the speaker. "How could I forget you, Sophia? We're hitting glutes today. You've noticed they're getting rounder, perkier, right? I've got more moves to show you. You'll leave today feeling amazing—and satisfied."

His tone was so oily, so inappropriate, it made my skin crawl. The guy sounded like a total creep.

"Your place, Sophia?" he asked suddenly.

She cupped the phone and whispered, "Not here. My husband's home."

"Then come to my studio," he replied, followed by a suggestive chuckle.

I was seething. "Since when do trainers talk like that? And why is a male coach working on… those areas?"

"Don't be so old-fashioned," Sophia snapped. "It's completely normal at any decent gym. Male trainers are stronger—better for spotting. His schedule is packed; I had to fight to get a slot. Besides, with Apollo around, no one would mess with me anyway. Now take him for his walk!"

She snatched her gym bag and headed out. Apollo leaped up, planting his heavy paws on her shoulders and swiping his tongue across her crimson-stained lips. She scolded him to get down. The wretched beast obeyed, but then shoved his snout straight into her crotch, taking a long, intrusive sniff of her yoga pants.

She raised a hand like she was going to smack him, but it turned soft mid-air—just a gentle pat on the head.

"Naughty boy," she cooed.

I stood there, disgusted. My wife was off to see her sleazy trainer, and I was stuck walking her damn dog. What kind of messed-up life is this?