A distinct possibility, she learned, counting the number of greyhound-specific rescues her search yielded. They were shy, nervous, prone to anxiety, and happy to be couch potatoes. Not at all the exuberant spaniel puppy she’d mentally prepped herself for. But she also read that they were gentle with sweet dispositions, that theycouldbe rehabilitated, taught to maneuver stairs and the large, scary world, that they could learn to play, to be family dogs. Lots of patience and predictability were what was needed. Their home lacked the latter, but they, too, could learn.
Ainsley was pensive, quiet, fingering the strings of his acoustic guitar without actually striking. He wasn’t interested in talking, having said all that he had to say that afternoon in the car. The pall that had hung over the last year, the last decade for him, had stretched to cover their noisy, colorful day-to-day, making her feel as if she needed to tiptoe through the rooms so as not to disturb it. Ris couldn’t take it anymore.
“If we do this, we can’t pretend it’s temporary. That wouldn’t be fair to him.”
They were each sitting on opposite sides of the sofa, engaged in their own activities, but neither of them actually doing anything. Ainsley sat up immediately, his spine straightening.
“I agree. This is the real deal; there’s no backing out. If we commit to this, we commit all the way. This is his forever home.”
Her throat closed at the word.Forever. Forever was such a short time for such a tiny vial. Getting her feet wet with the waters of experience was going to hurt, eventually.
“He might never be what you had hoped for,” she warned him, setting aside her tablet. “He might never want to play in the park, he might not want to go hiking. He might not be energetic and playful. He might not even like people.”
Ainsley shrugged, huffing out a laugh. “Tate didn’t like people, and he was my best friend.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Ris bit her lip, waiting for him to go silent, to close in on himself, but he never did. This was, she realized, possibly the first time he’d spoken Tate’s name out loud since he started therapy.Well, shit. That’s something. And you can’t discount it.
“A curmudgeonanda cat person,” she added, earning another huff of that hard laughter.It was something, and something is better than nothing.
The volunteer at the shelter was surprised when they called. Her voice was guarded as she walked them through what the adoption would entail, relief bleeding into her tone by the end of the call. They picked him up on a Friday.
“It will be easiest if you transport him in the kennel you’ve purchased. He’s used to being crated. That way, we can get him in easily, and he can go right to your vehicle.”
Ris raised her eyes to his, in time to watch his mouth open to argue, but the words he wanted to say never came out. She knew what he was thinking. After all, Ainsley had come from a diorama, too. They received a packet of information: information on the breed, information on all of the shots he was now up to date with, information on the food he had been fed. It all seemed rather impersonal, she thought. The neat manila folder was within her wheelhouse, but the contents within itdidn’t seem to have anything to do with the trembling figure inside the crate at the back of the car.
Ris had been steeling herself for noise, for exuberance, for a tiny bundle of fluff that had all of the energy and joy of the orc she had fallen in love with. What they were bringing home was more silence. Silence and fear.
“I didn’t think the crate was a good idea,” Ainsley grunted, lifting the new, larger kennel they’d purchased after returning the puppy-sized model up the last step. “But getting up the stairs without it probably would have been worse. Baby steps, I guess, right?”
They placed his kennel next to the sofa. Ris optimistically arranged the toys they had purchased near the outside, the blanket they bought to go in the little dog bed at the open mouth of the crate. Fitz never ventured out, choosing to remain curled up at the back of the kennel, peering out at them, trembling. He’d still not come out by the time they went to bed that night, ignoring the food bowl Ainsley showed him as he knelt before the crate, his ass in the air.
“Food! C’mon, boy! Aren’t you hungry, Fitz?”
No response came. At length, he placed the bowl at the edge of the kitchen, within view of the crate, the water bowl beside it in its sturdy wooden base, chosen with so much optimism.
Patience. That’s what he needs.It was what she was used to giving by then. This dog would be reshaped by them. Reshaped, and perhaps, reborn into something new. Something less afraid, more willing to trust, to trust being loved. Again, like him.
“This isn’t a puppy,” she murmured after they’d gone to bed, leaving the door open, just in case.
“It’s not,” Ainsley agreed. He found her mouth in the darkness. Ris tightened her hands around his biceps, leaning into the kiss. “But I think it’s better.”
* * *
The first month was quiet in a way that ached.
Every sound made Fitz jump. Open doorways were scary portals to hidden dangers. Pigeons on the sidewalk might as well have been enemy assassins for the way he shrank back from them, refusing to move any further on the concrete while they remained, and then startling so badly when they were waved away that he shook like a leaf. He ate only when they left the room, and preferred the safe familiarity of his crate over lounging beside them on the sofa.
It was nothing that they’d planned for. Nothing that they’d envisioned. She’d been, in equal measure, steeling herself for a dog that would constantly be underfoot and getting into things, and the sight of Ainsley on his back in the middle of their living room, laughing his big, bright laugh as the same small dog crawled over him, playing, fighting, barking,living.
Fitz shook and cowered, and not much else.
The staircase leading to their apartment was a daily exercise. Ainsley had contrived to hunt down the building’s super, pleading his case and playing on the troll’s sympathies, emphasizing their shared non-human status within the largely human city to curry favor, until he was given the key to the freight elevator at the back of the building, promising it was only temporary.
“You’ve got to get the hang of this, buddy. Otherwise, we’re going to need to move again, and I’ve only just adjusted to having real shelves.”
Ris ginned at his words, her heart swelling with affection. He made it sound so easy. If the dog couldn’t adjust, they would move. The end.
