Chapter 33
Iunfolded the wagon I’d ordered to save me from having to make six trips with Brick’s stuff and started to fill it with dog beds, a collapsable crate, specialty food, three kinds of treats, and enough toys to supply an entire doggie daycare.
Brick, looking wary but not scared, stayed close enough to me to keep his leash slack.
He still occasionally leaned against me when we ventured out in public, as if to make sure I was still there.
But in the few weeks we’d been together, he’d started to lose his hunched the sky is falling look, opting instead for cautious optimism.
I loved him so much—both for his resilience and the way he’d started going into new situations expecting good things.
I knew I was doing a lot of anthropomorphizing, but I dared anyone who lived with a dog not to do the same.
Especially a dog who’d been through as much as Brick.
“Good God, man. I didn’t drag this much stuff around when the boys were babies.
” My sister smiled and leaned in to give me a quick hug.
“Who is this handsome boy?” She crouched down, offering her hand to the dog.
He sniffed cautiously and then apparently judging her safe and worthy, pressed his head into her palm for ear scratches.
“What a good boy.” She cooed a stream of praise, which elicited an exposed belly for tummy rubs.
I glanced from my sister and blissed-out dog to the house where my nephews pressed three eager faces against the storm door, practically vibrating with excitement.
“I told them to wait inside so we wouldn’t overwhelm the dog,” said my sister. “But I can’t guarantee how long the door will hold them.”
The dog sat up, crowding closer to Amanda and demanding attention.
He seemed more than ready to meet the heathens.
I motioned to my nephews, who tumbled out of the house in their hurry to meet the dog.
My sister stood, and Brick’s focus shifted to the approaching horde.
He glanced from me to my sister and back to the kids, but there was none of the timidity he’d had earlier.
Seeming to remember something their mother said, the kids checked themselves and stopped short of bowling over us.
“Hi, Uncle Jake,” they chorused, but their focus stayed glued to my dog.
“Hi, guys. This is Brick.” I gave the dog what I hoped was a reassuring pat on the head. “If you let him sniff your hand first, you can pet him.”
Using restraint I hadn’t been sure they possessed, they crouched down, offering the dog their hands in turn. After a moment of concentrated getting to know you sniffing, Brick went all in, flopping to his side and presenting his entire body, tummy included, for pets and all out adoration.
The boys dropped to their butts around him, scratching behind his ears, giving belly rubs, and repeating Brick’s good dog status while the dog soaked up like a sponge. Any concern I’d had at how he’d handle all the extra attention vanished in his happy puppy wiggles.
“Why don’t you guys take Brick’s stuff in the house. You can put his crate in the guest room where Uncle Jake is sleeping and the rest in the TV room.” Amanda’s voice penetrated the dog/boy lovefest and Thomas scrambled to his feet, reluctantly leaving his brothers and the dog.
He’d always been the responsible kid. The one most likely to follow the rules and exercise a modicum of caution in the face of his brothers’ jump off the roof daredevilry.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t game to jump off the roof if that’s what was called for, more that he paused long enough to make sure what they were jumping into would hold him.
I admired his ability to anticipate consequences before they happened.
I gave him the handle to the wagon and watched him set off on the walkway. Brick, picking up on the fact that his caravan of stuff was moving away from him, scrambled to his feet and stared at me with a you’ve got this under control, right? look.
“Uncle Jake, can I take Brick into the house? Please.” The last word came out as a two-syllable plea, and Mason put every bit of persuasion he could into his wide eyes.
“I’m going to hold onto him for now. Just until he gets comfortable,” I added as I peered into my nephews’ fallen expressions.
“You guys go help Thomas get his stuff set up,” said my sister. “Uncle Jake and I will be right there and then you can show Brick his temporary home.”
The other boys reluctantly headed to the house, only glancing back over their shoulders once to make sure we were following with Brick before racing after their brother. The dog gave a tug against his leash, clearly focused on the kids and the wagon carrying his treats.
“How was the party?” My sister barely waited for the kids to get ahead of us before pouncing on me with the question I knew she’d been dying to ask.
“I didn’t go.” The words sat like a lead weight in my stomach. If I had any question about the difference between being a chicken and setting healthy boundaries, the feeling in my gut answered it.
“How do you feel about that?” Amanda’s tone carried a surprising lack of judgment.
I stared down at the dog walking in front of us to avoid having to look at her, at least for a moment so I could try to corral the feelings pressing against the front of my head.
“Not great,” I finally answered as she held the front door open for me.
“Get the kids and dog settled in, and I’ll make us some iced tea.” She gave my hand a squeeze before hitting the kids with a Vulcan death glare, guaranteed to keep them in line for the next five minutes. “Uncle Jake is in charge. Listen to what he says.”
I unclipped Brick’s leash, and he immediately set out to sniff everything in the room, starting with the perimeter and working his way to my nephews in full-on dog rapture.
I kept half an eye on him in case he decided to mark his new territory and gave the rest of my attention to the kids, who’d managed to empty the wagon of its contents.
In an uncharacteristic move, Mason stacked the treats and dog food together while James arranged the toys by size and squeak power. Thomas had the collapsable panels of the dog crate spread out on the ground in front of him.
“I know your mom said to put that in my room, but why don’t we set it up down here where we’re spending most of our time. It will give Brick a place he feels safe if he needs a break.” I watched Thomas work through the puzzle in his head. “Start with the base.”
I pointed to the bottom of the crate and then helped him stand up and attach the sides and top. Mason wrestled a dog bed in through the opening, and I could practically see the wheels turning as my nephews ran through possibilities for capturing each other in the crate.
“The dog is the only one allowed in there.” I tapped Mason between his shoulders until he backed out of the crate. “It’s like his den. He needs it in case he gets nervous.”
“We won’t make him nervous, Uncle Jake,” said Thomas, giving his brothers a modified version of their mother’s glare.
“I know you won’t do it on purpose, but Brick was at the shelter for a really long time—over a year,” I said, and my nephews gasped. “He still gets overwhelmed being out with everyone and all the noise and stuff.”
My dog picked that moment to flop down and roll onto his back again, stretched out and waiting for belly rubs.
He didn’t look overwhelmed. He looked like he intended to embrace everything he could about his new life.
I thought for a moment about how brave he was.
For so long his whole world had narrowed to the space inside an eight-foot-by-eight-foot kennel.
“A year must have seemed like forever in dog years,” said Thomas. “Why was he there for so long?”
I ignored the temptation to comment on dog years not working like that and focused on the salient part.
“I think people had a hard time getting to know him. He’s a big dog.
He’s getting a lot better, but he wasn’t great on a leash and he had a ton of energy, which made it hard for him to wait patiently for a new family to get to know him.
After a while, I imagine he just got used to being in the kennel, which probably made all the previous stuff even harder. ”
“He’s lucky he’s got Uncle Jake.” My sister crossed from the kitchen and handed me a glass of iced tea.
“And us,” said Mason. “Brick’s got us too.”
“That makes him extra lucky.” I watched the dog soak in all the affection my nephews lavished on him. “Actually, though, I feel like the really lucky one. My life is so much better with Brick in it.”
“I think we’re all lucky,” said my sister, crouching down in the middle of the boys and dog, and rubbing Brick’s exposed belly. “I left tea for you guys on the kitchen table. You have to go in there if you want it.”
“And Cheez-its?” James clasped his hands together as if cheese crackers were the answer to all the problems in this world, which might be closer to true than I was comfortable admitting.
“No sharing people food with the dog,” said my sister, opening a whole new area of worry I hadn’t explored.
“It can make him sick and teach him bad habits. Here.” I went through the carefully laid out bags of food and treats and retrieved a pouch of Brick’s favorite biscuits. “Why don’t you guys each give him a treat before you go get yours. That way he won’t learn to beg and get himself in trouble.”
They jostled each other a bit to get into a line, and I handed them each a bite sized biscuit. Brick watched the proceedings as if he didn’t quite trust his luck. I took one for myself so I could show the kids how to do it and then motioned for Brick to come to me.