I nod at my wise sister and fight an emotional surge with, “Fact—Buster has entirely too much luggage.”
She laughs, glancing at the supplies she’s lugged into the living room.It’s Friday afternoon, and she’s about to start her weekend shift at the hospital, leaving me in charge of Buster.His supplies consist of one oversized tote with his food, bowls, and snacks.He has two beds that he uses equally, depending on his mood, and a blanket.Another oversized tote holds toys, his leash, chew bones, a brush, and doggie shampoo, in case he makes a mess, Ivy explains.She provides two typed pages of instructions, which I read carefully.But beyond meal times and his potty schedule, it’s mostly superfluous information like, “Be sure to tell him he’s a good boy after he eats,” and “When you brush him, call him a handsome devil and tickle his belly—he likes that.”
Ivy looks nervous when it’s finally time for her to leave.“If you have any questions or need anything, text me right away.I put Gil’s number on the instructions, too.His brother’s a vet, so if anything happens… I’m sure you’ve got this, though.”
She says it as though she’s trying to convince herself.
“Yes, Ivy.I’m perfectly capable of caring for another living thing and following instructions,” I say with a slight edge to my voice.
She bobs on her clogs and steels her shoulders.“Of course, you are.”
“I, um, I… if you need anything during your long shifts… food, extra clothes, um, reading material,” I say awkwardly, “I can assist.”
Her eyes widen with joyful surprise.
I shrug.“Don’t look so shocked.I used to help you with things when you let me.”
She nods.“I remember.Hair-braiding, reading, long division, fractions, and laundry.You mommed me all the time.”
My brow scrunches.“I didn’t mom you.I big-sistered you.Stop turning nouns into verbs.It’s not right.”
With a giggle, she says, “Forgive me, sis, and thanks.I’m prepared for long shifts like these.Usually, the only thing I might need besides sleep is a pep talk.”
My brow scrunches, considering how I might help in that case.“I-I could try to assist.”
“I might take you up on that.”Shorter than me, she yanks me to her level, insisting on a hug.I allow it, though Buster barks.
When she pulls away, I’m surprised to find tears welling in her eyes.“You know, Venus, you are perfectly capable of so much more than you give yourself credit for, and not just big-sistering or pet-sitting.I mean, normal things.You might be different, but you’re no less deserving of love and happiness than anyone else.Whatever you want from life, you should have it.Understand?Even if it’s Henry…”
Her voice trails off, like she might be worried that she went too far, but she hasn’t—evident in the fact that I latch on to her for a second embrace.Wanting Henry andhavinghim have a near-zero probability of intersection, the latter of which feels impossible, but hearing her say that fills me with… good sister vibes.“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear, which seems appropriate.
She smiles cheerily as we part.She eyes the black and white puppy staring up at us.“Now, get over here, Buster.Mommy has to go.”
After giving Buster an excessive amount of affection, Ivy leaves.
Buster sits on the hardwood floor, staring up at me curiously.He tilts his head and perks his ears, as if awaiting my instructions.“Would you like to help me with the garden, Buster?”
He barks an affirmative.
I find his leash, attach it to his collar, and hook the other end onto my belt loop.Then, we get to work.
By Saturday morning, I decide that Buster is a nice distraction, despite the inevitable trouble he causes.With him around, I was forced to sleep in the bed, and he opted to join me rather than sleep in either of his.I managed a few solid hours with him curled against me.I awoke to him chewing on the laces of my hiking boots, which I’ll have to replace.The laces, not the boots; I detest breaking in new hiking boots.He also barks at every little thing—the air conditioning clicking on, birds tweeting outside, a car horn in the distance—and it sounds like a question,“What?”
So, I answer him.I can’t determine how much he understands, if anything.But he likes hearing me speak.He wags his tail and watches me intently.By Saturday afternoon, he seems conditioned to bark to get my attention, which tells me that he’s a smart pup.I don’t mind, even if I have to invent something to tell him.
Dr.Rob McCullum emails with an interview request for an assistant lead position on a reforestation and wetlands project at The Nature Conservancy in Aotearoa, New Zealand.It’s a five-year project with housing—a private, furnished cottage.For once, I’d have my own residence, and I’d be out from under Dr.Miner’s shadow.The idea energizes me.
I’ve always wanted to travel to New Zealand.I can’t imagine a more promising position, and I grow excited as I research it.What could be better than getting lost in a foreign land of tall kauri and kohekohe forests and rainforests dominated by rumu, beech, tawa, matai, and rata, and surrounded by the ocean?I quickly agree to the interview, and Dr.McCullum arranges a video conference for Wednesday that fits my office hours.
I tell Buster everything, and he seems excited for me.
Sunday morning, Henry texts to confirm our meeting to check on the garden, and I quickly agree to be there at two.Nerves percolate all morning, but Buster is quick to distract me, and his presence puts me at ease.So, I bring him with me.
Olly greets me with unhindered enthusiasm, rushing into my arms like he did when we first met.He gushes over Buster, who barks and hops with excitement to have a new source of attention.He tugs on his leash, wrapped around my waist, and licks Olly’s face as he pets him.
“Oh, Dad!It’s a dog!”he says to Henry, who stands behind us, watching our floor display with his hands in his pockets.
“This is Buster.He’s my sister’s Border Collie.I’m pet-sitting.”I glance at Henry.“Is this okay?I bathed him before we came over to reduce the dander and other allergens.”
