Elizabeth Wrenn - Second Chance

Before he could mull over another argument, I added, ‘And besides, we didn’t agree. I’ve always wanted a dog. And this is exactly the kind of dog you’ve said is a good one: someone else’s. This dog will really always sort of belong to someone else. And, if everything goes well, the dog we raise—’

Neil’s eyes widened.

‘I mean, I raise, will be a huge gift to a blind person.’ I waited. No one spoke. ‘It’s something I can do for someone. I can do this.’

‘DeeDee,’ Neil said in that pediatrician voice. My skin crawled at ‘DeeDee.’ Years ago it had been affectionate. Now most of his nicknames for me just irked me. ‘You know you’re going to fall in love with this dog, and then what? You’ll be devastated having to give it up.’ He said the word with uncharacteristic drama.

‘You say that as though you think I’m a basket case perched on the edge right now.’ Maybe I was, I thought, but I’m fighting to hang on. This was my fight. ‘I’m going into this with my eyes wide open, Neil. I will fall in love with the dog. It’s part of the assignment. But I love Sam and Matt and Lainey, also part of the assignment, and Sam’s off at college, and soon, Matt and Lainey will be. Do you think my world will fall apart then?’

He looked up at the ceiling, pulling at his chin with his hand. His thoughts were all too visible. Yes. He did think I would somehow cease to exist without the kids. I had told him that it felt like a little part of me had died when Sam left for college. Neil had evidently surmised that it was one-third of me, and when the two-thirds sitting on the couch right now left home, that would be it for Deena Munger. No kids, no life.

But the prospect of this dog, this worthy work, had put a tiny spark of life back in me. I wasn’t sure why, exactly. Was it simply the idea of having a dog again? Was it going up against Neil? Or was it that I needed to nurture another dependent being so I could feel useful? Whatever was driving me, I didn’t care. The point was, I was driven for the first time in a long time.

I took a deep breath. ‘Look, I really think it’ll make a difference that I know I’m sending this dog on to a really important job and a good life. The blind people who ultimately get these dogs get all kinds of training and support and probably provide some of the best homes a dog could ever want.’ I knew I was persuading myself as much as Neil, but something was making me bullheaded about this.

‘Well—’ said Matt. ‘Uh, if we’re going to get a dog, can’t we get a real dog? I mean, one we can keep?’

My son! A dog person! Who knew?

Neil sat back on the couch, eyes closed.

‘Let’s see how this goes, okay, Matt?’ I said, restraining myself from rushing over and gathering him into my arms. He shrugged, rose, and headed for the kitchen, undoubtedly to fill his hollow leg. Lainey left right behind him, calling plaintively, ‘Hair-eeee? Hair-eeee!’

Neil sat staring at me. I waited for him to speak. He didn’t. He often did this when we disagreed, knowing I’d feel compelled to fill in the silence with my own jabbering and backpedaling, usually giving in all on my own. This time I stood there, leaving the silence hanging in the air. Finally, I headed to the basement to fold laundry, catching my breath as I went down the stairs.

SIX

The parking lot was covered in a wet, late March snow and most of us were shivering; the temperature had begun dropping again just after noon. But the crowd was waiting patiently, as were the various dogs. Well, most of the crowd was patient. Lainey and Matt kept jumping up and down, swinging their arms, whining, ‘When is it going to get here?’ ‘We’re freeeee-zing to death!’

‘I’m sure it won’t be long now,’ I kept saying.

‘I’m going over to the 7-Eleven to get something to eat,’ said Matt, already walking away.

‘Here, Lainey,’ I said. I fished in my purse for my wallet, handed her a ten. ‘This is for both of you. But just hot chocolate and a snack, okay? Nothing else. And I’d like the—’ She snatched the ten from my hand and ran after Matt. ‘— change back.’ I smiled sheepishly at Bill.

He reached out and patted my shoulder. ‘Excited to be getting your pup?’ Once again I was surprised by his touch. Surprised, but pleased.

I nodded. ‘And nervous.’ There was an understatement. I scanned the crowd again.

Bill had explained on the drive down that there would be people here from several different puppy-raising clubs from all over the greater Denver metro area. As we stood in the three or four inches of snow, he filled me in on the who’s who of folks from the Fairview group, names that largely went in one ear and out the other. Only one or two sounded familiar from the couple of puppy meetings I’d sat in on last month.

The kids, thankfully, had been uninterested in going to the puppy meetings, or studying the manual. I was feeling like it really was my own special work. But two weeks earlier I’d received ‘the call’ from Bill, and that had piqued some interest from the kids. Bill told me the breed, the gender, and the first letter of the name of the pup – H. He explained that every pup in the litter received a name beginning with that letter, and that K-9 Eyes tells the puppy raisers only the first letter, in case something comes up requiring a last-minute sibling substitution. The kids and I thought of dozens of name possibilities for my dog, a spayed female yellow Lab, just as I’d requested. We’d put a long list of H names on the refrigerator, each circling our favorite. Lainey liked Harmony. Matt was rooting for Hooter. I had circled, in bright blue marker, my own choice on the list: Hope. Neil refused to join in, but then one day a new name was mysteriously scrawled at the bottom of the list. It was Helen, his mother’s name. In the past weeks Neil and I had fallen into a relationship not unlike graduate students sharing a house: careful, quiet, usually speaking only to discuss some household logistic. My conversation with Bill now was much easier.

‘Are all these people getting dogs today?’ I asked as Bill waved a greeting to someone across the parking lot.

‘Well, most of them,’ he said. He blew warm air into his cupped hands. ‘Lots of families here though, so of course that can be five or six people for one pup. Basically this crowd falls into one of three categories. First-timers, like you.’ He smiled. ‘Then there are some folks who are getting another puppy after a sabbatical from raising. Like Jeannie Marris, although I’m actually picking up her pup for her today. This will be her sixth or seventh dog she’s raised.’ His voice lowered just a fraction. ‘Then the last group is here to return the dog they’ve raised for the last year or so.’

They were easy to spot; they were the ones with full-grown – and remarkably well-behaved – green-jacketed dogs. These people stood on the edges of the group and in almost constant physical contact with their dogs.

‘A few of these,’ Bill said, ‘will get another puppy right away. Today, even. Most will wait a while, though. They need to grieve the loss before starting again.’ He pointed to a snow-covered picnic table under a big cottonwood. There, a boy, maybe sixteen, his face covered in acne, sat on the bench, bending over a large black Lab. His hands stroked either side of the dog’s big, square face. I could see the tears on the boy’s rough cheeks. He lowered his head, burying his face in his dog’s scruff, his arms wrapped around its rib cage. The boy’s shoulders began heaving. I had to look away.

I wasn’t sure if it was the cold or emotion making me shake. This was an uncomfortably mixed group. Half were in mourning, spending the last few precious moments with their dogs, the other half waiting expectantly, joy mixed with a bit of trepidation, as they were about to be presented with a new and darling baby. It was as if the hospital had placed the morgue in the same room as the maternity ward.