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“Stop yer knockin’ and come in!” called out a craggy old voice.
“He sounds fun,” Charlie muttered.
“Watch, and be amazed,” I whispered to her. I reached for the knob and turned it.
Mr. Clancy was sitting in a leather recliner, the TV on with some sporting event playing on mute.
“What’s that?” Mr. Clancy asked gruffly as his eyes drifted over John Milton.
“This is John Milton,” I said. “And this is my best friend, Charlie.”
“Hello, Mr. Clancy,” Charlie said.
Mr. Clancy barely looked at Charlie. “You brought a dog into my home? He probably has fleas.”
“Actually, he just had a bath. He smells like cinnamon and oatmeal.” I lowered John Milton to the floor and unleashed him without asking for permission.
John Milton wasted no time. He ran to Mr. Clancy, jumped up onto his lap, laid his head on Mr. Clancy’s thigh, and closed his eyes for a nap.
Mr. Clancy harrumphed, but his hand lifted and settled onto John Milton’s head, his face softening ever so slightly.
Nailed it.
“How are you feeling?” I asked him as I waved Charlie over to the loveseat.
“My incision hurts,” he remarked.
“Hmm, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, not offended by his tone. “But I’m glad you’re on the mend. Has your son visited?”
“Few days ago,” he said. “Brought the grandkids. Little heathens. Henry feeds them too much sugar.”
He pushed the recliner footrest down, scooped up the dog underneath one arm, and stood. Still carrying John Milton—who wasn’t at all protesting at being carried like a football—Mr. Clancy wandered into the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator and pulled open a drawer.
“The dog have a name? Or should I just call him mutt?” Mr. Clancy asked.
“His name is John Milton,” I repeated.
“What kind of name is that for a dog?” Mr. Clancy asked.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Charlie piped up.
“Well, what’s he look like to you?” I asked lightly.
Mr. Clancy paused for a moment and then said, “Oscar.”
“Oscar is a great name,” I said, biting my lip to stifle a smile. I looked at Charlie who rolled her eyes and then shot me a grin.
“Here we are,” Mr. Clancy said. “What do you think, Oscar? You want to try some bacon?”
“Just sign here,” I said, pointing to the line at the bottom of the pet adoption papers.
Mr. Clancy hastily scribbled his signature and set the pen aside. “Anything else?”
“No,” I said.
“No adoption fees?”
