By the time the evening news came on, he felt almost like himself again. Still fragile, but himself. He cleaned the dishes, put on some music. He needed to get up a little early. He was going to take the bus, and he wanted to leave a little extra time to walk there.
Dickens hadn’t moved except to shift from time to time. Alexander knew he should have made the dog get down from the couch, but that little breaking of rules seemed important; an apology for the shortcomings of the afternoon. After all, if one pattern had changed, maybe they all had. Maybe everything was up for grabs. Alexander finished cleaning, put a bowl of food down for Dickens, and listened to the soft sounds of the dog eating. He wasn’t looking forward to the walk that would follow. It was cold outside now, and dark. When the little steel bowl was clean, Dickens walked over to the leash and looked up at him.
Alexander hadn’t meant to hesitate, but it was there. That little half beat that marked the difference between enthusiasm and reluctance. Dickens sighed and went back to the couch.
“No, hey,” Alexander said. “Come on, guy. It’s walk time.”
Dickens hopped up, curling himself in toward the armrest with his tail tucked under him. Alexander picked up the leash.
“Come on. It’s okay. We’ll just go and—”
His fingertips touched the familiar fur of Dickens’s back. The little dog whipped around, teeth snapping. Alexander took a fast step back, staring down at Dickens. The world seemed to go airless. The small tufted eyebrows showed resentment and guilt. Grief. Or maybe they didn’t and Alexander was seeing them there because he’d have seen them anywhere, everything in the world a sudden mirror.
“Okay,” Alexander said and put the leash back where it belonged. “All right, then.”
Dickens sighed and turned away again, muzzle to the armrest, back to the room. Alexander went to the bathroom in silence, brushed his teeth, changed into the old sweats he used for pajamas. He didn’t sleep for a long time, and when he did, it was a thin, restless kind of sleep. He woke in darkness to a dry sound. It came again. Nails, scratching at something. Once, and then a breath, and then again. It wasn’t the sound of any activity, just a message. He got up, walking out the front room. Dickens sat in front of the door, one forepaw lifted. As Alexander watched, he scratched again, then turned to look up, sorrowful. Alexander felt a thickness in his throat.
“Hey, guy,” he said, pretending not to understand. “What’s up?”
Dickens scratched the door.
The moment seemed to last forever until it was suddenly over. Alexander turned the dead bolt, pulled open the door. The street was blackness with occasional dull orange streetlights. It smelled like rain coming and the chill of autumn. Dickens licked the top of Alexander’s foot once, then trotted out, nails ticking against the pavement like hail. Alexander watched until Dickens went into the pool of light under one of the lamps and into the darkness on the far side, then closed the door and sat up, waiting. When dawn came, he understood that Dickens wouldn’t be back. He’d put up “Lost Dog” flyers, he’d make trips to the pound to look through cages for the familiar face. The only thing he wouldn’t do was find him. The world was broken, and he and Dickens had both been wrong to expect that the old pieces would still fit.
In the morning, he called for a taxi.
“You’re looking for a dog?”
The man behind the counter seemed amused, but Alexander couldn’t guess why. Outside, the street traffic was thick. Cars and busses and pedestrians locked in the perpetual daily struggle of lunchtime at the edge of the business district. Inside the pet shop, birds shrieked and complained, and puppies yapped. The display cages ran down the wall, little rooms the size of closets with stainless steel bowls for food and water, oversize cushions to rest on, and in each one at least one dog. The walls facing the shop’s main room were thick plexiglass, scratched and pitted but clean.
“Thinking about it,” Alexander said, the words rich with shame. I want a dog that didn’t know me before. One that doesn’t expect anything.
In the days since Dickens left, he’d found himself looking at pet shops and animal rescues online like he was testing to see whether a wound had healed by pressing on it. More and more in the past week, he’d found himself daydreaming at work or at the office, thinking how he could have done things differently or telling himself that it was the change that had made the difference. A new dog would never know what kind of person he’d been before, and so wouldn’t be disappointed in who he was now.
“You thinking more companion or protection?” the man asked as he came out from behind the counter.
“I…I don’t know,” Alexander said.
“Had a dog before?”
“Yeah,” Alexander said. “Always. Since I was a kid.”