Part 7
More than a year later, Erin had completed her handler education, and she and Gus had passed their team evaluation and registered together for short, supervised visits. Dr. Shah had also confirmed that Gus remained medically fit for those visits. On the first Tuesday in March, the children’s room held four floor cushions, two chairs, one blue rug, and no banner.
Rain ticked against the windows as Louise opened the door.
The first child entered holding her book against her chest. Her name was Nora. She was eight, wore purple glasses, and had selected a chapter book so ambitious that her mother tried twice to persuade her to trade it for something easier. Louise gently directed the mother to a chair outside the reading area.
A second child followed. The third, a boy in a red sweatshirt, stopped just inside the doorway with a thin book in both hands. Louise did not hurry him.
Owen checked their names off the list, pointed to the sign asking families to keep phones put away, and showed the adults where to wait. When a father asked for one quick picture, Owen said, “Afterward, outside, if Erin says Gus is up for it.”
Gus lay on the blue rug. He wore his padded harness but no vest. Eli had brought the yellow raincoat and folded it beneath his front legs; Gus had chewed one corner into a fringe. His right hind foot had dragged when he circled the rug, so Erin waited until he settled comfortably before she nodded to Louise.
In the adjoining story room, the backup team—a gray poodle named Pearl and her handler—waited with the connecting door open. Eli sat in the nearest chair with his own book closed on his lap. They had agreed he was not there to perform. He could help Louise welcome the children, refill the water bowl, and read only if he wanted to.
Nora took the cushion closest to Gus. She opened her book to a marked page and read the title. The first paragraph went quickly. In the second, she met a long word and stopped. Her mother shifted behind the glass partition.
Nora tried the first syllable. Then she looked toward the adults, saw them watching, and closed the book halfway.
Gus remained where he was. His eyes had drifted shut.
“He fell asleep,” Nora whispered.
“He does that,” Eli said.
“Was I boring?”
“No. He snores when he likes a spot.”
As if prompted, Gus released a rough little rumble through his nose. The second child giggled. Nora did too, but the laughter did not point at him. It loosened something in the room. She opened the book again.
The difficult word was expedition. Nora made it to ex and stalled.
Eli leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Ex-pe-di-tion.”
He had to slow down on the third syllable. Nora watched his mouth.
“Expedition,” she repeated.
“That’s it.”
She continued to the end of the paragraph. Gus shifted his chin from the raincoat to the bottom edge of the page.
The boy in the red sweatshirt was still standing near the door. He looked from the blue rug to the strangers on the cushions.
“What if I get stuck?” he asked.
Eli moved an empty cushion a little closer to Gus.
“You probably will,” he said. “Everybody does.”
The boy looked ready to leave, so Eli opened the thin book to the first page and rested it where they could both see.
“Gus is good at waiting.”
The old shepherd settled his chin on the yellow coat. The boy sat down, and after a while, he began.