We walked for a couple blocks with him sniffing everything in his path, including a line of wrought-iron fencing. When it seemed like the dog and I had settled into an uneasy alliance, I started to run. At first, things were going great. I set an easy pace and Brick fell into step beside me. Then the wind shifted or the planets misaligned or the dog saw a squirrel I missed. Whateverthe impetus, the dog suddenly had to be on the other side of the sidewalk.
He cut in front of me, heading for one of the magnolias. I stumbled but managed to stay upright. I started to tug on the leash to get us back on track, but the dog seemed so absorbed in whatever he was smelling, I didn’t have the heart to pull him away. We could work on behavior and manners later. He’d been cooped up for so long. It couldn’t hurt to let him have some of what he wanted on his day out.
“What did you find?” I couldn’t see anything at the base, but Brick seemed intent on sniffing every inch.
I stood, watching him snuffle and snort, focused on making sure he didn’t get into trouble. We might not be running as fast or as much as I wanted, but he’d certainly done a good job of getting me out of my head and into the present moment. Anything less than a hundred percent attention, and I was pretty sure I’d end up in Urgent Care.
“Are you ready?” I asked when the sniff fest seemed to be slowing down.
He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the dog he could have been—the dog he should have been—if life hadn’t roughed him up and someone had seen him for the good dog he wanted to be.
“Come on, buddy.” I gave the leash a tug and he fell into place at my side.
We repeated the sniff breaks without the near-pavement encounters, and by the time we hit our second mile, we’d fallen into a rhythm. I avoided the walkway by the river not wanting to push our luck with people, and stuck to the mostly empty streets of the nearby neighborhood.
By the time we passed the Armstrong Arch, I’d started to feel more at peace in my head, and Brick seemed to have run down some of his exuberance. Not wanting to tempt the fates with anoutdoor café, I stopped when we saw a food truck and ordered sausage sandwiches with a couple bottles of water and an empty Styrofoam soup bowl. I gave the dog enough leash to sniff to his heart’s content while we waited for the food.
“He looks like a good boy. Can he have a treat?” the older woman manning the cart asked as she handed me the bag of food.
“He’s not, but I think he wants to be.” I glanced down at the dog, who’d finally sat by my feet. “I’m sure he’d love a treat.”
She handed over a sizable dog biscuit and leaned out the food truck window to watch me give it to the dog. Instead of inhaling the treat along with some of my fingers, Brick held back, uncertain. I remembered what his file had said about his fear of men.
“It’s okay, buddy.” I set the biscuit on the ground in front of him and moved back half a step to give him some space. “It’s all yours.”
He glanced from me to the woman still leaning out the window and back again before gingerly taking the biscuit in his mouth. When nothing bad happened, he chomped happily, reducing the treat to nothing but crumbs in a flash.
“Poor guy. He looks like he could use more treats. Take another one for later.” She handed me another dog biscuit, and I dropped it in the bag with the rest of our haul. “Such a good puppy,” she cooed, and Brick sat up straighter, his tongue lolling to the side while his tail swept the ground behind him.
“Thanks,” I said, gripping the bag with one hand and the leash with the other.
Deciding it might be okay to take a chance with people, we walked across the street to the park. I found a bench tucked away from most of the traffic and sat, placing the bag on the seat beside me. Brick’s gaze moved from the bag to the group of kids kicking a ball in the distance.
“It’s okay, buddy.” I ran my hand over his head, and he sat down beside me, leaning slightly against my leg. For a dog many might find intimidating, he radiated insecurity. I hated that he was so nervous, but I was grateful that he seemed to be getting comfortable with me.
I poured one of the bottles of water into the bowl and set it on the ground between us. Brick made short work emptying the bowl and splashing water on himself and my leg. I chugged some of my water before topping off Brick’s bowl again. We sat side by side, watching the kids and eating our lunch. By the time he’d finished his second sausage, Brick felt comfortable enough to take the biscuit from my hand.
I finished my sandwich while he reduced the biscuit to crumbs. I shoved the trash in the bag, flinching when my phone vibrated with an incoming text. Elena’s name flashed across the screen and the dog scooted closer, pressing his body against my leg. He must have picked up on my nerves and did what he could to comfort both of us.
“You really are a good dog.” I stroked his head, paying extra attention to the space behind his ears, and his eyes closed to slits as he panted.
ELENA
Breaking the not double texting rule by quadruple texting but just because I want to make sure you are okay. Are you okay? Need Gatorade? An explanation?
I’d planned to wait until I got back home before I responded, but sitting on the bench with the dog plastered against my leg, I felt clearer than I had in hours. And I didn’t want her to think I was ignoring her. That wouldn’t be fair.
ME
I’m fine. No hydration or explanation needed.
She didn’t need to explain anything to me, and I wasn’t confused. I didn’t want to look too closely at what I was feeling, but it wasn’t anger—at least not at Elena. If I let myself, I could still picture the way Essex’s hand rested on the small of her back as if she belonged to him. I could see the way they looked standing side by side on the red carpet. Like they were meant to be together.
ME
I’ve got to run.
I sent the text, anxious to be done with the interaction and then felt bad for seeming abrupt.
