“Can you just make him shut up!” I yell at Torrie, who is trying to calm the pup screaming his lungs out in her arms.

And naturally, she’s failing at it.

“I don’t know what is wrong. I fed him, and his diaper is clean. Maybe he’s in pain of some sort,” she tries to justify herself, rocking the pup more in her arms.

“Great,” I groan.

That’s all we needed, another crybaby with a sensitive tummy.

“If you can’t do your job and calm your son properly, fucking leave!” I shout, making her flinch.

“I’m sorry, Rick. He's just not having any of what I try. I’m sorry.” She...