When they say, “Block,” that means . . . ? I ask.
Stand between the Colonel and the stranger, Katima answers. The Abeyta pack now calls Katima “Rosie,” but I don’t want to give up the name Katima. It means “powerful daughter.”
And when you hear the command “Heel,” that means . . . ?
Walk on the Colonel’s left.
Good. Now—
Mama?
Yes, Katima?
Don’t worry. I got this.
I laugh with my tail. I know you do. You’re the right dog for this job. I give her a quick lap with my tongue.
I watch her trot off, wearing the vest. Her head is held high like a police horse. She will earn those patches. She’s worked for weeks now and she’s a useful tool to Colonel Victor.
He’s improved under her training, too. His heart is steady and his shadows less fierce. He has more rebuilding to do, but Katima’s the right tool for the job.
We are unsure of where Katima’s two brothers ended up. A swirl of pain and hope fills me when I think of them, like a sky both blue and cloudy. Maybe they can find us someday, too. I’ve learned good-byes can be unfinished.
“Daisy?” Micah shouts sunbeams out the back door. “Wanna go to the park?”
I bark. I wag.
Micah laughs dandelions.
“Car, Daisy!”
I dash around the side of the house, headed for the glorious car. But first—
Fish scales.
Smaug is there, sunning himself on a rock. Ah, greetings, pet.
Greetings, pet yourself, I sniff. How did you get out of your tank?
Yes, but my job here as pet is done, Smaug says, ignoring my question. Retirement is in my future. My services as healer are no longer needed.
Smaug looks tired like trees in winter.
What do you mean? I ask.
His eyes spin halfheartedly. Did you find your usefulness?
I smile. Pant. I did. I think I’m pretty useful as a pet.
Smaug nods, and his lizard whiskers swish blue. I would agree. Sometimes we’re not the tool we think we are. That is acceptable. We’re all useful somewhere. He coughs a little, and his wobbly chin wiggles like juicy fat on meat.
Are you okay? I ask.
I am more than okay, Smaug answers. He walks away, dragging his tail through the sand, swooshswooshSWISH. I have healed. I am complete.
I nod. Thank you for healing Micah, I shout after him.
Micah. Yes. Him, too, Smaug says with a chuckle. He snaps his once-broken tail around the rock and disappears.
I have the taste in my mouth that I’ll never see him again.
Fish scales smell like astonishment.
At the park, Micah unclips my leash.
Thank you, I say. And he must hear me, he must, because he hugs my neck and his soft cheek is on my fur and he smells like clean grass.
“Thank you,” he echoes, a whisper like a kiss. He squeezes me, and my heart squeezes him back.
Micah throws the fuzzy ball for me and I catch it and bring it to him.
Analise tugs my skin and squawks like a baby bird.
Anna feeds me a happy purple popsicle.
When we met, Micah and I both felt fireflies of hope. Those fireflies have turned into fireworks. Fireworks feel like love.
I chase leaves and chomp them into dust—Pitoo! Pitoo! Ugh!
Usefulness tastes like leaf dust.
Which, to be honest, tastes dreadful. But it’s worth it, because it makes my pack laugh happy yellow sunshine.
And that’s my job.
* THE END *