He chuckles. "Molly did that the other day before I even knew I was struggling. Rowdy might bring you your shoes or nudge you to step outside, even if you don’t want to. Or if you freeze, he might press against you or lick your hand until you come back. If you start to panic or dissociate, he can interrupt it. Sometimes he’ll put his head in your lap or nudge your arm, just to ground you. If you get stuck in a flashback, he’ll be there, steady and gentle, doing whatever he can to pull your focus away from your mind and remind you that you’re here."
"Over time, you’d learn what each sign means. The tilt of his head when you start to spiral, the weight at your knee reminding you to breathe. Living with him means making time for new routines: setting out his bowl before coffee, walking the property at sunrise, learning calm together, day after day."
It would mean finding a new normal, or at least getting as close to normal as I could.
“He chose you in there,” Sam says. “I want you to know that. Three Mondays now, and he’s never left my side for anyone else.”
I don’t say anything to that.
“Come by this afternoon,” Sam says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll come by.”
Sam’s front porch is quiet when I pull up. Molly is stretched out in a patch of sun near the door. Rowdy is sitting at the top of the steps, ears up, watching my truck.
I get out. He doesn’t rush down. Just watches me come up the walk, tail starting a slow back-and-forth when I get close enough.
I crouch at the bottom of the steps. “Hey.”
He tilts his head, one ear lifted.
I hold out my hand. He leans forward and sniffs it once, then wags his tail a little faster. Then he walks down the steps and presses his side against my hand.
That is it. That is the whole thing.
I sit down on the bottom step because my heart is hammering in my chest and I am scared. What if I can’t be helped? But Rowdy turns around and puts his head in my lap, quiet and solid. Sitting there in the quiet of Sam’s front yard with both hands on a dog I hadn’t planned on getting. The weight of his head is grounding, and for the first time in a while, I hope that maybe there is still a way forward for me after all. Was hope something I could reach for, instead of something I’d already lost?
Sam appears in the doorway. “Paperwork’s on the table. Coffee’s on, too.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”
Getting Rowdy settled at the guest house took longer than it should have. An hour at the hardware store covered the basics. A bowl, a leash, a bed that was probably too big for the space, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
By the time I get back, Falon’s truck is in the drive.
She is on the porch with a glass of water, going through what looks like invoices, and she looks up when I pull in. Then she looks at the passenger seat. Then back at me.
The yard is quieter than usual. With Oliver, Aries, Atlas, and Cooper gone, the ranch seems a little empty. I’d known that Falon was watching them for her parents, but they seemed so at home, it just felt strange for them not to be here. Yesterday, Rick got his new walking boot on and ditched the crutches. Melodie made him a chocolate, chocolate-chip five-layer cake with Oreo frosting to celebrate, much to Rick's excitement. But that also meant he wantedhis dogs back. Cooper and Oliver were his right-hand dogs, and Atlas was still in training, but in Atlas’s defense, Melodie and Rick didn’t have chickens. As for Aries, she was Melodie’s geriatric, and she missed her. Falon was a little sad to see them leave. I think she rather liked her little pack of dogs. But she still had one working dog and a geriatric that thought napping was an Olympic sport.
When Falon dropped the two dogs off, Rick had made a small comment about Falon. He’d said that when he fell, she’d already done the math and taken the dogs without being asked. “That’s our Falon, she's such a big help.” Falon had flinched, but pushed it back and smiled. I’d wondered about that. Were they ever appreciative of just her being her? I filed that away for later.
I turn the truck off when I see Falon’s expectant expression and get out. Rowdy steps down beside me, leash clipped, and sits like he’d been doing it his whole life.
Falon sets the papers down and crosses the yard. She crouches in front of Rowdy with both hands out, and he walks straight into them.
I was worried he’d be too quiet and still like he was with the others at the diner, but with Falon, he is friendly and loving.
She smiles and looks Rowdy in the eyes. “Are we good?” she asks Rowdy. He licks her nose, and she starts to laugh again, and this time it is a full belly laugh. She hugs his neck.
That moment hits me hard. She has no idea how much she’s already fit into my life, and I decide right then I’m not going to let her go. This is what I want. The quiet of an ordinary afternoon, a dog who already knows where he belongs, her laugh in the yard. A life where this is just Tuesday.
“What’s his name?” she asks, not looking up.
“Rowdy.”
She pulls back and looks at him seriously. “You don’t seem very rowdy.”
He licks her nose again.
