conditionsâmeaning youâre alone and being a firefighter hero and allâyou got one! Youâre gonna work with his trainer, and in a few days heâll be fetching club sodas for you from thefridge. Hell, I bet we can eventually teach him how to surf. He can get our towels for us!â
Sean looked at the dog, back at James, and at Gaspar, who stood behind James smiling, totally taken with the dog himself.
âHeâs mine?â
âYes, heâs yours,â James explained. âWell, actually Libby here is going to help you two get acquainted. She can teach you what you need to know to take care of him. But mostly heâll be taking care of you.â
Libby, a tall, lanky brunette with cropped hair and a row of earrings up her right ear, and an intricate tattoo wrapping her forearm, put out her hand to shake Seanâs. âIâm Libby Cartwright. Your trainer.â
Sean put out his gloved hand and shook her hand gently, and held it and tried to squeeze it as if to say: Wait . He was staring at her tattoo. Celtic knots in green and orange seemed to be camouflaging scars on her arm. Sean took a hard look and recognized the shape and pattern. He had seen them on fellow rehab patients back in the day. They were scars of old track marks. A heroin addictâs tell.
Libby caught Seanâs eyes. Sean knew she knew what he saw. The two made eye contact and nodded in secret acknowledgment.
âI canât have a pet,â Sean said, looking at Libby, and then at James and Gaspar.
âWhat are you talking about, Sean? Of course you can,â James said sternly. âDonât go kicking a gift horseââ
âNo, itâs not like that. Itâs just in AA I was told I had to keep a plant alive for a year, then Iâd be able to move on to a pet . . . and I canât keep the damn plant on my patio alive.â
Gaspar laughed aloud.
âWhatâs so funny?â Sean snapped.
âI saw that plant,â Gaspar said with a knowing grin and nod. Libby laughed, too.
âOh, so youâre laughing now, too?â Sean said flirtatiously to Libby.
âChief is different, Sean. Heâll tell you what he needs. You wonât forget to feed him or give him water. He wonât let you. Heâll be able to turn on lights, open cabinets, and fetch your shoes since you canât bend down. He knows over forty commands,â James assured Sean.
Chief sat beside Sean and propped his warm muzzle on his lap. Sean put his hand on the dogâs head and started to stroke his fur. Sean hadnât felt anything but pain in his hands in weeks. And with the protective gloves, there was no way his skin was able to feel the warmth of Chiefâs snout, the soft hair above his eyes, but Sean felt as though he could. For a second, he felt as if he could feel as he had before the fire.
Libby knelt down beside Chief and wrapped her sleek, ropey arms around him, rubbing his abdomen, and looked up at Sean. âHeâs one of the best Iâve ever trained. Wanna see what he can do?â
Sean nodded. âOkay.â
Libby pointed across the room toward the bathroom and said, âOpen the door.â
Chief padded across the room, popped up and used his paws to pull down the door handle, opened it, and held it with his body.
James looked back at Sean, amazed. âSee?â
âOkay, okay,â Sean shushed James.
âChief, pillow, please,â Libby said, pointing toward the bed.
Chief walked over to the bed, got up on his hind legs, took the pillow with his mouth, and carried it over to Libby. Libby gave Chief a hearty pet and rubbed his ear.
Sean got the drift. He felt bad for the dog. He didnât want him running around doing tricks for his benefit.
âHey, Chief! Get over here, buddy,â Sean said and Chief turned, looked at Sean, and almost nodded in approval, as if Chief was the one making the decision about who would be
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