“Of course we’re still going to China. No. I don’t know what we’re going to do with the dogs, obviously I’m still processing.”
Gavin was quiet for a long time. “Thank you,” he said, his voice tight. “I so appreciate that you said that, Taylor. I know this situation is more difficult for you than maybe it is for me, and the fact that you’re willing to do whatever I want … it just means the world to me. I love you.”
After a time, Gavin set his phone down. He touched his wet eyes with the same cloth from his pocket. “All right, guys. We’ve got a real problem on our hands,” he told us.
*
The next morning Dutch jumped right down from the bed and went to the door with unusual enthusiasm, eagerly holding still for the leash Gavin put on our collars. He pushed outside and dragged both of us to the car.
“No, Dutch. We’re going to go for a walk. No car ride. We’re not going back to that place.”
We wandered up the sidewalk, Dutch carefully marking over the scents of other males. Up ahead, I caught sight of a cat! It was strolling across a front yard, a heavy black female. I wanted to go greet her, so I pulled at the leash, which drew Dutch’s attention.
The cat and Dutch saw each other at exactly the same moment. Gavin was crouched over because Dutch had done Do Your Business on a yard and Gavin was picking it up with a plastic bag. Dutch lunged forward and I joined him, racing to see the cat.
“Hey!” Gavin shouted, stumbling. “Stop! No!”
I knew that word. I halted, looking at Gavin to see what I had done wrong. Dutch, on the other hand, was so fixated on the cat he didn’t hear the command. Gavin suddenly fell, yanking hard on my leash and dropping Dutch’s.
Dutch streaked after the cat. I did Sit like a good dog. “Dutch! No!” Gavin called.
The cat froze, watching Dutch bear down on her. I thought she would arch her back and rake her claws on his nose, but she suddenly darted for a tree, launching herself at the trunk and flying up into the branches like a squirrel.
I thought Big Kitten was the only cat able to climb trees because she was the only one I had ever seen do so. Dutch was even more mystified: he got to the tree and put his forepaws on it and looked up and barked.
I was a good dog and did No Barks. “Come on, Bella, good dog,” Gavin praised, though he didn’t give me a treat despite the bag of them in his pocket.
Dutch was staring at the cat, who was staring back. “Dutch! Come!” Gavin shouted.
Dutch looked at us wildly, as if he had forgotten anything but the hunt.
“Come here, Dutch!”
And then a change came over Dutch. I saw his ears drop, his eyes slit, a calculation in his expression.
“Dutch!” Gavin repeated in a warning tone.
Dutch turned and started walking away from us. He was being a bad dog!
“Come. Dutch! You come here!” Gavin yelled.
Dutch took off running.
Nineteen
Gavin took me back to the house at a trot. We jumped into the car and I was in the front seat. He put my window down and I hung my head out, drinking in the smells.
Gavin’s own window was down. “Dutch! Dutch!” he called.
We were driving up and down the streets. I did not understand this game at all. Sometimes we were clearly following Dutch, and sometimes his scent was in the opposite direction. Gavin was upset. “I know you would never run away like this, Bella,” he told me. I wagged.
I was doing No Barks but Gavin was so anxious and Dutch was such a bad dog that when we were practically on top of his scent I couldn’t help it and barked out the window. Gavin stopped the car and there was Dutch, cutting between houses! “Gotcha,” Gavin said triumphantly. I was pressed back against the seat as the car turned the corner.
There was Dutch, up ahead, trotting along, his leash dragging behind him. His head was low, his tail down, and I instantly knew what this was about: he was doing his own version of Go Home. He was going back to the dark place with the sandwich and the man in the heavy pants.
Gavin drove up next to Dutch, who whipped his head up when he smelled me. “Dutch!” Gavin said sternly.
The car stopped. Dutch sank to the ground, the tip of his tail flicking, his eyes blinking rapidly. Gavin got out of the car. “Come here, Dutch,” he commanded quietly.
Dutch nearly crawled, looking as if he felt that of all the dogs, he was the most bad.
“I’m your daddy now, Dutch. Do you understand?” Gavin got to his knees and put his arms around Dutch. “That’s not your home anymore. Your home is with us, now. You and me and Taylor and Bella, we’re a family.”
He held Dutch and rocked with him and I realized I knew what Gavin was doing.
Providing comfort.
*
Gavin gave us special attention and many treats and hugs for the next several days, and the sadness seemed to be seeping out of Dutch a little at a time.
“I think he’s getting used to the idea,” Gavin said to me, his phone to his face. I wagged. “It’s almost as if, when he got back in the car with me, he knew he was making a choice. They’re our dogs now, Taylor, for better or worse.” Gavin was quiet, and then chuckled. “Okay, but look at it this way, if they do wear out the couch, you’ll be able to buy another one, and you’ll probably want new chairs and a new coffee table. Don’t pretend that doesn’t sound like an attractive proposition to you!” He was silent for a time, rubbing his feet on Dutch, who was sprawled at the other end of the couch. Dutch gave a contented groan.
“Right. China. I’ve been thinking about that and I maybe have an idea. So, before I tell you, will you promise to keep an open mind? Okay.” Gavin took a deep breath. “What would you think of Sylvia?”
Gavin was silent for a long, long time before he started talking to me again. “Right, I agree with all that. But what choice do we have? I can’t see putting them in a kennel for half a year.” He was quiet some more. “Wait, wait, you seriously are objecting to leaving the dogs with my mom because you don’t like her decorating?” Gavin laughed. “Oh, that was another thing about this guy Kurch. He had a snowmobile and a lawnmower and God knows what else lying in his front yard, and his place was a complete pigsty. Sure. Well, not animal cruelty, but close to it. Okay, I get it, I’m trying to let it go. So? What do you think? No, not at all perfect, but maybe in this case perfection is not as good as practical. Thank you, Taylor. I’ll call my mom tomorrow. Love you, too.”
Gavin put his phone down and I yawned. “Okay, guys,” he told us. “Life’s about to get pretty interesting.”
*