19. Marley
NINETEEN
MARLEY
When Bennett comes back in, I’m leaning against the counter on my phone, Vance Joy singing softly about looking at him like that in the background. The Hores, aka my new favorite people, brought a charger for me too, since apparently Bennett had mentioned that my phone was dying. Sophie, bless her, sent her parents with one of hers.
His cheeks and the tip of his nose are a bit pink, and I have the sudden urge to ask if he needs me to help warm him up. I don’t move or say anything, though; I just stare at him. When he looks up from taking off his boots, he gives me a questioning smile. “What?”
I don’t miss the way his eyes find my mouth, lower lip trapped between my teeth. When his eyes meet mine again, I see the same look from yesterday in the bathroom. Where last night felt vulnerable, this morning has felt charged. Like if I touched him right now, I’d ignite. So I stay exactly where I am because if I’m being honest with myself, I’m really enjoying this nonverbal conversation we have going.
After a few seconds—or minutes, who can tell—of staring at each other, I mumble “Nothing,” and turn my attention back to my phone. I was in the middle of texting Izzy and Nellie that I was still going strong. I hit send before putting it down and turning back to Bennett. I’m surprised to find him standing right next to me and step back automatically. He reaches out to keep me from putting any weight on my right ankle. I let my eyes travel down my arm to where his hand is wrapped around my right bicep. He lets go almost as quickly as he’d grabbed me and clears his throat.
“How are the dogs?” I ask, trying to break the tension.
“Good.” His voice is more gravelly than normal. “Actually…” He clears his throat again, almost sounding nervous. “I was wondering if you’d like to join us on the pack walk today?”
I look to the crutches leaning behind me and then back at Bennett. “I’d actually really like that.” I smiled at him. “Although I feel like I’ll slow everyone down, and I’m not sure how far I can get before I collapse from exhaustion.” Exhaustion may be a stretch. Tender underarms and me turning into a whiny baby seem more likely.
“They slow themselves down, don’t worry about it.” Bennett laughs. “Lots to smell and roll in out there. And if you get tired, I can think of a pretty great way of getting you off your feet.” He means a piggyback, but all I heard was “getting you off,” and then I’m pretty sure my brain fully short-circuited because he’s still talking, about what I cannot for the life of me figure out. Before we head out, Bennett slides a toque over my head, his hands adjusting for far longer than necessary but I’m not one to complain about such things.
Bennett was right about the dogs. At some points we are the ones waiting for them to catch up. When one finds a good smell, they all need to go investigate. There’s no barking, so it seems like a certain amount of time spent by one dog indicates they’ve found something really good. It’s also fun to see them all together but clearly in their own little sub-groups. Yogurt seems to gravitate towards a couple of the larger dogs. They look like something you’d see in a Disney movie. Marley is partnered up with a medium-sized, three-legged black-and-white dog called Chance. They bop around smelling and playing and smelling again.
“You’d think they’d get bored of smelling each other’s butts after a while,” I say as Marley goes in for another long sniff.
Bennett laughs along with me. “I don’t know, I think when you like someone, you never get tired of their smell.” My heart gives a little twirl as I remember the sound of him breathing me in last night. When I look up at him he’s looking at me with an expression I haven’t seen from him before. Longing.
“Are all the dogs adoptable?” I ask, forcing myself to look back out at the dogs.
“Most are,” he says. “Yogurt, as I mentioned, is never leaving. Clarence, the English bulldog will likely be here forever too. He’s got a lot of health issues so it would take a special applicant. Let’s see.” He looks around. “Penny, the greyhound, needs someone really specific, so I’m not holding my breath.”
“Specific how?”
“Someone with a fenced-in yard and time to spend with her. Preferably someone with one other dog. She’s got some anxiety issues, and managing them can be hard.”
I had never really thought about dogs having similar mental health issues to humans. “Are there a lot of dogs with mental health struggles?”
“A lot of these dogs come from shitty situations. They may have had something up to begin with and their family didn’t know how to deal with it, or they developed something because of how they were treated. Penny ate through a door. Someone found her running down a busy road. She had escaped and when they called the number on her tag the owner said to keep her. I honestly don’t even know how they managed to catch her. She was a retired racing dog, and she’s still fast as fuck.” He nods towards a grey dog that looks like it came from a kid’s imagination. “Thunder…” He looks down at me. “For the record, I haven’t named a single one of these dogs.”
“Noted.”
“Thunder doesn’t trust men in general. It took a solid week for him to stop growling at me and even longer for him to come over to me willingly.”
“Do you know why?”
“I suspect that he was abused by a man. Sophie was helping out when he came in, and he was totally fine around her.”
“But now he’s okay?”
“He seems to be. After he seemed to be doing better with me, I had Karl and a couple of other friends meet him, and while he was timid he did eventually approach them without any signs of aggression.”
“So would he need to be adopted by a woman?” I can imagine being on Bennett’s side of things would be somewhat stressful.
“My hope is that he’s at a place where anyone could adopt him, but honestly I don’t know if that will ever happen. One of the most stressful parts of this whole operation is pairing people up with a suitable dog and vice versa. I don’t want a dog to end up in another terrible situation, and I don’t want someone who means well to end up being afraid or turning their back on adoption. The balancing act is almost the whole battle.” He sighs and tips his head back. “That’s why I have twenty-one dogs right now. I’m picky. ”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Have all the dogs come from bad situations?”
He shakes his head. “No. Marley was surrendered because his owner’s son got really sick, and they just didn’t have the time to dedicate to him anymore.”
“That’s sad,” I say, watching Marley rolling in something next to a log.
“It is,” Bennett agrees, “but I respect that they did right by him. Some people would still hang on because of what the dog brought to their lives and wouldn’t consider the type of life they were providing for the dog.”
That makes me stop. “I don’t know if I would have ever seen it that way.”
“Did you ever have pets growing up?”
“Nope. Well, no, that’s not entirely true. One year for Valentine’s Day, my grandparents gave me a hamster.”
“Hamsters are pets, Marley.”
“Oh, I know, but I only had it for two days.”
“Two days?”
“I learned about death that week.”
“Yikes.”
“So what are all the others named?” I want to know even though chances are I’ll never remember them and even if I do, I’m not going to be here for much longer. A little fact I keep forgetting as I allow myself to sink further into the comfort of this place.
Bennett starts pointing and listing off names. Bart, Mortimer, Spike, Sparky, Poppy, Rover, Thor, Bella, Daisy, Milo, Max, Buddy, Buster, Farley, Ella and Clyde.
“Then we have the geo crew.” He points behind at five dogs that are very happy to take their time. “Dallas, Paris, London, Brooklyn, and Dakota.”
“How convenient that they like to hang out together. ”
“They all came together. Hoarding situation.”
“Oh.” I wince. “Were there more?”
Bennett nods but doesn’t elaborate.
After thirty minutes, my arms are on fire from the crutches, but I don’t want to say anything. I’m caught between wanting to continue because almost everything about this moment is ideal and wanting to just fall over because my arms are burning.
“How are you holding up?” Bennett asks because he’s a bloody mind reader.
“I’m fine.” The look on his face tells me he knows I’m full of shit. “Okay, my noodle arms are perhaps getting a bit too noodly.” He looks at me for a minute then bursts out laughing. All the dogs surround us barking as if Bennett’s laugh was a call to action. He breaks mid-laugh as a pained look crosses his face and then says something that has the dogs all shutting up.
The look on his face is one I’ve seen before, and I have a feeling it has everything to do with the pills in the cupboard.
“We should head back.” He smiles, but it’s not his usual one. It’s tight-lipped and thin, and it doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. He also doesn’t offer to carry me, which is a huge red flag.
I do my best to keep up, but the speed is just making everything harder, so I tell him I want to take my time and enjoy being outside. He hesitates until I assure him I’ll be okay on my own. I can tell that he doesn’t want to go back without me with him, but it’s also obvious he is in pain, and this is the best I can offer in terms of taking care of him for once.
To my surprise, Yogurt sticks with me. The entire time I’ve been here, the little dog has been glued to Bennett’s side. I’m not at all bummed to have a companion on my walk back, and Yogurt seems just as pleased.
Instead of heading straight back, I decide to rest for a bit on a large boulder near the end of the trail. I stretch my back and arms and let my neck lull side to side before looking up at the canopy. The sun is out, and there’s a light breeze that makes the falling leaves look like they’re taking the scenic route down to the forest floor. A lot of assignments seem to pop up between October and November, so I haven’t been home during this time of year for a few years. I’m trying to soak this view in as much as possible. I have no idea when I’ll get a chance to enjoy it again.
Yogurt starts to whine after a few minutes, and I do one more quick set of stretches before standing up and beginning the trek back.
The dogs are all in the field when I arrive at the house, and I wonder if I should let Yogurt out there or bring him in the house with me. He seems to have no interest in going out with the other dogs so I open the door and watch him run in. Before I close the door I hear a vehicle coming down the driveway and turn to see Nancy on an ATV, waving at me.
I stand and wait for her to reach the porch and hope she’s not here to take me to her place.
“I’m your ride to the farm,” she says cheerfully as she starts walking up the stairs. Shit. I had been hoping to collapse in the armchair for an hour or four.
“Oh, okay,” I stammer. “I’ll just grab my camera.”
“Grab Yogurt too. He loves the cows.”
“A dog named after a dairy product loves cows, go figure.”
The house is silent except for the sound of Yogurt drinking. I glance at the pill cupboard as I’m heading to find my bag. I’ve had bad headaches before, but I’ve never reacted like Bennett had. He’s clearly not okay, and it turns out I care about his well-being. I do a quick search of the kitchen and find a half-torn envelope and a pen.
I’m over at the Hores’. I hope you feel better. M
It takes more energy than it should to not add an “xo” before signing my name, which catches me off guard. I’ve never been an “xo” kind of person.
When I join Nancy back outside she picks the dog up and gestures for me to follow her back out to the ATV.
“I think Bennett is taking a nap,” I say after I manage to get myself situated on the back of the vehicle.
Nancy only nods and then fires up the ATV, yelling back for me to hang on tight.
Bennett and the Hores—which sounds a bit like a band name, now that I think about it—share a long gravel road. Dirt and stone fly in all directions as Nancy speeds down it. I’m amazed at how the landscape changes between Bennett’s and the Hores’. While Bennett’s home feels like it’s in the middle of a forest, the Hores farm is surrounded by lush rolling hills and a structured tree line. The smell also becomes noticeably different.
We pull up to a big white farmhouse, and Nancy dismounts, setting Yogurt down just as the front door opens and a massive German shepherd comes running out. I panic for a split second as the two dogs run at each other and wonder how I’m going to explain to Bennett that I let his precious probiotic baby get ripped apart. But it becomes clear quickly that if there is going to be a dog being ripped apart today, it won’t be Yogurt. The minute the shepherd hits the grass, it drops and rolls, exposing its belly. Never in a million years would I guess that Yogurt was the dominant dog in any kind of scenario.
“That’s Tank,” Nancy says, gesturing at the shepherd. “He was one of the first dogs Bennett rescued.”
“He’s lovely,” I say, watching the two dogs start to play.
“He’s something alright.” Nancy laughs and leads me into the house. “We decided to adopt him because we figured he’d provide extra security.”
I look around, wondering who’s coming out to the middle of nowhere to rob them.
“We were having some issues with coyotes and foxes. Lots of chickens were going missing.”
“Oh.”
“Turns out he’s afraid of chickens. The bastard won’t go near the coop.”
I look back out the door and watch the two dogs rolling around. “I bet that came as a surprise.”
“Well, we went from no dogs to two in the span of a month because Bennett brought home a Great Pyrenees who lives to protect livestock and Tank had already made himself at home, so here we are.”
I’m only half listening as I follow Nancy through the house. If you asked me to imagine a farmhouse, this would be it. Family pictures hang on the walls, and everything is done in warm tones. She leads me into the kitchen where there’s a pot bubbling on the stove and a rustic loaf of bread sitting on the counter.
“I figured we could have lunch before we head out?” The room smells incredible, and I nod excitedly.
“Mom, have you seen my—oh!” A young woman, who I assume is Sophie, walks into the kitchen and stops when she sees me. I’m about to introduce myself, but she beats me to it. “You must be Marley,” she exclaims, sticking her hand out. “I’m Sophie.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand. Sophie is stunning, and if Bennett hadn’t been so against the idea of dating her I’d be riddled with jealousy.
“What are you looking for, Soph?” Nancy asks, stirring the contents of the pot .
“Have you seen my grey ballet flats? I swear I brought them home, but now I can’t find them.”
Nancy thinks for a minute then shakes her head. “Sorry. Maybe ask your father?”
Sophie gives her mom a deadpan look. “You want me to ask Dad if he has seen my grey ballet flats?”
Nancy rolls her eyes. “Well don’t ask him exactly like that. Leave off ‘ballet’ and ‘flats’ and call them grey shoes. And while you’re at it, let him know lunch is ready.”
“Sure thing,” she says, whirling around and leaving the kitchen.
“Honestly,” Nancy says, giving me a look, “the girl is doing her master’s, and I’m amazed she can find the building she has classes in sometimes.”
Nancy sets me up at the end of the long island with a bowl and a side plate. “Bennett said you ate anything, so I hope that applies to tomato soup and fresh bread.” I make a noise of approval that sounds a bit X-rated. “I’ll take that as a resounding yes.”
Karl and Sophie join us as Nancy is ladling some definitely-not-from-a-can soup into my bowl. Karl is giving Sophie shit but in a joking way. “Can you believe our daughter didn’t think I’d know what ballet flats were? Honestly, I raised a girl and paid attention to things. I even know what butterfly clips are.”
Nancy squints at her husband before setting a bowl in front of him.
“Well, I’ll have you know,” Sophie says, “Mom didn’t think you’d know either.”
Nancy tosses her hands in the air trying to look innocent. “It’s not like we go around throwing out terms like ‘ballet flats.’”
Sophie levels her mother with a look. “I literally asked if he knew where my grey shoes were, and he said, ‘Oh, the ballet flats?’ and then he goes ‘They’re in the front hall under the bench.’”
Nancy is looking at her husband like he’s grown a second head. And I’ll freely admit, I’m enjoying the show as much as the meal.
“You asked me where your boots were yesterday. The ones you wear every single day.”
He shrugs. “They weren’t where I left them.”
“They were exactly where you left them. They were just under a coat that had slipped off the hook. All you had to do was pick the coat up.”
Sophie looks like she’s enjoying her parents’ little tiff too as she rips up a piece of bread.
Karl turns his attention to me. “Marley, welcome to our home. Can I get you a drink?”
“Water would be great, thanks.”
He nods. “Hore women, what would you like?”
I’m sure when your last name is Hore you get used to it, but I am definitely not used to it and I have to push down the urge to burst out laughing.
Sophie seems to recognize my issue because she leans towards me and whispers, “When it comes to our last name, my father is still fifteen. He loves to mess with people.”
I’m enjoying the banter of the Hore family. I didn’t have this kind of upbringing. My parents were both incredibly busy, and at least one of them usually wouldn’t be home for dinner. I could probably count on one hand how many meals we ate together that weren’t for a holiday. Including my birthday. My parents weren’t a great example of what a desirable romantic relationship was. They carried on like they were business partners and my brother and I were necessary in order for the business to be successful. These three are having lunch together in the middle of the week. It’s breaking my brain a little bit .
“So.” Sophie turns her attention back to me. “What kind of photographer are you, Marley?”
I’m surprised by the question. I’m accustomed to people just assuming that a photographer is a photographer, and that’s that. “I’m a conflict photographer.”
“Oh wow.” Sophie leans in further. “Like you take pictures in war zones and at those big protests that get out of hand?”
I nod. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Sophie looks at her mom. “When you said she was a photographer, I thought you meant she did, like, weddings or something.”
Nancy looks confused. “Honestly I hadn’t really considered that there were different,” She stops, clearly in thought. “What would you call them, tiers? Levels? Genres? I hadn’t thought beyond the taking pictures part.”
“It’s ok, people don’t realize there are different fields.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with taking pictures of the girls?” Sophie asks.
“Absolutely. It’ll be a nice break from my usual subject manner.”
“What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve photographed?” Karl asks, his mouth full of bread.
“Karl, let the girl eat.”
“No, it’s okay,” I assure her. “I got caught up in a bombing raid eight years ago in Syria. We were trapped in rebel territory for a few days and weren’t sure if we would be able to get out. Wearing a press badge doesn’t always make it safer, and we weren’t sure how we’d be treated if we were discovered.”
“What happened?” Sophie asks, wide-eyed.
“Clearly they weren’t found, Soph.” Karl nudges her.
“Actually, we were. We were technically taken prisoner but then released soon after to a United Nations envoy. We were treated well, all things considered, but it was…” I don’t re member how I felt at the time. I’ve taken pieces of what other people who were with me have said and turned it into my own narrative. It took another two years before I admitted to anyone that there were certain things I couldn’t fully recall. I can’t say that to these people, though. “Scary, I guess.”
“You guess.” Karl’s eyes are wide. “It was scary, you guess ? I would have been shitting liquid for a solid week if that had happened to me.”
“Ugh, Dad, really?” Sophie says, gesturing at her soup with a pained look.
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“How about the best thing you’ve witnessed?” Nancy asks, glaring at her family.
This one is easy. “Photographing survivors being found after a 7.8-magnitude earthquake in Pakistan. You’re surrounded by this unbelievable destruction that isn’t man-made, and yet there were these incredible moments of how enduring the human spirit can be. Grown men weeping at the sight of another survivor. People who had been trapped for a week in the rubble smiling despite being hurt and starving. Even the dogs. The dogs’ reactions when they pulled someone out were magical. The sense of relief and joy that washes over the entire crowd in those moments is…” I try to come up with the right word. “Well, it’s hard to describe, but I do my best to capture it in pictures. At least I hope that comes through. I spend a lot of time showing people the worst things imaginable. It’s nice when I can share some good moments, despite the reason I’m there.”
“So you’re kind of a photojournalist?” Sophie says.
“Yeah, but I don’t document the natural disaster stuff too often. I just happened to be covering a story in India when the quake hit, and my editor redirected me and the journalist I was working with to Pakistan. It was faster and cheaper to get us there than fly out others.” I shrug, before taking another spoonful of soup. I probably should have told Bennett there were still good moments for me behind the camera instead of implying it was doom and gloom all the time. I find myself wishing he was here.