Some things cannot be unseen.
“Dance with me, Oxford!” she laughs, twirling around me.
I stand perfectly still, my dignity intact. I am a therapy llama with a professional reputation.
I do not dance.
Her mood is concerning from a diagnostic perspective. The rapid cycling between melancholy and euphoria suggests emotional dysregulation exacerbated by alcohol consumption.
In layman’s terms, the “hot mess” is confirmed.
“Whoop!” she exclaims, her foot sliding on an icy patch. She goes down in an ungraceful heap, landing on her posterior with a soft thud.
I gaze down at her, maintaining eye contact.
This is a teaching moment.
She stares back, then bursts into laughter. “Your face! You look so judgmental right now!”
My expression doesn’t change. I am not judgmental. I am observant. There is a clinical difference.
“Help me up,” she pleads, extending a hand.
I consider her request, weighing the therapeutic value of natural consequences against basic compassion. Dr. Hersey always emphasized the importance of maintaining appropriate boundaries while providing support.
I lower my head slightly, allowing her to grasp my neck fur, gently this time, and pull herself up.
“Thanks,” she says, brushing snow from herself. “You know, you’re surprisingly sturdy.”
I accept this assessment of my physical capabilities with quiet dignity. At 380 pounds, I am indeed a stabilizing presence.
The scent of wood-smoke reaches us before the visual confirmation of Perfect Pines. The familiar smell of home—pine needles, hay, and the lingering aroma of Everett’s peppermint—creates an involuntary response in my autonomic nervous system.
My muscles relax incrementally, my mind lingering on my unexpected companion. Despite my initial assessment, there’s something about Melody that interests me beyond professional curiosity.
Perhaps it’s recognition.
Dr. Hersey would say we’re both experiencing displacement: she from her expected family gathering, and me from Granny May’s daily care.
We are both, in our own ways, a bit lost.
I shake my head, dislodging such sentimental notions and some snow from my ears. I am Oxford, therapy llama extraordinaire.
I do not need therapy myself.
As we approach the entrance to Perfect Pines, I find myself wondering if I’ll see Melody again.
For observation purposes only, of course. Strictly professional interest.
Now, my scarf needs adjusting.
I hope Everett remembers.
Granny May would never forget.
4
Everett
