Chapter Seven #2
Austin trudged off to the basement and returned a moment later. He handed over the board.
One touch confirmed it. “Okay,” Joe said. “Fun. Dry rot.” He debated for a moment. “Is my crowbar still in the kitchen?”
Austin brought that too, and Joe pulled up a couple more treads and checked the stringers, but the dry rot hadn’t spread too far—just around that one step, it looked like. He put the crowbar down and sat back.
“Well, the good news is the rest of the stairs are sound and the repair is more of a pain in the ass than anything.” They’d have to replace the stringers on both sides, just to be safe, but the treads and risers could be reused. “Bad news is we’re gonna be skipping a step until then.”
“At least nobody’s sleeping upstairs right now. Kind of a nasty shock if you go downstairs to pee in the middle of the night.”
“Not recommended,” Joe agreed. Then he remembered their conversation from yesterday. “Hey—you said you found something cool?”
Austin pulled him to his feet. “Oh—yeah. Uh… after you, though.”
“What, you don’t trust me?”
“My abs still hurt from pulling myself out last night. Give me a break. At least I’ll be able to help you if we go up one at a time.”
Joe couldn’t argue with that, and he did actually trust his assessment of the stairs’ condition, so he trudged up, skipping over the ones he’d removed. He’d nail those back down later.
Austin followed and then led the way to the smallest bedroom, where two items remained—an ancient radio covered in dust, with a walnut veneer that had once been glossy but was now cracked and warped; and a blue Rubbermaid container on a shelf.
Austin took the container down and opened it with a flourish. “Voila.”
Joe hadn’t been that excited about the radio—it looked like it needed a ton of work—but the box was a different story. Grimy on the outside, sure, but inside it was neat and orderly and absolutely packed with old vinyl records.
Joe didn’t know a lot about record collecting, other than that it had come back into vogue.
If that little radio had a working record player and they could get it looking good again, it might be worth something, but this bin could be worth five bucks for the plastic or five grand for the vinyls, depending what was in there.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” he asked after a minute.
Austin reached into the bin and pulled out a handful of LPs. Most of them were bands Joe didn’t recognize, with the cardboard sleeves a little battered. He did recognize a few names, though—Jimi Hendrix. The Stones. And—
“Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?”
“That,” said Austin, “is the Beatles’ Yesterday and Today.”
Joe stared at it, appalled. “Why are there decapitated dolls? And… meat?”
“This is like the Pepa question all over again.” Austin shook his head.
“But it doesn’t matter.” He turned the album over.
The weak light of the bare, pathetic bulb overhead glinted on the plastic wrap.
“It’s in perfect condition. And this cover is rare.
Apparently the 1960s were not ready for political commentary in the form of dead fake babies, so they pulled it and released it with a different image. ”
Joe thought that was probably fair.
“But like I said,” Austin said, “it doesn’t matter, because it’s not an album.”
Joe blinked. “It’s not?”
“Nope. It’s a three-legged dog and some stair stringers.”
Huh. “Maybe we should’ve called her Yoko.”
“You said yes to Pepa. No takebacks.”
They carefully carted the record crate downstairs to sort through, and then it was late enough to hit Pet Valu for the essentials before they picked up Pepa.
The definition of essentials was pretty broad when you’d never owned a dog before.
“What’s, like, a good number of toys?” Austin asked ten minutes in.
He was holding a sleeve of tennis balls, a larger knobbly ball, a porcupine stuffy, a rubber chicken, and a frisbee.
It was possible the idea of essentials became even more impossible to define when you hadn’t had anything as a child. Then: “Do you think we need a cart?”
Joe got a cart.
They picked out a nice soft bed… and then a second firmer one in case she liked that better.
A raised set of food and water dishes, because Austin had read online that it was helpful for dogs that had amputations.
Joe thought that probably was more for dogs with front-limb loss, but whatever, the dishes looked nice.
Three different bags of treats and a handful of what the sales girl called “bully sticks,” which Joe knew just enough about to avoid asking questions.
Joe selected a leash and harness while Austin chose a collar, and then they had a three-minute argument about whose phone number would go on her tag, which they eventually solved by flipping a coin.
Joe tried not to pout that Austin won.
It was probably a good thing Linda called when she did, or there might not have been room left for the dog.
The tech from the night before wasn’t present at the desk—Joe hoped she’d gone home to get some rest—but Linda was, with dark circles under her eyes but a bright smile. “Hey, boys. Your little princess is just starting to wake up. Did you finalize the name?”
“It’s Pepa,” Joe said. “I didn’t really want the dog named after me, but Austin insisted.”
Austin’s cheeks were still red from the early morning chill when he said, “If you save a stray dog by attacking a wild animal with a two-by-four, the dog gets named after you. Those are just the rules.”
Linda raised her eyebrows as she slid a form across the desk. Joe picked up a pen and started filling it out. At least this one had room for both of their names and contact info. “You two left out a few details last night.”
“We were kind of preoccupied.” Austin tapped his credit card on the desk. “Can we see her now?”
Linda presented Joe with a mountain of discharge instructions and a small pharmacy worth of pills, which he shoved into his jacket pockets while Austin followed Linda back to retrieve their new friend.
“She’s going to be groggy for a few days,” Linda told them.
“She might not want to eat much, and she’ll be extra clumsy from the anesthesia even without the missing leg.
Keep her somewhere she can’t stumble around and hurt herself.
And she’ll need to be kept warm. The anesthesia interferes with their ability to regulate body temperature. ”
“Blankets and space heater, check,” Joe said, thinking about the best place to set up a recovering three-legged dog.
Linda opened the door to the recovery room, which held a series of cages.
Pepa lay in an open-top pen that looked more like a playpen for a toddler than a crate for a dog.
Her half-lidded gaze stared blankly until Austin said quietly, “Poor baby.” Her eyes rolled and landed on them, and then, to Joe’s surprise, she let out a pathetic whine, wiggled, and thumped her tail.
“Does she—” Austin swallowed the rest of his words in favor of getting closer.
“Looks like she remembers her rescuers,” Linda said softly.
Austin leaned over the side of the pen, reached down to touch her head, and stroked gently, murmuring to her. Joe was only a half step behind him.
“You can open the gate, you know,” Linda said, a clear smile in her voice.
Joe’s back would definitely appreciate that.
Delighted that her heroes were getting closer, Pepa tried to wiggle onto her feet—and failed as her front paws slipped and her bandaged back end sort of flopped. Austin dropped to his knees and settled her head in his lap.
Now that he was no longer running on adrenaline and terrified for the life of another living creature, Joe finally got a good look at Pepa.
There was something golden retriever–like in the color of her coat and the shape of her face, but she was smaller, slimmer than the average retriever.
Her coat was shorter too, and she had a pure white stripe on the top of her head.
Joe crouched next to Austin, and Pepa brought her adoring gaze to him. Her tail thumped again.
“Hello, Pepa,” Joe crooned. “What a brave girl you’ve been.” He stroked her ears, and she whuffled and sighed into Austin’s lap, clearly delighted.
The door swung open, and Joe turned to see Linda walking back in—he hadn’t even noticed her leaving.
“All right, boys. You’re all set to take her home. You can wrap her up in the blanket that she’s on and take that with you.”
“We can’t take your blanket,” Austin said.
“Yes, you can. It’ll help make her feel better to have something that smells like her in her new home.” Linda smiled. “Think of it as a new-baby present from your neighbor.”
Joe snorted and started to roll Pepa up in her blanket burrito. There was no way this doped-up tripod was walking anywhere right now. He scooped her up and carried her out to the car, winning the fight by not even asking, while Austin huffed about him being a dog hog.
But Austin won the car seat battle by virtue of opening the back driver’s side door for Joe to set her in, then scurrying around to the passenger side and wiggling onto the bench next to her. Pepa sighed as she settled her head on Austin’s thigh and fell into a drugged doze.
Joe snorted and got into the driver’s seat.
Back at the house, Joe put his plan into action. He carried Pepa to the breezeway, while Austin followed behind.
“I figured she’d be more comfortable here. Single story, empty of too many obstacles. And we should be able to easily keep it warm and cozy with a space heater.”
“Good idea,” Austin said approvingly and settled both of the beds on the floor.
Joe eyed them up and then set Pepa down on the firmer bed, figuring that she could use all the help she could get when it came to moving around.
He didn’t want her to have to fight against mounds of unpredictable fluff while trying to get her limbs under her.
They pulled in all of their new purchases and set up a cozy little den with some of the old wool blankets they’d found in the house.
In one corner, Pepa lay in her new nest, and spilling out around her were more soft things—blankets, stuffed toys, her other bed.
In the neighboring corner were her food and water.
Austin took the bowls inside to wash and dry them while Joe set up the stand, then turned to the other side of the room.
He’d set down the puppy pads, a just-in-case move, when Austin returned with water and food.
Per Linda’s instructions, the bowl was pretty empty, but if Pepa was able to keep those bites down, they’d give her as much as she wanted later.
Not that Pepa was showing much interest in food. She was alternating between staring into space and wiggling and grunting in her nest.
Joe took a video of one of her doped-up wiggles—her face was burrowed in the soft fabric, and she was letting out happy little “grrr-ump” noises while her tail wagged her lumpy lopsided butt.
Then, on impulse, he sent the video to the family group chat.
Figuring he should probably do something productive before his kids took over his life, he switched over to his contacts and called Greg.
Joe was supposed to meet his crew on a job later to help out, but he knew he could trust Greg to make sure everything was done right and on time.
They didn’t need him today, and he told Greg there was a family emergency keeping him away.
“Hope the kids are all right, man,” Greg said kindly and promised Joe didn’t have a thing to worry about.
“Thanks,” Joe said wryly, and hung up.
The kids, human and dog alike, were going to be just fine, judging from the way Pepa melted into her nest under Austin’s belly rub and the way the family chat was blowing up.
OMG DOGGY!
its so cute!
Whose dog is it?
Joe???
DAD?!
DID YOU
GET
A DOG?!?!
JOE!
I’m coming over right now
WE are coming over
JOE!
Just so you know, I have already named it, and I’m severely emotionally attached and will be scarred for life if we don’t get to keep it.
Joe snorted.
Noted, Will. Though, fyi, she’s already been named.
He snapped another picture, this one of Austin kissing the top of her head as she snuggled into him.
Meet Pepa. Stealer of mac and cheese and fighter of coyotes.
WHAT?!
COYOTES?!
GAVIN, YOU’RE TAKING US TO DAD’S AFTER SCHOOL SO WE CAN INTERROGATE HIM IN PERSON!
Laughing, Joe pocketed his phone once more. He figured they had about an hour before the kids invaded the house.
“Hey, Austin, what do you think we can get done in an hour?”
“A lot of belly rubs?” he said ruefully. Under his hand, Pepa let out an enormous sigh and closed her eyes. “I kind of don’t want to leave her. How do people with dogs get anything done when they’re sick?”
“They probably don’t,” Joe decided. He didn’t want to leave the room either, but they would have to eventually, and Pepa needed to sleep to recover.
Soon enough the painkillers would start wearing off—she’d need them more then.
They should let her sleep while she could.
“But they also probably don’t have a hundred things to do before they can move into their house. ”
Austin raised his eyebrows. “You moving in?”
Joe gestured around them. “I mean, we’ve got a lot of work to do. And now we have a dog to look after. You think I’m going to miss out on my baby’s childhood?” He shook his head. “Besides, if I make it my primary residence I don’t get dinged as much on taxes when we sell it.”
You should move in properly too, he thought. The idea of Austin staying in the trailer when there were coyotes in the yard—when it was halfway through November and the smell of snow had started to hang in the air—sat wrong with him. But Austin wasn’t Joe’s kid; Joe couldn’t tell him what to do.
“Point.” Austin heaved out a breath and then dragged himself to his feet. “Okay. Let’s go rip up the kitchen floor.”