I was enjoying a quiet car doze along with my pal when the car stopped. Not having a proper human sense of time, I couldn’t tell if we’d been on the road for hours or minutes. I didn’t have the need to relieve myself and I wasn’t hungry, so I think that it wasn’t a long period of time since we’d left the hotel. Half a day? An hour? Even though I’d been completely asleep, I had been aware of the voices coming out of the car, and Adam speaking to them. My kind haven’t evolved enough yet to discern the words that come out of cars, or the other sounds that have Adam tapping his fingers against the wheel. In this case, the words coming out of the car, just above my head as I lounged in the front seat—thank you, Lucky, for being in the back—did sound more male than female, like the female voice that Adam listens to without answering. This voice Adam had been responding to, and the only words I understood out of his mouth were the usual: Okay, good, fine. Another day. Then Adam pulled to the side of the road and shut the car off and made some noises that suggested that he wasn’t certain of himself. This almost never happens. In the car, I mean.
Aren’t we getting out? I rumbled the question and got a pat on the head. We did get out then, and Lucky and I made ourselves busy sniffing around, marking territory in this place I had never seen before, while Adam sat on a bench and watched us. Eventually, Adam stood up, called us to him, and we climbed back into the car. Where I had sensed indecision before, now I knew that Adam was focused again. After another short stop for gas and a package of those sublime beef sticks, we were headed toward the sun.
* * *
When the potential adopters had had a sudden conflict and couldn’t meet today, it just seemed more logical to go back to the LakeView than drive all the way to Boston. Adam hadn’t even gotten as far as Orange when he got the cancellation from the would-be owners. Not even halfway home. And the idea of turning around appealed deeply. He dropped a quick text to Skye to see if he could get his room back, got a quick answer: Yes.
Skye is nowhere to be seen, her car gone, so while he waits, Adam takes the dogs around back to get a closer look at how this dog-run project is going. Lucky puts his nose to the ground like a tracking dog, inhaling with audible huffs; his tail is wagging, as if he’s reading a good story. He keeps looking up, checking the air, then back to the ground, sniffing the ground hole by hole. Chance just goes from post to post, making his mark against each one, clearly less interested in whatever it is that has the other dog’s full attention. He looks bored, yawns, and flops down on the springy grass, then rolls over and does his supine alligator imitation. Lucky circumnavigates the perimeter of the future pen, not bothering to lift his leg, just wagging his tail. He goes around once, then again. Twice around and he begins transecting the flat area between the posts.
By Adam’s reckoning, the job is half done—the hard part. All but two of the posts are up and the cement is setting, but none of the fence fabric has been attached. Adam walks around the space, thinking that it’s not a bad job. The posts are straight and even in height. It’s a miracle that Skye got Carl to finally start the job, but he has to wonder if the handyman will ever finish it, or will he bail on Skye because it’s trout season, or pigeon season, or whatever excuse he needs to go off and leave the project where it lies. If it was his business, he’d have fired Carl a long time ago, but, he has to remind himself, it isn’t his business.
Chance continues to mark territory, Lucky is still bisecting the space into quadrants, a canine surveyor of the invisible. No harm letting his boys be the first to claim rights, not that he’s much inclined to have them penned up. One of the unexpected charms of coming up to the Berkshires for Adam has been the freedom that his dogs have enjoyed. Cooped up in a city town house, with leash walks to an enclosed dog park, is hardly the same as being able to run down the trail to the lake, to be natural dogs.
The dogs catch his eye; sniff fest over, they are now wrestling with each other, taking turns at being submissive. Chance pounces on Lucky, rolling him over, and plants two feet on his broad chest, mouths the other dog’s muzzle. Simultaneously, they both decide that the game is over and jump to their feet, sync their nose-to-tail shakes, and bound over to where Adam stands on the front steps of the doggy day care cabin. He’s an Adam sandwich, pressed left and right by the solid bodies of the two dogs. He squats to receive sloppy kisses. “Lucky, are you ready to have a forever home?” He’s moderately annoyed at the cancellation by the potential adopters, but he knows that patience is key in this rescue game. Tomorrow is another day. And he gets another opportunity to be here on a beautiful spring evening with these two dogs.
Lucky doesn’t reply. Chance cocks his head, as if he is thinking about the words. Adam knows that Chance is going to miss this guy, and he feels a moment of regret. But it’s always what’s in the dog’s best interest, meaning the adoptee. Chance has his forever home and his job security. Lucky deserves the same. He’s a survivor, like Chance. Deserving of a loving, safe home. And, if this doesn’t work out, maybe he will just keep Lucky for himself. For Chance.
Lucky extricates himself out from under Adam’s arm, puts his nose back to the ground, and, tail beating from side to side, follows some olfactory trail right to Skye’s cabin door. He sits on her steps, then scratches at the screen door.
“Hey, come away from there.”
Lucky looks over his shoulder at Adam but doesn’t move.
“No one’s home. Come.” Adam guesses the dog is looking for Cody, a little surprised to think that the dog had become that attached to the girl.
Skye’s car pulls into the parking space next to the cabin and three doors open up. The dog leaps off the steps and runs to the car. He’s making a weird yowling noise and is fairly dancing with excitement. A young man gets out of the front passenger seat, drops to the ground, opens his arms. The dog launches himself into the boy’s arms, knocking the kid’s hat off in his joyful kissing, and the pair fall to the ground in an ecstasy of reunion.
Cody emerges from the backseat, Skye from the driver’s. Both look at the boy and dog, and then at him. Suddenly, Cody breaks into a smile that changes her usually sullen looks into something radiant. “Mom, Mom, you didn’t tell me they were coming back. This is so cool, so cool.”
Skye slams her car door, the look on her face pure puzzlement.
“Don’t you get it? Lucky. Dawg. He’s Mingo’s dog. Don’t you see? See how happy they are?”
The boy gets up off the ground, where the excited dog had pinned him down, bathing his face in kisses. “He look good.” He puts a hand out to Adam. “Thank you, man. For taking care of him. For bringing him back to me.”
Adam doesn’t take the offered hand. “I’ve fostered him.” He can’t let there be any misunderstanding. There’s no way he’s going to give this dog back to a kid who will put him in fights. “Look, son, he’s adoptable now. He’s going to a new home.”
Mingo reaches for the dog’s collar. “Say again?”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Mingo. And I’m not your son. Ain’t no one’s son.”
“Mingo, he can’t go back with you. I was there that night, with Cody. I know what you were up to. You are in no position to keep him.”
“I’m clean, healthy. You can’t take him from me.”
“Where do you live?”
Mingo goes quiet. Keeps his hand on the dog’s collar.
“He’s in a group home, in North Adams. He’s here to build that fence.” Skye has stepped up, puts her hand on Mingo’s shoulder. He promptly shrugs it off. “Somehow, and I don’t know how, he and Cody have become friends.” Skye shoots Cody a look. “And I’m guessing that this friendship has something to do with that dog. Which suggests that Cody has been less than forthcoming about the fact that Mingo here is the boy she found in the crack house that night last fall.”
“Mom. Don’t.” Cody has stopped smiling and is now radiant with embarrassment.
“Yes, he was. Cody found him half dead. This dog was chained to the wall.” Adam feels Chance bump up against him, drive his head up under Adam’s fist. “I’m very glad to hear that he’s gotten some help, no doubt sentenced to it, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s an unsuitable owner. That he probably used this dog to pay for those drugs. In the pit.”
“I may have done a lot of things, but never that. And the things I did, they’re my business.”
“Mingo, he’s got scars. Recent scars. You’ve fought him, haven’t you? That’s how you earned your money.”
Mingo pulls himself up to stand tall. “He was fought, yeah. But I took him. I paid for him.” He looks into Adam’s eyes. “I saved him. I got him stitched up and I got him neutered.”
The one thing Adam is certain about fighting dogs is that the boys who pit them don’t get them neutered. It’s the masculine ethos carried out by a type of dog that only wants to please. But Adam won’t be defeated. He didn’t succeed in business by backing away. He’s always prided himself on recognizing liars. “Mingo, be reasonable. We found you nearly dead in a crack house. I know that you’re in recovery, and that’s commendable, but your history would suggest that this dog is better off—”
“Man, ain’t you ever done something you regretted? Something you had to work past?”
Regrets? Oh, yes. One moment’s loss of control and a whole life goes spinning away. It takes Adam a moment to collect himself. “Of course I have. But do you regret fighting this dog?”
“What more do I have to say to you? I never fought Dawg. I saved him from—” He stops. “Someone.”
“Could that ‘someone’ take him back?”
“I’ll never let him.” The boy’s hand is on the dog’s head, and the dog is looking up at him with the same kind of attachment Chance shows to Adam. It’s uncanny how even the worst owner can evoke this canine passion.
“He won’t, Mr. March. I know he won’t.” Cody steps up to stand beside Mingo and swipes off her glasses. “Dawg is like his—”
“Don’t say it, girl. What I said, that was between us.”
Adam gathers himself. “That doesn’t change the fact that you certainly aren’t allowed to have dogs where you live.”
Mingo scowls, nods his head. “Yeah, but…”
“Don’t you want him to have a stable home? A forever home?”
Mingo, who has met Adam’s eyes throughout the conversation, suddenly drops his head, pets the dog, his long, tapered fingers finding purchase in the dog’s loose neck skin. He makes a derisive sound. “Forever home? What the fuck is that?”
And then Adam gets it. He and Mingo have a lot more in common than one would expect. He, too, knows about not having a family of his own. Of being insecure. Of being a ward of the state. He’s trying to talk the boy into giving a dog that which he will never have for himself, a home. He doesn’t know where to go with his argument.
“Mr. March, I have an idea.” Cody’s head comes up only to Mingo’s shoulder, but her look is that of a tough chick with flyaway blond hair. A determined little chick.
“Cody, this really isn’t our business.” Skye looks like she wants to reach for Cody, pull her away from the boy, but she keeps her hands fixed tight to her hips.
Adam wonders for a moment what she thinks of him. Does she think he’s a bully now? Is he showing her a side of himself that he’s struggled so hard to keep under control?
“It is our business, Mom. It is. What if we keep Dawg here? Mingo can come up and visit with him, and—”
“Cody, really.” Skye looks panicked, and Adam certainly understands why she might be.
“Say yes. Please. Don’t you always say you want to do the fair thing?” Cody doesn’t sound like a petulant teenager; she sounds like a negotiator. “This is fair.”
Mingo sucks at his lower lip, not looking at Cody, not looking at Adam. Then he does. “I’m down wi’ that. Till I get out. No longer than that.”
Skye throws Adam a look, pleading for some adult help. He doesn’t envy Skye. After all, he’s been there before, helpless in front of a persuasive and fired-up adolescent, and it’s a scary place, even for a former Master of the Universe. He is greatly relieved when Skye falls back on the only thing she can do to defuse the situation.
“I’ll think about it.”
Score one for Mom.
“How long is that going to take? Mr. March is going to take Dawg away tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll let you know tomorrow, before he leaves. Okay, Adam?”
“That’s fine, but remember that I’ve got potential adopters out there. We’re meeting tomorrow night. To introduce Lucky to them.”
“His name is Dawg. Don’t rob him of that, too.” Mingo lets go of the dog’s skin. “Come on, boy. You be with me for now.” Mingo walks back to the car and pulls out the bag of dry cement, the dog following, his nose fairly buttoned to the boy’s leg. “Meantime, I keep workin’ on the fence.” He gives Adam a deathly look. “It’s good money.”
Skye manages a weak smile. “Thank you, Mingo.”
Skye and Adam stand side by side as the kids go back to working on the dog run. Skye shrugs. “Shit, Adam. What do I do now?”
“I guess you think about it.” Adam has never liked compromise, but he has learned how to accept it. “At least you’ll get that run done.”
Chance has trotted off after the trio, and the two dogs flop down on the grass to watch Cody and Mingo unroll the chain link for the fence. After a minute, it’s clear that Cody isn’t quite strong enough for the task, so Adam joins the workforce. No one says anything as the dog yard is assembled.
* * *
Humans can be so clueless. To me, it was clear that Dawg, for that’s how he thought of himself, had picked up on the scent of his boy. I had, too; it was potent. I had no interest in it, so I let him inhale the clues as they appeared until, lo and behold, the physical boy himself appeared. The reunion made me think of my reunion with Adam after that dark time. I was in no condition to leap up and kiss his face, so I had to satisfy myself and show him that I was glad to see him by simply placing my tongue on his cheek. What shocked me, as much as I am ever shocked, is my man’s hostility toward the dog’s boy. Adam is an interesting example of the duality of humanness. He can appear to the casual eye to be acting in one way—for instance, friendly—and then, to the trained observer, appear quivering with the opposite feeling, such as anger or frustration. In this case, Adam’s inside and outside were unusually in sync; he really distrusted this boy. I tried very hard to let him know that the boy, Mingo, is okay. Because humans depend so much on their sight, they fail to use their other senses. I could feel Mingo’s grief; Adam could not. I could smell his fear; Adam could not. All he saw was a boy who resembled the boys who once controlled me. All I saw was a boy my best canine friend adored. Those of us who have been in the ring were as gladiators, doing what we’d been trained to do. It didn’t mean that we were slavish adorers of those who put us in that position; not in the same way we become adorers of those who take us out of combat, retool our spirits into trust and the ability to love. Dawg, my friend Lucky, had no need for rehabilitation. He already had a good boy.
I was pleased when everyone stood down and Dawg was allowed to be with his boy. Adam had nothing to say in tongue language while they worked together, at least not words I recognized—Hand me, and Pull tighter—but I did recognize the moment Adam decided that he could leave Dawg and the boy and the unhappy girl alone and we went to get dinner. He said something to Skye, words again I didn’t quite understand, but figured out. It’s your decision, but I have to advise against it. And her answer: It is. He touched her shoulder with the kind of touch he sometimes gives me.