36

“You should have seen him. Arabella thinks that he can get his therapy dog certification in four weeks. He’s a natural.” Alice is gushing and she knows it, but this half hour of dog training has pumped her up. She drapes the leash over the peg beside the back door.

“Well, we know he’s a smart boy.” Ed is scrambling Buddy’s fur with both hands, all the way up and down the dog’s body. Loose hair floats into the air, but Alice doesn’t mind.

“Once he has that, we can take him to the nursing home a couple of times a week. The residents love having animals come because it makes them feel at home and not so alone.”

“You can practice on your mother.” Ed has finished mussing up the dog’s coat. Buddy has flopped onto the floor beside Ed’s chair. “She’ll love that.” He suddenly realizes that Alice has said “we.”

“Not a bad idea.” Alice drops into a kitchen chair, runs a hand along a spray of loose hair, and tucks it into her twist. “How about a cup of tea?”

“Sounds good.” He’s still pondering her use of the plural pronoun. Alice hasn’t included him in anything more than obligatory family gatherings in years. Slip or significant?

Alice leans across the table. “I think that this is going to be a good thing. Having Buddy is a good thing.”

Ed reaches across the table and extracts one of Alice’s hands. “I’m glad we decided to keep him.”

Alice keeps her hand in Ed’s, squeezing his fingers a little. Significant.

Buddy slowly rolls over onto his back, stretching his forelegs and hind legs in opposite directions, so that he looks elongated. He doesn’t wriggle, but lies still, flat on his back. He lifts his head, looks at them, as if to make sure they notice, and then flops back, all crocodile sunbathing in the Nile.

“I think he wants a belly rub.” Alice takes her hand away from Ed.

Ed slides off his worn slipper and starts rubbing the dog’s exposed belly with his toes. The dog wriggles with pleasure. “So, do you want to walk him over to your mother’s in a bit, let him practice his therapy?” He is warm from the experience of holding Alice’s hand, an action so out of character that he is nearly embarrassed. His wanting to take it, and the equally surprising fact that she let him, has infused Ed like a tea bag in hot water. Not a sexual response, but a thawing. Ed keeps rubbing Buddy’s belly, keeps his eyes on the dog, but he is acutely aware of Alice in the room, the soft squeak of her sneakers on the kitchen floor, the opening of the refrigerator door. It’s almost like someone from his past is visiting. Ed shakes off the notion. It’s just Alice.

Alice leans over Ed to place a mug of tea in front of him. As she does, Ed recognizes the visitor. It is cheer. Alice is relaxed and cheerful. Her dark shadow is, for a little while, gone. Buddy stands up and shakes, tap-dances a little. Ed contemplates the tea bag in his mug. Alice sits down, pushes a plate of Pepperidge Farm cookies toward him. She’s still talking about the dog class. She’s repeating herself, going on about Buddy’s cleverness, aptitude.

Ed looks up from his mug and smiles at his wife. She is beautiful.

The dog sits; then, having realized that the people are going to stay put in the same room for a little while, he gets up and goes into the living room to jump up on the couch. Ed dunks his tea bag and then drops it back into the mug. “Buddy, come here.”

The dog bounds into the kitchen, fully ready to take on whatever challenge or treat Ed is thinking of.

“Sit.”

Buddy does.

“What’s the command?”

“Arabella asks for ‘greet.’”

Ed taps Alice’s knee. “Buddy, greet.”

Buddy rests his head on Alice’s knee, raises his eyes to her face. Ed watches—not the dog, but the woman. There it is. The look that has eluded him for seven years. The look on Alice’s face that means she’s moving ahead. Not happiness—neither one of them is allowed that again—but some measure of contentment.

“Good boy.” Ed lifts the dog into his arms and buries his face in his ruff. “Good boy.”

*   *   *

This new work is fun, but certainly not demanding. The woman Alice calls Arabella clearly understands about command and patience. But all of the commands are puppy commands: sit, stay, down. Buddy/Mack executes them in an offhand manner and then looks at Alice for a more challenging set of commands. Then there is something new—well, not new, but a variation on a puppy task. Sit quietly with chin on knee. No sniffing, no licking, no wriggling. The old person they are asking him to do this with gently strokes him on the head. So, big deal. When are they going to let him leap or spin, even climb up the ramp he sees in the corner of the small yard? Buddy/Mack feels like a professional being asked to begin over at the elementary level. He sighs, adds a little variation of his own. One little white paw extends and joins his chin on the old person’s knee. The people around him seemed pleased with that. He lifts his eyes to the face of the old person, sets his ears back in passive greeting. Everyone pets him. “Good boy!” they say.

Alice is clearly pleased with him and praises him for ordinary behavior all the way home. The unhappiness that she had emanated earlier is gone and she is singing along with the radio. In the dog’s eyes, Alice is lighter.

It’s nice to be in partnership again with someone. But if this primary training is the limit of what Alice wants to do with him, he’s disappointed. He’s already shown her how to dance; why doesn’t she want to do that? For such a simple act, which he would do without command, Buddy/Mack is given the kind of praise that only Justine has ever given him. Not the praise of food, or “Attaboy,” but the praise of connection.

Ed has signaled that he is ready to partner up. Hanging out with him isn’t the same thing as partnering. Ed has been a good host, but now it feels like he’s ready to connect. Alice has long since done that, so it is nice to think that if Ed is equally on board, Buddy/Mack may find it easier to get the two of them into the same room. Already they’re in the kitchen together for a longer period of time than to eat, and together they took him to an older person’s home to work on his “greet” skills. Sweet. They are doing more tongue language that isn’t directed at him, although he hears this word Buddy frequently enough that he knows they are talking about him. He likes the sound of Ed’s soft, rumbly voice, which he has been using at night when they climb into the bed. Alice doesn’t always talk then, but sometimes she sighs or laughs in response to something Ed has said. Last night, they invited him into the bed. He burrowed into the space between them, feeling the double weight of their arms over him. It was nice to be invited, but he only stayed till they slept. He heads back into the living room to stretch out on the couch—the better to keep an ear out for trespassers.

Buddy/Mack knows that he is no longer a guest. He is now responsible for the safety of this place.

He is their Buddy.