Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

The transformation in Pete was dramatic. Rick don't know if the Sheltie only needed to assure himself that his father, indeed, was gone or whether he was moved by the son's breakdown at the car in the cemetery and saw something in Rick of his father—or had seen for the first time some affection in the son for the father the dog loved so much. Whatever it was, from the time they drove away from the cemetery, Pete wouldn't leave Rick's side and seemed almost to be wooing him.

Rick and Pete mercifully avoided a meeting with Calvin in the front hall of the apartment building when they returned from the cemetery, but Rick knew it was just a case of putting off the inevitable. But then, at that moment he still intended on finding Pete a new home. Rick just hadn't been able to carry through with his intent on dropping him off at the SPCA on the way home from the cemetery. The man and the dog had bonded in some way there, and Rick couldn't bring himself to be so hardhearted toward Pete with his dad still warm in the grave. He'd give it a few days.

Rick's dad. There was something inevitable in all of this. Rick was thinking more of his dad when he was dead than he had ever thought of his dad when he was alive. And Rick was thinking of him in more than one dimension. Maybe there had been something more than perversity in his foisting of Pete off on his son. Rick could imagine him—still—liking the thought of causing his son concern and making him squirm. But Rick couldn't think of his father doing that to Pete. Rick hadn't been exaggerating when he thought of Pete as the love of his father's life. And thinking on the flip side of the issue—thinking of what was good for Pete as opposed to what was mean-spirited toward his son, Rick had to think that perhaps his dad's final request was intentional. Perhaps he was giving his son a gift rather than a burden. And perhaps he was entrusting Rick with the one thing he loved best. And, just perhaps, he thought, in his last act on earth, he was giving his son something he needed.

These thoughts gave Rick pause, so that when he returned to the apartment, it was with Pete in tow.

They stopped at the park so that Pete could relieve himself before they tried to sneak back into the apartment house. And Pete was as good as gold as the two crept into the foyer and slid down along the side of the staircase to the door to Rick's apartment. Pete didn't bark or even whine and he lifted his paws and set them down so intentionally and delicately as they moved that Rick had to stifle at laugh of his own at the image of the two of them sneaking past Calvin's door.

They could hear the TV going full blast inside Calvin's apartment. The Redskins and Cowboys going at each other on the football field, and they could hear the clicking of barbells as well—Calvin working his body as he watched the television. They paused just inside the door to the street and Pete looked at Calvin's door and then up into his new master's face, and Rick swore that the Sheltie winked at him.

Once in the apartment, Pete sat beside the dining table and followed Rick's movements with his eyes. They were sad eyes, and each time Rick looked at him, he saw his father—and thought of the trust he was placing in his son's hands.

As Rick settled on the sofa and turned his own TV set to the football game and stared, unseeing at the teams chasing each other up and down the field, his mind was racing. He couldn't afford to move. He'd just bought a car above his pay bracket and he'd have to sacrifice the deposit on the apartment if he left. Chances were slim he could even find another apartment at this price within walking distance of the office, and he couldn't afford to pay movers anyway. Regardless, Rick's mind was working over the list of his friends who were strong enough to lift an end of the sofa he was sitting on and dumb enough to agree to help him move.

Pete was whining now, but softly. Rick looked over at him, in fear that he was building up to another session of howling that would bring Calvin's heavy fist apounding at the apartment door. But Rick saw that Pete was asleep now, his muzzle buried down in his splayed front legs, and Rick couldn't bring himself to try to nudge him into silence. He had lost his master, and he seemed to realize that fully now. He was probably feeling more lost and unsure of what to do now than Rick was.

Rick felt the first warnings of a migraine coming on. He was thinking too hard, he knew—and with too little prospect of finding a way out of this maze. Rick couldn't keep Pete here—at least he couldn't without giving Calvin what he wanted from him. And the very thought of that sent shudders through Rick's body and his temple started to throb. But Rick knew now that he couldn't just toss Pete away either. This would be his ultimate failure as a son. It was one thing for his father to miss the mark continually all these years. It was yet another for his son to do the same—to perpetuate those mistakes down through the generations. Rick had declared long ago that he wouldn't go down the same path as his father had in messed-up relationships.

And there was no question now that Rick had a relationship with Pete. He hadn't had one before he had left for his dad's funeral, but he couldn't deny that he had one now after the man and dog had visited the grave together.

Rick felt the silky softness of hair brush against his hand—and that wet nose again. Pete was no longer asleep. He was in front of Rick now as he sat on the sofa, nudging him and laying his muzzle in Rick's lap. Rick didn't know if it was to assure and comfort him or to seek assurance himself. And he didn't care which it was. Rick's head was clearing and his mind was telling him just to let the decisions slide until tomorrow. The day had already been rough and momentous enough.

Rick flicked off the TV set and rose and padded into the kitchen. Pete followed along beside him and sat in the doorway as Rick filled his food and water bowls and signaled where he was to sleep—on a blanket Rick folded up and laid on the floor under the kitchen window, beside the refrigerator.

Pete watched Rick move from refrigerator to bowl and sink to bowl and to the kitchen window, and when Rick patted the blanket, Pete rose right up and walked over to the blanket and hunched down on it with a huffing sound that Rick took for acceptance and contentment.

Rick switched off the lights in the kitchen and living room and went into the bedroom and beyond to the bathroom, where he showered. He closed the door between his bedroom and the living room, listening for the click that didn't come, the mechanism of the doorknob having become unaligned because of the warping of the door, and climbed into bed and was fast asleep much more quickly than he thought would happen on a day like today.

The next morning Rick awoke with the sensation of being weighted down, to find Pete laying beside him in the bed, his muzzle resting on Rick's side and a foreleg stretched over his hip. Pete was snoring, but quietly. Rick lay there for almost an hour, not daring to move, not wanting to disturb his new companion's sleep—strangely content and whole.

Pete was Rick's dog now. If he had to go, Rick would go too.