***
The next day they hada final follow-up with the vet scheduled.Jock and Silly parked in back before walking into the familiar sterile haven of Kent’s practice.Maynard trotted in with no limp, and as Kent examined the scars, still pink and puckered under the growing fur, he shook his head.“I’m amazed at how well he’s healing.And gaining weight nicely.Even the burns look more faded than the last time I saw him.You know, long-term, he could have sensitivity, maybe arthritis from those old fractures.He might need ongoing care—meds, maybe hydrotherapy.Those are all worst-case situations.He could also live to fifteen, still racing around the backyard.”
Jock’s gut twisted, the words mirroring his own battles: PTSD flares that never fully vanished, therapy a lifelong commitment.Scars don’t erase, he thought, stroking Maynard’s head.Physical or mental.They just become part of the story.
Silly squeezed his hand, her eyes knowing.“We’ll handle it.Like we handle everything.”
Back home, Jock sat on the porch while watching Maynard chasing a leaf in the backyard without pain while Tank ambled happily behind.After a while spent decompressing from the vet visit, Jock got busy and resumed training.They worked on heel and down, each command a step towards strength.Jock’s mind wandered to his recovery again, Dr.Jaagr’s lessons weaving through:It’s not about being unbroken; it’s about rebuilding stronger.Maynard embodied that, his playful tugs at Tank’s ears a testament to survival.
That evening, as Silly sketched new designs inspired by the dogs, Jock joined her, seated on the floor at her feet.“Baby?”
“Hmmm?”Her response sounded distracted, but he knew she’d be fully present as soon as he brought up the topics that had been whirling around in his mind.
“What do you think about fostering other dogs?Not that Maynard is a foster.He’s ours, full stop.But there are so many dogs that don’t do well in the shelter.They wind up sitting at the back of their kennel and are passed up time and time again.”
“How many are we thinking?”She didn’t lift her head, but as her hand paused in its sketching, he knew he’d captured her full attention.
“I thought one at a time might be good.We’d take time off between fosters, so we could focus on Tanker and Maynard.I haven’t talked to the director yet, but I know she’d probably jump at the idea.We’ll have to set boundaries upfront so she doesn’t steamroll us.”
“You.”Silly lifted her head and looked at him with a grin.“So she doesn’t steamroll you.”
“Okay, fine.Me.I’m the softie in this relationship.”
“You really are, Jock.”She tilted her head and hummed quietly for a second.“Since we’re talking about future things, where do you feel like we are when it comes to kids?I know we said someday, but that feels like a faraway time.”
“How many are we thinking?”He echoed her words back at her and earned a broad smile.
“I thought one at a time might be good.”Laughing, she reached out and stroked a finger across his lips.“You’d make a great dad, Jake.”
Jock captured her hand, rolled it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm.“And you’re going to make a gorgeous mom.”
***
Over the followingweeks, Maynard’s progress accelerated.He bounded up stairs without hesitation, his many runs in the yard a joyful blur of white fur and lolling tongue.Play with Tank evolved into full romps complete with wrestling sessions that left both dogs panting and happy, Jock refereeing with laughter.
“You’re a fighter, boy,” he said during training, now working to teach roll over and shake, rewards reinforcing trust.“Good boy, Maynard.”
For him, the chance to reflect usually hit during quiet moments.Like Maynard’s scars, Jock’s PTSD was a permanent mark, but manageable, now more than ever, with the grounding techniques that turned bad nights into bearable ones.
Silly noticed, pulling him close after a session.“You’re both warriors.”
The date night’s cozy pivot lingered, inspiring more stay-at-home evenings, but when they tried again, it was with a movie under the stars at the drive-in, complete with popcorn and stolen kisses.
Maynard, fully settled now, stayed home with Tank, and they had no interruptions this time.
The vet’s words echoed in Jock’s mind from when they were talking about a subtle conflict.During the movie, Jock settled Silly’s head against his shoulder and opened up about the parallels as he saw between them.
“Maynard’s scars remind me of mine, you know.They’ll always be there, always be sensitive to triggers.But what we have, this love I have with you, it helps push that sensitivity back, making it more of a background noise than something at the forefront of my brain.”
Silly captured his hand and gave it a squeeze.“And like you, he’ll thrive because he’s loved.”The night ended with a quiet drive home hand in hand, and Jock knew his future would forever be brighter because of Silly.
***
The house was quietfor once, the usual rumble of dog play replaced by the soft creak of floorboards.Jock sat on the edge of the bed in their bedroom, the dim glow of a single lamp casting shadows across his scarred knuckles.
Silly stood by the window, her silhouette sharp against the night, one hand propped on the sill.
The air was heavy and rich, not just from the humid Louisiana night but from the weight of what they’d been talking about.He’d pushed forwards the conversation they’d been having in bits and bites about them seriously trying for a kid, what that future would look like, and the hope that could come from something so precious, neither of them had dared name until now.
