Part 4
“Another week would help,” Mara said. Ben nodded before she could begin explaining the repairs. She put the clipboard under her arm and went back to the front desk.
Their visits settled around his shifts. He brought Finn before work when he could, afterward when he couldn’t, and began keeping a dry pair of gloves in the truck. Nell could bear more weight on her left leg now, though fatigue still made her hitch her hip.
Dr. Voss showed Ben how little exercise she wanted at a time. In the small treatment-yard enclosure, he placed treats a few steps apart and let Nell walk between them on the nonslip surface. Finn came along, apparently convinced every piece of food on the ground was available to him.
At the third treat he darted in from Nell’s right. She leaned a shoulder against him, moved him just far enough to claim it, and ate while he stood blinking. Ben heard Mara laugh from the doorway.
“You waited too long,” he told Finn.
Nell licked a crumb from the mat. Her tail moved once, and she came toward Ben for the next treat. He held it low rather than asking her to stretch, letting her finish with something easy.
Two afternoons later, Finn carried his ball into the exercise area and left it while Ben adjusted his lead. Nell picked it up. By the time Finn noticed, she had backed several steps away, dark eyes fixed on him over the faded rubber.
They made a small, awkward circuit of the room. Ben kept the pace slow, ready to stop them, but Nell tired first and set the ball down. Finn reclaimed it at once. Nell went to her water bowl, leaving him with no one to chase.
Ben found himself watching for these small refusals. She had preferences now that extended beyond where she could lie without hurting. When he arrived late one afternoon, she was already at her door, her ears raised.
“She heard the truck,” Mara said. “Before I did.”
Finn was still at Ben’s house. He had come straight from the station, without a ball or a treat in his pocket. Mara opened the gate, and Nell walked directly to him and rested her head against his leg.
Ben stroked the fur behind her ear. She pushed into his fingers until his wrist tilted. He kept his hand there.
When he got home, Finn was waiting at the front window. Ben saw the pale head vanish and heard paws running toward the door. He came in talking about the long shift before he realized he was doing it.
Finn followed him to the refrigerator and sat. Ben told him to get out of the kitchen. The puppy backed up a few feet, still able to see everything Ben took from the shelves.
“You know where the doorway is.”
Finn remained where he was. Ben stepped around him with the milk, put it on the counter, and noticed that he hadn’t turned on the radio all week. He left it alone.
Later, the door to the spare room stood ajar. Ben had been in there briefly to put Ranger’s leash away after the escape, working quickly, keeping his eyes off the other things. Tonight he lowered himself beside the box and lifted the lid properly.
Ranger’s collar lay under the lead. Beneath them were photographs, a spare clip, and the little odds and ends Ben had swept out of drawers fourteen months earlier. In one picture, Ranger occupied most of the sofa while Ben sat on the far edge, one hip nearly off the cushion.
He remembered the weight of that dog shifting whenever Ben tried to get comfortable. He could almost hear the displeased grunt. The memory made him turn the photograph over, then turn it back again.
A folded note had slipped between two pictures. In Ben’s handwriting it said to buy Ranger a bed. He had written it after the old dog flattened the padding in another one and took to sleeping on the rug.
He had never bought it. For a while he sat with the paper between his fingers, caught on the plainness of the errand. There was no urgency in the handwriting, no sign that he ought to have paid better attention to the afternoon when he wrote it.
Usually the clinic came first when he thought about Ranger: the bright floor, the last few hours, the drive with the leash beside him. Here was the dog who stole the sofa instead. Ben moved the photograph out where he could see it.
Finn appeared with the old ball and placed it by his knee. When Ben failed to throw it, the puppy folded himself against Ben’s leg. Ben kept one hand on his back while he sorted a few more pictures, then put the collar down carefully beside the open box.
The next visit to Nell was uneventful. She walked a little farther, kept Finn away from her last treat, and lay beside him while Ben talked with Mara about the repaired runs. When it was time to leave, Mara took Nell toward the medical section.
Finn watched her go. Ben kept slack in the leash and waited for the backward pull. Nell paused at the doorway; Finn lifted his head, then looked up at Ben.
Ben touched the lead lightly. The puppy turned with him and walked out. At the truck, Ben rubbed the white neck before lifting him inside.
The following morning, Finn reached Nell’s kennel first and stopped short. She had stayed on her side instead of coming to the gate. When Ben crouched, she raised her head but made no attempt to stand.
Mara came from the treatment room. “She left most of her supper. Ellen’s getting ready to examine her.”
Ben could see swelling above the old injury. Nell shifted her leg, stopped, and lowered her head again. Beside him, Finn lay down against the wire, close enough for her to reach him if she tried.
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