Chapter 30
Ava
When we pulled up to the blue house after our trip to Dallas, I turned to the back seat. “Rosie! We’re home!”
Rosie lifted her red-gold head, her warm brown eyes on me.
I was definitely in love. Both Tucker and I were.
Glenda had shown us all the commands Rosie could do. She would sit and watch your face no matter what commotion was going on. No squirrel, cat, toy, or food could distract her.
She could open the fridge with a pull rope and extract a bottle of water to bring you. She jumped onto tall counters to bring medicine bottles.
When I pretended to fall, she dove beneath me, making sure I didn’t hit my head. Then she shoved her nose under my shoulder to roll me to my side, the proper position for someone seizing who might aspirate on their back.
But in addition to her skills, she was a lovable goof. One of the things that got her disqualified from K-9 duty was her incurable urge to lick people’s faces. When I sat on the ground, I got nonstop slobbery kisses until I laughed and pushed her nose away.
“Even I can’t break her of that,” Glenda had said, laughing. “Good thing it’s not going to hurt anything.”
“It might even make Ava laugh coming out of a seizure,” Tucker said. “That might be a good thing.”
He was right. I was always so angry and fearful after a reset. Maybe Rosie would be the trick to changing that. She made me giggle in ways I rarely ever felt.
I didn’t fool myself into thinking I would never have another memory loss. Life had a way of intervening in our careful routine. Wedding days. Stress. Med changes.
We had prepared for the next one carefully. I had a new scrapbook. I had more videos. All we had to do was add Rosie.
Tucker pulled up into the driveway. “Welcome home, Rosie!”
Rosie pressed her nose to the window, looking out. I watched her from the front seat, wondering what she was thinking. Did she miss her first home? The trainer? Glenda?
“You’ve been through about as many new starts as I have,” I told her. “Let’s have some fun.”
Tucker opened the back door and unhooked her from the safety harness. I came around the car and took her leash, walking the way Glenda had shown me so Rosie could follow at the right pace and proximity.
“Well, lookie at that!” Our neighbor Isadora walked across the lawn from next door. “You got a dog!”
“Yes, this is Rosie,” I told her. “Rosie, sit.”
Isadora approached, tugging on the faded T-shirt sprinkled with dirt. She wore the kneepads she used when she gardened and an enormous straw hat. She stripped off her muddy gloves. “Hello, Rosie!”
Rosie sat perfectly still, ignoring Isadora to watch me instead.
“She’s a service dog,” I said. “For my seizures.”
Isadora patted Rosie’s head. “Seizures? I didn’t realize you had epilepsy, dear.” She glanced at my big belly.
It was time to tell the neighbors. My father had said so when we announced the pregnancy. He was right. We needed as many people as possible on our team as we hurtled toward having a baby.
“Yes, I was diagnosed when I was six.” I pressed my hand to my belly.
Isadora noticed. “Are you worried about the baby?”
“No, no. Well, of course. I guess it could be inherited, although no one else in my family has it. I guess we got Rosie because we were worried I’d have a medical emergency after the baby comes.”
“Oh, my word. You’re right.” Isadora stuck her gloves between her knees and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.
“I’m so close. I could help with the baby, especially if you need to go to an emergency doctor visit.
I raised two of my own, you know. What’s your number? I’ll text you so you have mine.”
I gave her the digits. Tucker set the suitcase inside the front door and came back down the steps. “Hello, Isadora.”
“I’m giving Ava my number in case she needs help when the baby comes. She was telling me about the seizures. It sounds so serious.”
Tucker’s gaze met mine. “Did you tell her about the memory loss?”
I hadn’t. I should.
Isadora had stopped typing. “What do you mean, memory loss?”
I reached down to pet Rosie’s head. Stroking her soft fur was awfully calming. “When I have a seizure, it wipes out my memory. So, I might not know who you are. I won’t know who I am, actually.”
Isadora drew in a sharp breath. “My word! What about the baby? You won’t remember that either?”
I shook my head. “That’s why we have Rosie. She can call for help if something happens.”
“Oh, you have to let me know,” Isadora said. “I can be here faster than anybody.” She quickly tapped out her message.
I turned to Tucker. “I guess we could put her number on the button we were going to use for Dad. That would make more sense. He’s so far away.”
Tucker nodded. “Good idea. Thank you, Isadora. We’ll come around more often. Maybe you and Ted can come over for dinner.”
“Oh, no. We should host you. Ava has to be so tired. I remember those days. And I can bring food when the baby arrives. Oh, it’s so exciting! I don’t have any grandbabies yet.”
Everybody sure wanted grandchildren around.
Isadora tucked her phone away right as mine buzzed.
“Thank you, Isadora,” I said. “We’re going to show Rosie around the house.”
“You two take care,” she said, reaching for her gloves. “I’ll text you for a good night to have dinner.”
“Sounds good. Come, Rosie,” I said. Rosie fell into step beside me, watching my every move. She really was unmovable.
We followed the instructions Glenda had left for us, first showing Rosie her automatic food dispenser and water bowl, then the back door, which she easily unlocked and pulled open with the newly installed curved lever and a tug rope.
Then to the refrigerator, where another tug rope was ready for her to open and extract a water bottle.
“Medicine bottle,” I told her, tapping a bottle on the counter near the microwave.
Rosie rose onto her hind legs, assessing the situation, and decided she could move the bottle closer and snag it with her mouth rather than jump up.
“Good dog, Rosie!” I said, rubbing her head. “Let’s find the telephone.”
The new landline was in the living room near the front door. We showed it to her.
“Call 911, Rosie,” I said. “Call 911.”
Rosie pushed the biggest call button and returned to sit at my feet. We had purposefully left the cord out of the wall so it wouldn’t call as we tested.
I sat on the floor. “Call button one,” I said. “Call button one.”
Rosie raced back to the phone and pushed the smaller button on the bottom right. Then she returned to me.
I held on to both of her soft ears. “What a good dog you are, Rosie. Good dog.”
“We should practice you collapsing later,” Tucker said. “But right now, you probably really do want to collapse.”
He wasn’t wrong. “We need to show her the dog bed, and then I’ll lie down.”
We all walked to the bedroom, where a low trampoline-style bed waited at the end of ours. Rosie recognized it as hers and sat beside it, waiting for our command.
“Go to bed, Rosie,” I said. “Go to bed.”
Rosie climbed onto the spring surface, shifting the soft blanket around to her liking. Then she lowered her head.
“What a good dog,” I said, leaning down to pet her.
“She’s going to be the perfect addition to our home,” Tucker said.
I couldn’t agree more.