When Oscar enters our house for the first time, he seems to already know this is his forever home and we are his new pack. He leads the way up the front steps, tugging at the leash and wagging his tail continuously. I unlock the front door and push it open, and he trots inside, where he waits for Amanda to unhook the leash from his harness.
Still wearing the plastic cone around his head, he sniffs his way from room to room, and we follow him with amusement and delight.
After he gets a sense of the place, Amanda shows him his water bowl and fills his food bowl with kibble that the shelter gave us. He immediately gobbles it down but looks up at us repeatedly as he chews, as if to assure himself that we won’t disappear while he’s distracted.
We then present some toys, and Oscar likes the squeaky ones best—in particular the blue tennis ball. We bounce it on the kitchen floor and play fetch in the family room until he wears himself out,plunks down on the carpet, and chews the squeaky ball until blue fuzz is littered everywhere.
“He’s so perfect,” Amanda says as she drops to her hands and knees and scratches his back. “I can’t believe he’s ours.”
“Me neither,” I reply, because he’s precious and I love him already with all my heart.
When Connor arrives home from hockey practice, he, too, falls hard for Oscar. He sits down on the sofa and rubs his belly.
Later, after dinner, as I’m washing dishes and Amanda is doing her homework at the kitchen table, I mention that Oscar will need to go outside and do his business before bed.
“I’ll do it,” she shouts, raising her hand, and fetches Oscar’s harness from the basket in the family room. She clips it on, hooks the leash, and then calls out to her brother in the basement. “Connor! I’m going to walk Oscar! Do you want to come?”
“Yes!” He runs up, taking two stairs at a time. They put on their coats and venture out the front door.
As their mom, I’m pleased to see them doing something together, because they’re at an age where they don’t have much in common. I watch them from the front window as they pass under the fluorescent glow of the streetlight at the end of our driveway, and I wish Nate were here to share in this moment.
By the time Nate pulls into the driveway, it’s past midnight, and I’m lying on the family room sofa. Oscar is asleep in Amanda’s room, stretched out beside her with his head on her pillow, snoring. I know this because I’ve peered in more than once to check on them, and I left the door ajar in case Oscar decides he needs to exit the room for any reason.
At the sound of a car door slamming shut, Oscar wakes and jumps off Amanda’s bed. He lands with a thump and races downstairs. Nate’skey in the door sends Oscar into a frenzy. He barks ferociously at the intruder who is entering our house.
In my bathrobe and slippers, I rise quickly because I don’t want him to wake the kids, but it’s probably too late for that. “It’s okay, Oscar,” I tell him as Nate walks in, but Oscar won’t stop barking. I squat down and stroke his back to calm him.
I look up at Nate. “Welcome home. This is Oscar, who is clearly a good guard dog.”
He’s still barking, so Nate squats down and offers the back of his hand for Oscar to sniff. “Hey, buddy. It’s okay. I live here too. It’s nice to meet you.”
I feel a twinge of nostalgia at the reminder of how Nate used to connect with Scooter and Dolly, but it seems so distant now, like another life.
Oscar stops barking but continues to growl. He refuses to approach Nate or sniff his hand.
“This is so strange,” I say, still working to calm him. “He’s been incredibly sweet all day. He must be scared. This is all a big change for him.”
Amanda appears at the top of the stairs in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I reply. “Dad just came home, and Oscar’s being protective. Sorry he woke you. You can go back to bed.”
Without a word, she turns and leaves.
Nate rises, removes his coat, and hangs it on the coat-tree. “Let’s give him a minute to get used to me. I’ll get a drink. We can ignore him and act normal.”
“All right.” I lead the way to the kitchen, and Oscar follows me like a shadow, keeping close.
Nate moves to the liquor cupboard and withdraws the bottle of Bumbu rum we’ve had since Christmas.
“Really?” I ask. “On a Wednesday night?”
He gives me a look, brings out a small crystal tumbler, and opens the freezer door to scoop out some ice. “It’s been one of those days. Would you like one?”
“No, thanks.”
I stand at the kitchen island and watch him pour his drink, swirl it around until the ice cubes clink together, and then take a sip.
“I need to watch some TV,” he says.
