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I set some bacon and eggs with sausage on low heat and glancing out the kitchen window, I shake my head to myself. Smiling.
Noticing his zig-zag of paw prints in the frost, from one end of the huge yard to the other.
“V?” I call out from the back door, shivering a little as I feel the weather make its way inside my light robe.
“C’mon, V. It’s freezing. Time to come in buddy.”
Nothing.
Valentine never ignores my call, and there’s no way he wants to be out here any longer than he has to be.
“Valentine?” I call out again, feeling a tightness in my chest and a sharp rush of adrenalin in my belly I don’t care for.
My hands ball into fists as I ignore the cold now, making my way down into the yard, past the semi-frozen koi pond, and around to the side of the house.
A dog like Valentine is a rare thing, and although I don’t dwell on it, I’ve heard stories of dogs like him being snatched and sold for big money.
Or worse.
“Valentine!” I call again, trying to sound upbeat, almost willing myself to catch someone trying to do him harm.
At least then I could do something. I could break them and save him.
At least I’d know where he was.
But he’s nowhere in sight.
What I do notice is the rear gate open and unlatched.
Valentine can open it if he really wants, but why would he?
He’s by my side every minute of the day, save for when he has to go out and do his business.
I jog to the edge of the street, noticing only his paw prints before they disappear in the melting ice that’s competing with what little sun there is from behind gray clouds.
“Shit,” I exclaim, racing back inside and switching off breakfast, I change rapidly into tracks pants and a sweater and slip on my running shoes.
“Not the kind of workout I had in mind today, V,” I mutter, grabbing his leash on the way out and pulling the door closed behind me.
I tell myself I’ll catch up, that he probably just got the scent of something and couldn’t help himself.
We were due for a walk today, and I berate myself for keeping us both cooped up lately.
It’s not just the weather either. This time of year is always a stark reminder of my own solitude.
I love Valentine, he’s my world. But when a man gets to a certain age, has so much he’s already achieved.
I have enough for ten lifetimes, and for more than just me and my dog.
I want someone special to share it all with, Valentine included. I want the one to let me spoil her, to love her. To show her what it feels like to live like a queen.
The memory of Valentine’s first day comes to mind and I smile, shaking my head.
It was Valentine’s Day, about four years ago. I was in a pretty dark place and he was just there, scratching at the door, all muddy and covered in snow, wanting to be let in.
I opened the door and he leaped straight into my arms, licking me all over, whimpering with excitement like he’d finally found his way home even though he’d never seen me or my house before.
I tried for a few weeks to find his owner, but once we really got to know each other, once he let it be known he wasn’t going anywhere without me my mind was made up.
Sometimes the right animal just adopts you. Where they really come from. Who knows?
That’s how Valentine came to me, and until today, until this Valentine’s week, I’d never given a single thought to ever having to be totally alone ever again.
But I’m overreacting, I know I am.
Like a proud parent, I’m just worried about my boy.
I tell myself over and over that I’ll catch up to him any second, we’ll have our run and then we’ll go home.
I’ll spoil him and make sure he gets more exercise from now on.
I promise.
Once I lose his tracks I’m guessing. It’s a big city and he could’ve gone anywhere and in any direction.
He has road sense, and knows where home is, so why is he running? It doesn’t make any sense.
It’s like something is pulling him away from me, and I feel lost because I don’t know which way it’s pulled him.
Eventually, I feel lost because I am.
I’ve run and run, right through my stitch and my burning legs.
I’m on the other side of the part of town I usually keep to.
I hate to admit it, but it’s the safer side.
The wealthy side.
Hey. I can afford to live in a nice area, no crime in that.
There’s little traffic too, and despite myself I start to call out for him, bellowing his name in the end as I realize just how hopeless this is starting to feel.
