Chapter 7
Keanna
This dog is gorgeous. I didn’t know dogs could be so beautiful and majestic, and…
intimidating. He’s huge! Caleb says he’s a sable German Shepherd Dog, and sable is the type of coloring on his fur.
He’s so much bigger than typical German Shepherds I’ve seen before.
Caleb says he’s the Czech line GSD, which was bred for war with bigger bones and a straight back.
But luckily for us, he may have been bred for war, but Arko is a little cuddle bug.
He never had “bite” training like some police dogs do.
All he did was search for explosive odors, and Caleb gives us a list of his incredible career accomplishments.
Because Arko worked in Houston, where a lot of famous people tend to travel, he got to work with the US Secret Service to protect the President and Vice President of two administrations, mayors, foreign dignitaries, and he even worked the Super Bowl and Chevron Marathon. How freaking cool is that?
I take notes on my phone as Caleb tells us all about him.
His feeding schedule, his favorite type of ball (the glow in the dark kind), and how he needs a lot of exercise each day.
Harper listens intently, like she’s memorizing everything the grownups are talking about.
Weeks ago, when we started tossing around the idea of getting a dog, Jett and I talked to her about the importance of caring for a living creature and how it’s a big responsibility.
I can see now that those talks paid off.
Caleb kneels down to Harper’s level. “Would you like to try some behavior commands with him?”
She nods, still too shy to talk to this stranger just yet. He hands the leash to her while Arko stands, panting happily, his head nearly as tall as she is.
“Arko speaks German,” Caleb tells her. His voice softens when he speaks to her.
He’s really good with kids. I wonder if he has any of his own, even though I don’t see a wedding ring.
He’s pretty good-looking, too. Instantly, my mind starts running through all the single women I know, wondering if I could set him up with someone.
“He speaks?” Harper says, eyes wide.
We all laugh.
“No, sorry.” Caleb grins. “I guess what I should have said is that Arko understands German. So the word for sit in German is zitz,” he says.
“Zitz,” Harper says. Arko doesn’t do anything, but she’s looking at Caleb when she says it.
“Perfect! Now look at Arko and when he’s watching you back, tell him to sit.”
“Arko,” she says. The big dog turns to her, tail wagging. “Zitz!”
He sits. She squeals in delight.
“Amazing,” Caleb says, giving her a high five. “You’re going to be a great little sister to Arko.”
“Little sister?” she balks.
“Arko is six,” he says. “That makes him the big brother, if you think about it.”
Caleb gives us a printout of all his German commands.
Luckily, there’s also a phonetic pronunciation guide next to each one.
We all take turns learning the words for sit, stay, lay down, stand, and—Harper’s favorite—shake.
Arko is a very well behaved dog, even though it’s obvious that he’d rather be playing ball right now.
He keeps glancing at it on the ground, like he’s hoping one of us will throw it again.
After loading up the truck with his supplies, including a new travel crate, it’s time to sign some adoption papers and say goodbye.
“Just call me if you need anything,” Caleb says. “I have a feeling Arko will be very loved and happy at his new home.”
My chest aches. He doesn’t exactly have a new home…
He’s going to be taking refuge at my in-laws just like we are.
I don’t tell Caleb this, and neither does Jett.
It feels wrong, like we’re lying to him.
But I think we both feel the same way…he might not let us have the dog if we aren’t giving him an actual home right now.
But it’s okay, we’ll get him a home. Eventually.
At Jace and Bayleigh’s house, everyone is totally in love with our new dog.
Jace’s little sister Brooke might be a little too excited about Arko.
She can’t keep her hands off him, constantly wanting to play, pet, and hog all the attention away from Harper, who is not handling her jealousy well.
It’s a good thing that Arko is getting lots of exercise tonight, but it’s never okay if my kid is unhappy.
After dinner, she comes to me with tears in her eyes. Crawling into my lap, she says, “I don’t like Brooke.”
“Oh honey, why is that?”
She pouts her bottom lip out and crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s playing with Arko too much. Arko is my dog!”
I wrap my arms around my little girl, constantly surprised and how much she’s grown in such a short time. “Sometimes we need to share, especially with family. Arko is new here and he’s just getting to know everyone and making friends.”
“He’s sub-bosed to be my best friend!” she says, making her pouty frown even pouty-ier and frown-ier.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
I’m also a little annoyed at how much Brooke is playing with Arko.
We are in Brooke’s house after all, and it wouldn’t be right of me to tell her to leave our dog alone.
But I don’t want Harper upset, either. This is the kind of mom stuff that always makes me feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.
I didn’t have a mom to help me through rough times when I was her age.
I draw in a deep breath and give her a soft smile.
“I know it’s hard to see another kid playing with Arko, but guess what? ”
“What?”
“When it’s time to go to bed tonight, guess where we put his dog bed?”
“Where?” she says, eyes getting wide with curiosity.
“Right next to your bed!”
She bursts into a smile, then looks confused a second later. “Wait, where is my bed?”
I’m not certain that she fully understands we’re going to be living here now until our house is rebuilt. I take her hand and put on a big smile so she doesn’t realize how much this situation sucks. “Let’s go see.”
Jett’s old bedroom is largely the same as the day he left it.
Same bed, same TV, same dresser, but all the clothes are gone and the closet is empty.
We bought our own new furniture when we got our own house, so there’s still a bed in here for us to sleep on.
Across the room is a brand new toddler bed.
It’s a simple pink frame, and the only thing they had at the first store we had time to go to before getting Arko.
The sheets are also brand new, with dinosaur print, which is Harper’s favorite animal right now.
Jett’s parents set it up for us while we were out picking up Arko today.
“Cool bed!” she says, jumping on the small mattress and pointing to all the different dinosaurs on the bed.
“And look what’s right next to it,” I say, pointing to the dog bed.
“Arko’s bed!”
“Yep!”
She looks around the room, taking it all in. She comes to her grandparents’ house all the time, but I don’t think they ever spend much time upstairs. “I want that bed!” she says, pointing to Jett’s old bed.
“That’s Mommy and Daddy’s bed,” I tell her.
Her frown comes back. “This is my new room.”
“Well, it’s our room, too. All three of us are staying in this room.”
“I want my own room with my own toys,” she says, sounding like she’s two seconds away from a total toddler meltdown.
“I’m sorry, honey. We will get you some new toys, but we all have to share this room for now.”
”I want to go home,” she says, staring at the floor.
How do you tell a kid she no longer has her home anymore?
I explain the best I can, but Harper is only four years old and I know she doesn’t fully understand and also doesn’t want to accept that the home and bedroom she had just two days ago no longer exists. I can barely accept it myself.
And now we have this awesome new dog, but everyone else gets to play with him. I can’t blame Brooke for liking Arko so much, but even I start to get annoyed as the week goes on.
My in-laws don’t have a fenced in yard. It’s just acres of land that borders the family dirt bike business next door, and this has never been an issue before but now with a dog, it’s hard to have a yard that’s not enclosed.
Sure, he’s a highly trained dog, but none of us trust that Arko wouldn’t take off running away from us while he’s still getting used to his new family, so he can only go outside on a leash.
He’s also on the Alden K9 schedule, and I guess those guys like waking up at the butt-crack of dawn because every morning, Arko wants to go outside to pee at five a.m..
When Brooke offers to take him out on his early morning pee breaks, we agree, just so we can get some precious hours of sleep.
But after a few days, it’s like she thinks Arko is her dog.
She tries to feed him and walk him and do everything with him, often doing it just before Harper gets to help.
It’s creating a tension that I’m not sure how to solve.
And Arko thinks being on a leash all the time is freaking stupid.
“I don’t blame you, buddy.”
It’s been a week of living here, and Arko is acting super annoyed after his dinner.
He keeps finding his glow-in-the-dark ball, no matter where I hide it in the house, and then he brings it to me with a look on his face that’s begging me to throw it for him.
His little pleading eyes melt right through me and I can’t take disappointing him anymore.
“You need a fenced in yard,” I say, ruffling the fur on top of his head. “And I don’t have a fenced in yard for you right now.”
Chills prickle over my arms. “Actually…” He tilts his head, like he’s reading my mind, or like he’s just smart enough to know what I’m thinking. “I technically do own a fenced in yard…it’s just attached to a house that burned down.
The fence didn’t burn. The back yard is still there. Technically.
“Let’s go.”
I jog back into the house, Arko happily jogging beside me on his leash. “Jett!”
I find him sitting on the floor next to Harper, his attention focused on trying to put together one of her new puzzle toys. “What’s up babe,” he says, brows squishing together as he focuses on attaching two pieces.
“Arko needs a yard. Let’s take him to our yard.”
“Huh?” he says, then about two seconds later he realizes what I mean. “You think so?”
“Why not?” I say with a shrug. “We still own the property.”
“True.”
So what’s what we do—we load into Jett’s truck and drive across town to the rubble of our home. Except, it’s not rubble anymore.
“Wow,” I say, stepping out of the truck with my jaw basically on the ground. “How did they do that so fast?”
“Beats me,” Jett says. The burned rubble of our home has been cleaned up all the way down to the concrete foundation. Everything is gone.
I knew a construction type cleanup crew was supposed to do that, but I guess I didn’t know how fast they can do such a thing.
It looks so much nicer, now. But it also stirs up that pain in my chest again, knowing that all of our stuff is gone, and the home we have so many memories in is gone forever.
At least the memories will stay with us, even if the stuff didn’t.
Technically the yard is only seventy-five percent fenced in since the area where our house was is now a concrete slab, but it feels safer with these three walls than it did at his parents’ house.
We get his glow-in-the-dark ball and walk Arko to the back yard. Harper runs around, arms out at her sides like she’s an airplane. Maybe we’ve all felt a little cooped up lately.
I unhook Arko’s leash once we’re in the back yard. “All right, boy. Now you can run!”
Jett throws the ball and Arko takes off like a rocket ship.
His happiness is abundant in the way he chases after the ball, tail wagging the whole time.
Caleb had told us that two balls was the trick to playing with a working dog.
You throw one ball, and while he’s bringing it back, you have another ball in your hand to throw.
After just a few throws, Jett and Arko slide into an awesome rhythm.
It’s like a dance, in a way. Arko runs after the ball, returns it at Jett’s feet, then takes off for the next ball.
“You want to try, Mommy?” Jett says, holding out a ball for me.
I don’t know why, but it’s sexy when he calls me that.
I take his place at the corner of the yard and toss the ball.
It’s fun, but one thing Caleb did not tell us—the ball gets slobbery!
My hand is sticky and gross after a few throws, and I make a mental note to get some rubber gloves or something next time we play fetch, especially here where there’s no sink to rinse off.
Harper finds a few toys in the back yard that were untouched by the fire, and she plays with them, showing each one to Arko. We’re here for over an hour, with nothing to do but play with our dog as a family, and it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
Jett gets a phone call and walks over to sit on the concrete foundation while he talks. I don’t know who called, and I don’t really care at first. Then I see him smiling and laughing, and I wonder what’s so funny.
“They’re calling it a comeback?” he says, laughing. “I was only there for one race!”
I toss the ball, keeping my attention on him. “No, I haven’t seen the articles,” he says. “Way too busy with the house stuff and the family.”
I swallow. Maybe it’s Marcus? Or one of the Team Loco guys?
“I don’t know man…Shit, I wish.”
My ears strain to hear him while I’m acting like I’m not eavesdropping.
What is wrong with me? I’m his wife—I should just go over there and ask who he’s talking to.
But something holds me back. He runs a hand through his hair.
“Bro, it felt awesome. I missed it so much…They’re saying what about me?
” He chuckles. “You know what…tell them sure. Or maybe. Say maybe.”
Maybe what?
Maybe he’ll go back to professional racing?
My heart sinks. Jett loved motocross before he loved me. Then he gave it all up for me. Maybe he regrets that. Maybe all the crap in our lives right now makes him wish he was several states away, with only a dirt bike race to worry about.
Maybe that’s what he’s talking about.