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No, I can’t be jealous of a dog.
“It breaks my heart to give him up, but I have four dogs, and my mom can’t take care of him. He deserves so much more than being cooped up in a house,” she blurts, taking a hold of the leash.
“Where is your dad?”
“He…died. Pancreatic cancer. One day he was fine, and then one day, hewasn’t.”
The woman’s shoulders slump even further, like the weight of her grief is a physical presence.
I know that feeling all too well.
Seeing her raw and fresh loss tightens my chest. My mouth dries, and the tingly sensation in my temples returns. Between Shiloh’s dog and this woman’s father, I’ve reached my cancer talk quota for the day.
“I need some air,” I say, touching Shiloh’s shoulder. She freezes with my contact. Why did I feel the need to touch her? Pulling my hand away, I whisper, “I’m sorry,” and Shiloh gives a small nod.
“I need to evaluate the dog. So, maybe thirty minutes? Is that okay?”
“Sound good,” I say, stepping outside. It’s finally cooling in the evenings, and dusk is settling in. I shove my hands in my pockets, since they can’t stop shaking. Deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. Panic builds in my chest, and breathing slows it, suppressing it to the pit of my belly, where it always lives.
I don’t know Carrie or her dad. She didn’t look at me like she had heard stories or recognized that I carry the same weight, even though mine has been years, and hers is still fresh. But I don’t know what my body would do if I stayed longer, if she explained more why she couldn’t keep the dog. Shiloh looked at her with no judgment, no pity. Only compassion.
Watching Shiloh in her element and loving on a dog stirs something inside of me.
Sure, she’s pretty, with her long blond hair and wide blue eyes. Her smile and laugh are contagious. It’s her effervescence that draws me in.
When I caught her, sparks shot through me, and I had to test it further. Touching her shoulder felt like more of the same.
She’s tiny compared to me.
Ten years my junior.
My family business’s employee.
She doesn’t know the saddest thing about me.
I pace the length of the dirt shoulder, kicking rocks, when Shiloh peeks her head out.
“Give me five minutes. I might need your muscle.” She disappears back inside.
“Okay,” I say, approaching the house. I walk onto the porch, noticing the bench. I wonder how often Carrie’s dad sat there, spending his evening with the dog at their feet. My chest tightens again, and I take more deep breaths, in and out.
The door opens and the dog bolts out the door, nails scurrying against the wood, pulling Shiloh with him. She zooms past me and hands me the dog’s leash, and I brace. The dog hits the end of the line, yelps, and springs back.
“Thank you,” Shiloh says, turning toward the woman and hugging her. “Best of luck with everything.”
“Thank you, Shiloh, you’ve been lovely. Nice to meet you,” Carrie says as she crouches down to the dog’s level. Koda comes right to her, licking her face and jumping on her. She cries into the dog’s fur as the dog pants. “Be a good boy,” Carrie says, standing up, wiping her eyes.
When the door closes and it’s just Shiloh, me, and the dog, we start walking, but Koda goes between my legs, almost knocking me over and jamming his hard head right into my junk.
“Not the nuts,” I say out loud, swinging my leg over the furry body wiggling under me.
Shiloh giggles as I teeter. “He’s a handful.”
“No kidding,” I say as we step off the porch, but the dog pulls me. “I’m so bad at this.”
“Let’s switch,” she says, swapping me the paperwork and toys for the dog. For how tiny Shiloh is, she handles the dog much better than I do, even though I have at least eighty pounds on her.
“This dog is a menace to society.”
