And I do. For a long time. Every few minutes, Bruce glances at me briefly, then turns away. But then I inch a tiny bit closer, say a few soft words, and wait some more. I will do this all day if necessary. When I am about two feet from him, the dog finally turns his body slightly my way. Then, without warning, Bruce lurches toward me. For a moment, I’m afraid this giant is going to bite my face off, but instead he tries to climb into my lap. He’s so huge that I can barely accommodate his size, but I do what I can. Bruce leans his weight against me, and I start to laugh while petting him. He’s smelly and ungainly and utterly sweet. I rest my face against his stinky fur and will this sweet dog to feel how loved he is, how worthy he is. Bruce starts wagging his tail.
“I can’t believe this,” Faith says, and she slowly comes in and hands me the leash. “He hasn’t wagged his tail since he’s been here. Not once. You’ve got a magic touch.”
I rub Bruce’s ears and slip the leash around his neck. His wagging intensifies when I stand and start to lead him out. I look at Simon with disbelief, and his face mirrors my feelings.
“Well, let’s go for a walk, shall we?” he says.
Bruce practically drags me down the hall as we follow Faith outside, and I’m laughing with delight as we enter the shelter’s good-sized penned area. I wish the leash was a little longer, because crazy Bruce is now hopping around in some kind of celebration. I pet him again, and then he drops onto his back for a belly rub. This is all so odd, the parallels between Bruce’s sad life and mine. Though I really can’t imagine I wasn’t adopted because of my looks, Bruce and I do share something in common: nobody wanted us. Truly, and for no good reason, nobody wanted us. Both of us started out so eager and hungry, and over the years, we grew more and more dejected. It was hard for people to look past that. I get it.
But I have learned from their mistakes, and I know this dog has heart underneath his outward damage.
“Simon? He’s a sweet guy, huh? He’s not a dog that most people would look at, but he’s kinda special, right?”
Simon kneels down. “He is. Check him out. There was a really happy pup hidden in there, huh? Aren’t you a sweet thing? Just a big boy who was a little down, huh? You feeling better now? Yeah?” He begins cooing and scratching Bruce’s stomach. “Allison reminded you that you get to be loved, just like everyone else, huh? Did she?”
For the next ten minutes, we goof around with Bruce, and both Simon and I pose for pictures, hoping to show Esben’s followers how wonderful this dog is.
“Posted!” Esben says happily. “Between that video and the pictures, this dog will be adopted in a heartbeat. I put up a shot of his fact sheet, too. Okay, we’ve got a ton more dogs to photograph, so, want to keep—”
“Esben?” Simon says with a tone I can’t figure out. “I think you’re going to need to edit that post.”
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
But then I know. And I shake my head over how fantastic Simon is.
“Because,” Simon says as he stands proudly, his eyes still glued on Bruce, “Mr. Bruce Wayne has already been adopted. If the shelter approves me, that is.”
Faith grins. “I’ll start the paperwork.”
I kneel down and pet Bruce more. “Simon, are you sure? You don’t have to do this. You really want a big old dog? One you have to drive home in your new Porsche?”
“I do. There’s no way I’m letting this guy go after what I saw. He’ll look very cool riding next to me. And who knows? Maybe he’ll turn out to be a man magnet, and I’ll be flooded with dates.” He bends down next to me and touches my shoulder. “And we need some cheer. Things are rough now, but they’re going to get rougher.”
He’s right. I know that Simon is hurting over Steffi, too.
“Our family just got a little bigger.” He tries to give me a reassuring smile. “Strength in numbers.”
Simon poses for a picture with a drooling Bruce, and Esben shares the photo online: #brucegoeshome #girlfriendallisonsfather #victoryissweet
Later, when I am making a silly face while holding a rat terrier that looks more rat than terrier, Esben takes a bunch of pictures and then checks to see the comments on his feed. “People are loving these!”
“Yeah?” Simon is throwing a ball that Bruce has no interest in chasing.
“Uh, Simon?” Esben is grinning. “You seem to be gaining quite the fan club.”
“I am?”
“Check Facebook.”
Simon pulls out his phone. “I have fifty-eight friend requests! And . . . ten messages.”
“You’ve been tagged hotdad a whole bunch,” Esben says with a laugh.
“Great. A bunch of women, probably.” Simon fake pouts.
“Um . . . I don’t think so.” Esben waves his phone around. “A lot of comments from guys. And some cute ones, too.”
“Really?” For the first time in an hour, Simon steps away from our new dog. “I’m going to have to do a little investigating, it seems.”
I sit with more dogs than I can count, I smile more than I have in the past three weeks, and I am overcome with the feeling that I might do some good for all of these deserving animals. This process makes me understand Esben even more. Helping others can help me heal myself.
While Esben is posting the last photo, one of me with an outstandingly cute yellow Labrador—one who has not been adopted without any discernible reason—I lean against him. “That Lab? That dog is a sweetheart. I hate this. I hate that she’s been so alone. But I know that we’re going to find her a family because of this. She’s going to be loved, and she’ll feel that love, and she will forget her past. I know that.” I breathe him in. “I feel so much better. Thank you.”
“This was your deal, my sweets. This is all you.” He swings his arm over me and keeps me close.
“There. One day down,” I state with as much pride and courage as I can muster. “Now I just have to get through the rest of them.”
“We’ll do this every day if you want,” Esben promises. “For as long as you need to.”
We might have to. I cannot fathom how I will survive the days that lead to the call.
The call in which I’ll be told that Steffi has died.
CHAPTER 26
SOCIAL DESTRUCTION
By the second week in March, the weather begins to lift, and it’s a good way to kick off spring break. Simon and I were going to take a trip to Washington, DC, and do touristy stuff together, but there’s a massive airline strike involving most of the major airlines, and we lost our flights. Although I’m disappointed, I’m also exhausted from late nights of research and paper writing, so I don’t mind some downtime here at school. Simon wanted me to come home and stay with him, but I think he understands that I just want to lie around here and sleep for a week.
Esben and Kerry are driving home tomorrow, and I’m going to be in the minority staying on campus during break, but I’m actually looking forward to the quiet. This is a desire for healthy alone time, unlike it would have been last year, and I’m proud of my progress.
Esben has been furiously clicking away on his laptop, and I glance up from my collapsed spot on the bed to see what he’s doing. He’s leaning against the wall, with my legs over his, and by the stern face he’s making, I know he’s in a mood of sorts. I shut my eyes and take a few more minutes to recover from this week. Both of us have been stressed out, although I’m not sure exactly what’s been going on with him. He seemed to sail through the two big tests he had this week, yet something has been getting under his skin over the past month. Just traces here and there, but enough for me to notice. I’ve tried asking him, but he’s assured me up and down that nothing is wrong.