Chapter 8 #2
“I can’t tell you how much comfort your dog brought to me,” I say, and the words feel too big, too honest, spilling out faster than I can filter them. “I was going to get hold of the sanctuary to see if I could find out what happened to him. He took off, and I was worried he’d get lost.”
As I say the words, I’m hit with the realization that my dog belongs to someone else. A little weight settles low in my stomach, heavy and stupid.
“I’m so glad you came,” I add, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s a relief to know he’s okay. I also wanted to give him a reward. If you wait here, I’ll get my purse.”
I step back, ready to turn, but Beau blurts, “Oh no, ma’am. We didn’t come here for that.”
“Violet.” The correction snaps out of me sharper than I intended. It’s stupid, but I’ve already lost so much of my identity that I don’t want to be just a blanket ma’am.
“Violet, gotcha.” His tone warms. “We didn’t come for a reward. It’s… uh… Jason here has been in my care until we found a match for him. He’s a big wol—dog, and some folks are nervous because of his size. But you didn’t seem bothered by that at all.”
Hope blooms in my belly so fast it burns. A bright, stupid, impossible spark flares before I can stomp it out. But hope is dangerous for me, so I swallow hard and focus on the words, not the feeling clawing at my ribs.
Wait.
Did he say… Jason?
I blink. “Jason?”
“That’s his name.”
A smile slams into my face before I can fight it. I try. I really do.
“Th… that’s not a very dog-like name,” I manage, my voice tripping over itself.
“Eh. It fits him once you get to know him.”
I can practically hear the shrug in Beau’s voice, easy, casual, like naming a creature the size of a small bear “Jason” is the most normal thing in the world.
Jason makes a low, offended grumble that vibrates through the air.
The air shifts, and it feels like Beau bends down. I hear him scratching Jason’s fur. “What’s the matter, boy? You don’t like your name?”
Another soft growl pierces the air, and we both laugh. God, I already adore him.
“So,” Beau says, and his voice comes at me from above. I assume he stood up. “The sanctuary said you were asking after him yesterday? They figured we could do a trial match. See how y’all gel. If not, no worries, there are other dogs.”
The words hit me like a warm gust of air straight to the chest.
A trial match.
With him.
Warmth floods me so fast it’s dizzying. I grip the doorframe with my free hand, grounding myself before the swell of emotion carries me away.
Because this isn’t just a dog. Not to me.
Not after yesterday. He’s the presence that made my mind go quiet for the first time in a year.
And now I’m being offered a chance to keep that?
To keep him? “Oh, I… yes. Yes, absolutely yes. I… hold on. I should pay you. Do you have a number? I think the program said something about a hundred-and-fifty dollar enrollment fee. I’ll just get my phone. ”
My words tumble out too fast, like if I don’t pay immediately, someone might snatch him away again.
I dart inside, feet finding the familiar rhythm of my living room layout.
It’s a straight path, thank God, so I don’t end up hip-checking furniture or stubbing a toe.
Even so, my pulse is racing by the time my fingers close around my phone on the counter.
I whirl back toward the door, moving fast enough that the air whips my dress against my legs, and make it back in record time, somewhat breathlessly.
“Okay,” I say, trying, and failing, to sound like a normal, composed adult woman who is not vibrating with excitement over a dog. “Who do I send it to?”
“Send what?” Beau sounds genuinely confused.
“The fee,” I say, heat already creeping up my neck.
He lets out a startled laugh. “Oh! No, that comes after the trial period. You don’t pay a thing until you decide he’s your forever dog.”
“Oh. That’s… thank you, that’s very honest,” I manage, hoping he can’t hear the embarrassment dripping off me.
He clears his throat. “We try.”
But there’s something underneath those two words, some shift in tone, some flicker of emotion that tells me “we try” isn’t a slogan. It’s a quiet truth. A promise.
Whoever this man is, he’s nothing like the pushy salesperson I’d braced myself for.
Nothing like the people who treated me like a resource after my accident. Nothing like the sudden calls, the rehearsed sympathy, the expectation's weight.
Jason nudges my thigh like he belongs here already, like he’s anchoring me with a single touch. The pressure is gentle, a quiet assurance of his presence, which unspools something warm in my stomach.
I guess I should stop being rude and invite them in.
“Come in,” I say, stepping aside, hoping it hides the flutter in my chest. “Let me show him around.”
“You’re not worried I’m a serial killer anymore?”
Heat spreads up my cheeks. “No, I trust Jason.”
The dog pads inside, his footfalls soft and quiet.
“All right, big guy,” I murmur, trailing my fingers along his side. His fur is warm beneath my palm, and it makes my shoulders unclench. “Let’s give you the tour.”
We end up in the kitchen almost without thinking, and somehow, I don’t even remember when it started, but I’m talking to him more than Beau. Narrating cabinets, countertops, corners, explaining layouts like he’s my new roommate instead of a dog I met less than twenty-four hours ago.
It should make me feel ridiculous. Embarrassed, even.
I’m fussing over him like he’s the honored guest, and Beau is just the guy who drove him here. But I’m not embarrassed. How could I be, when Jason is the one who’s staying?
This wasn’t the plan. None of this was the plan. I was supposed to be sensible.
I was supposed to interview dogs like job candidates, weigh the pros and cons, build trust slowly, carefully, and responsibly. Take my time. But everything changed. It doesn’t feel like a process. It feels like a reunion.
And although I’ve read the pamphlets, listened to the videos, done all the homework, I’m suddenly overwhelmed.
Completely, totally, breathtakingly overwhelmed.
“I guess today is just for settling in,” I say. It comes out more to myself than to anyone else, especially when I realize the “tour” went far too quickly. I could’ve walked him in circles for hours and still not been ready.
“No tasks yet. Just… getting comfortable.”
Jason licks my fingers. Just one swipe of a warm tongue and it feels like he is saying, “I’m here.”
“Okay,” I laugh, “maybe very comfortable.”
Beau clears his throat.
I jump a little because, honestly, I almost forgot he existed.
“He’ll need supplies,” he says gently. “A bed, bowl, grooming stuff, toys. Maybe a harness?”
“Oh! Right.” My stomach drops straight through the kitchen floor. “Oh god, I have nothing. I have absolutely nothing. I wasn’t expecting—”
“Don’t worry,” Beau says, easy and reassuring, like he’s done this speech a hundred times. “First days are like that. If you’ve got an old ice-cream tub, that’ll do for now. You can even lift the toilet lid for him. Don’t ask me why, but he loves drinking outta the toilet.”
Jason lets out a low, offended growl. The vibration hums through my leg where he’s leaning, and the sound shoots warmth straight up my spine.
Beau snorts. “See? He knows exactly what I’m saying.”
I bite back a laugh that bubbles up unexpectedly.
Jason presses against my thigh. Indignant. Like he’s telling Beau, Retract your toilet slander immediately, human.
“No… no, it’s fine,” I say quickly, swiping to unlock my phone. My hands are shaking a little. “I’ll just… order an Uber. We’ll go to the pet store.”
At the word store, Jason perks up like someone just announced walkies, his tail thumping softly against my leg. He absolutely understands the plan. And the excitement curling through me is embarrassing and impossible to smother.
I add the destination using Braille Screen Input, and when the car arrives, Beau hands me a leash.
“For him,” he says. “Just until he gets settled.”
Jason snorts indignantly, like leashes are beneath him.
I smile. “Seems like Jason is a bit of a free spirit.”
Beau hesitates before answering, and the pause is so slight most people would miss it. But I don’t. “He’ll live,” Beau says at last. For the second time today, I get the feeling that there’s more to what Beau is saying, but I don’t get to ponder it any longer because Beau interrupts my thoughts.
“Listen,” he says, “I’m going to leave you to it. I’ll be around in a couple of days to see how it’s going.”
He leaves, and I grab a thin jacket. When we step outside and Jason presses close, creating a warm wall of fur and trust, the Uber driver audibly gasps.
“Oh, wow. That’s a… big dog.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “He’s gentle.”
Jason snorts. Does he have allergies or something? I should check with Beau when I see him again.
Inside the pet store, it’s like someone bottled chaos and pumped it through the air vents.
Squeaky toys are screaming, kibble bags crinkling, children shrieking joyfully, and there’s a dog a few aisles away who sounds like he’s making a TikTok thirst trap for other dogs. Lots of enthusiasm. Zero technique.
But Jason ignores all of it, staying glued to me.
“I need…” I start.
My phone pings as I use dictation. “What does a seeing-eye dog need on day one?”
The robotic voice reads: “Basic necessities include collar and water bowls, harness, leash, treats, grooming tools, enrichment toys, dental chews—”
Jason takes two steps away, then nudges my shin. Hard.
I reach out. Bowl.
I laugh. “Okay, I guess we’re starting with that.”
As we move, I use the Be My Eyes app to scan labels. The volunteer on the other side describes colors, brands, and price tags. But the weirdest thing keeps happening. Every time I say I’m looking for something, Jason seems to find it before the volunteer does.
Every. Single. Item.
Harness? He guides my hand toward the hanging metal buckles.
Soft bed? He noses the display until I touch the fluff.
Treats? He drops a bag in my hand like a man on a mission.
“Are you…” I stop mid-sentence, kneeling. “Are you leading me?”
Jason whines as if to deny it.
I laugh. “I think you are. Have I just bagged the most intelligent seeing-eye dog ever? You know, Jason, I am going to go with yes, no matter how crazy it sounds. The universe owes me. Big time.”
He places a paw larger than my hand into my palm as if to say, “Damn straight.” Or maybe that’s just me losing my marbles. Violet Ashford reporting for crazy duty.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “You’re ridiculously cute.”
My heart squeezes. No matter how impossible it seems, he really is helping me. Guiding me. Choosing me.
Wait ’til I tell Meemaw and Hattie about him.
We leave the store with more bags than I intended, and Jason tugs one until I let go and he can carry it in his mouth. I mean come on. I’d like to know if any other seeing-eye dogs are this helpful. In the Uber, he rests his head on my knee.
And for the first time in a long time, something inside me whispers that maybe I really could do this. Maybe independence isn’t a fantasy. Maybe trust isn’t foolish. Maybe connection isn’t something only sighted people get to have.
Because sitting here, with a giant, quiet, gentle creature breathing softly against my thigh, I feel safe.
And hopeful.
And not alone.