Second Chance. Elizabeth Wrenn

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       SIX

      The parking lot was covered in a wet, late March snow and most of us were shivering; the temperature had begun dropping again just after noon. But the crowd was waiting patiently, as were the various dogs. Well, most of the crowd was patient. Lainey and Matt kept jumping up and down, swinging their arms, whining, ‘When is it going to get here?’ ‘We’re freeeee-zing to death!’

      ‘I’m sure it won’t be long now,’ I kept saying.

      ‘I’m going over to the 7-Eleven to get something to eat,’ said Matt, already walking away.

      ‘Here, Lainey,’ I said. I fished in my purse for my wallet, handed her a ten. ‘This is for both of you. But just hot chocolate and a snack, okay? Nothing else. And I’d like the—’ She snatched the ten from my hand and ran after Matt. ‘— change back.’ I smiled sheepishly at Bill.

      He reached out and patted my shoulder. ‘Excited to be getting your pup?’ Once again I was surprised by his touch. Surprised, but pleased.

      I nodded. ‘And nervous.’ There was an understatement. I scanned the crowd again.

      Bill had explained on the drive down that there would be people here from several different puppy-raising clubs from all over the greater Denver metro area. As we stood in the three or four inches of snow, he filled me in on the who’s who of folks from the Fairview group, names that largely went in one ear and out the other. Only one or two sounded familiar from the couple of puppy meetings I’d sat in on last month.

      The kids, thankfully, had been uninterested in going to the puppy meetings, or studying the manual. I was feeling like it really was my own special work. But two weeks earlier I’d received ‘the call’ from Bill, and that had piqued some interest from the kids. Bill told me the breed, the gender, and the first letter of the name of the pup – H. He explained that every pup in the litter received a name beginning with that letter, and that K-9 Eyes tells the puppy raisers only the first letter, in case something comes up requiring a last-minute sibling substitution. The kids and I thought of dozens of name possibilities for my dog, a spayed female yellow Lab, just as I’d requested. We’d put a long list of H names on the refrigerator, each circling our favorite. Lainey liked Harmony. Matt was rooting for Hooter. I had circled, in bright blue marker, my own choice on the list: Hope. Neil refused to join in, but then one day a new name was mysteriously scrawled at the bottom of the list. It was Helen, his mother’s name. In the past weeks Neil and I had fallen into a relationship not unlike graduate students sharing a house: careful, quiet, usually speaking only to discuss some household logistic. My conversation with Bill now was much easier.

      ‘Are all these people getting dogs today?’ I asked as Bill waved a greeting to someone across the parking lot.

      ‘Well, most of them,’ he said. He blew warm air into his cupped hands. ‘Lots of families here though, so of course that can be five or six people for one pup. Basically this crowd falls into one of three categories. First-timers, like you.’ He smiled. ‘Then there are some folks who are getting another puppy after a sabbatical from raising. Like Jeannie Marris, although I’m actually picking up her pup for her today. This will be her sixth or seventh dog she’s raised.’ His voice lowered just a fraction. ‘Then the last group is here to return the dog they’ve raised for the last year or so.’

      They were easy to spot; they were the ones with full-grown – and remarkably well-behaved – green-jacketed dogs. These people stood on the edges of the group and in almost constant physical contact with their dogs.

      ‘A few of these,’ Bill said, ‘will get another puppy right away. Today, even. Most will wait a while, though. They need to grieve the loss before starting again.’ He pointed to a snow-covered picnic table under a big cottonwood. There, a boy, maybe sixteen, his face covered in acne, sat on the bench, bending over a large black Lab. His hands stroked either side of the dog’s big, square face. I could see the tears on the boy’s rough cheeks. He lowered his head, burying his face in his dog’s scruff, his arms wrapped around its rib cage. The boy’s shoulders began heaving. I had to look away.

      I wasn’t sure if it was the cold or emotion making me shake. This was an uncomfortably mixed group. Half were in mourning, spending the last few precious moments with their dogs, the other half waiting expectantly, joy mixed with a bit of trepidation, as they were about to be presented with a new and darling baby. It was as if the hospital had placed the morgue in the same room as the maternity ward.

      Though I was part of the latter group, I was compelled to watch the former, knowing that that would be me in a year. The teen boy was now kneeling on the ground, in the snow, his Lab eagerly licking the tears off his scarred cheeks. A smile slipped over the boy’s face, his chin up, head turning left then right, tanning evenly in the rays of canine love.

      The roar of an engine gearing down suddenly turned the group’s attention, en masse, to the street. A white motor home with a green K-9 Eyes logo was rumbling toward us. I glanced at the 7-Eleven – still no sign of Lainey and Matt.

      Expectant silence fell over the group as we watched the truck slow, then turn in to the lot. A little girl in the crowd began to clap her mittened hands, jumping with excitement. My stomach was doing a similar move. As the vehicle parked, I stole a glance at the boy. He had his arms possessively around the Lab’s neck, his head on the other side of the dog, shielding himself from the view of the motor home.

      The door opened, a cheery woman of about sixty emerged, standing on the high step of the motor home. ‘Hey, ya’ll!’ She waved her arm over her head, her apple cheeks pushing up into her sparkling eyes. She was small, but strong and sturdy-looking, her short, curly blonde hair liberally sprinkled with gray. ‘Come on, everyone, scooch in! We’ll keep each other warm! And that way I won’t have to shout,’ she yelled in a voice that could carry halfway to Nebraska. As most of the crowd compressed toward her obediently, I got the feeling even the biggest male German shepherd wouldn’t mess with this woman. I also got the feeling that same dog would adore her.

      ‘I’m Josie!’ She nodded around to the group. ‘I know you folks are anxious to get going, so here’s how we’re gonna do this. We’ll start with the pups, then collect the big guys. When I call your name, step right up, take your pup and papers, then clear right out, please.’ She grinned, and disappeared into the truck.

      I scanned again for Matt and Lainey. They were probably looking at magazines.

      ‘I think I should go get my kids,’ I said, turning.

      Bill put a hand lightly on my sleeve. ‘No, you need to stay here, in case you’re called. They’re big kids. They’ll keep an eye out.’ But I doubted they would. They would expect me to let them know that the truck had arrived.

      Josie emerged again, this time carrying a sleepy-looking yellow Lab puppy. My heart raced. Matt and Lainey were on their own. This might be my dog!

      Bill had assured me that many people requested a specific breed or gender for all kinds of reasons. K-9 Eyes tried to meet the requests, although it was never guaranteed. I suspected he knew my request was based on housekeeping; the yellow hair wouldn’t show as much on my tan tile and oak floors. I hoped he hadn’t guessed that I’d requested a spayed female because I figured she and I would have something in common right from the start.

      ‘Covington!’ Josie called out. Okay. Not me. I let out a shaky breath, unaware that I’d had it trapped in СКАЧАТЬ