Chapter Text
Butch looks up at Bob as they walk back along the row of kennels.
“We’re going home now,” says Bob. “I hope you like it. I think you will.”
When they get to the car, Bob says: “Can you drive? So I can sit in the back with him?”
So they get in, Bob and Butch in the back seat, Dave driving -- he has to move the seat back a bit to fit in. Butch stands on the seat and looks out as they drive, his paws slipping on the upholstery a bit. His head swivels from one side of the car to the other, until a police siren startles him, and he flinches back. Bob reaches out tentatively and smooths his hand over the dog’s head. “It’s okay,” he says. Butch looks at him and then he lies down, his body solid against Bob’s leg. Bob rubs his hand along his ribs and down his flanks, feeling his quick dog breaths.
Dave glances over his shoulder and smiles. “I think he trusts you, love.”
“I hope so.” Bob is desperate for this to be true, but he’s never had a dog before. He’s nervous he’ll mess it up. When he told Dave this, in bed at night, where he always tells Dave the difficult things, Dave had said: “The most important thing is to be consistent, so the dog knows what to expect.” And last night, when they decided to get Butch, he’s said: “He’s had a job to do, racing, so he’s probably used to doing as he’s told. Dogs like that, knowing who’s in charge.” Bob thinks that Butch might also be glad not to have to always do as he’s told, anymore.
Butch sits up again when Dave stops in their street and turns the engine off. “We’re home,” says Bob, “Come and see.” And he picks up the lead and opens the car door. Butch seems a bit uncertain, but he follows Bob out onto the pavement, and sniffs at it. He looks up at Bob, his crazy ears cocked. “Yes, this is it,” says Bob, and Butch walks up to the front door with him.
“Here we are, Butch,” says Dave as he unlocks the door.
The dog’s claws click on the wooden floor of the hall as they walk through to the living room. The dog bed is next to the sofa.
“I put it there while you were changing,” says Dave, seeing where Bob is looking.
“Will he have to sleep down here?”
“The dogs we had when I was a kid always slept in the kitchen,” says Dave. “But we can see.”
“Okay.” He leads Butch over. “This is your bed,” he says. The dog gives it a sniff.
Dave is filling a dog bowl at the sink; he puts it down next to the counter. “He might be thirsty,” he says. “Are you thirsty, Butch? You can take the lead off, love.”
Bob unclips the lead, but Butch stands still in the middle of the room. Bob walks over to where the water bowl is, and Butch follows. He sniffs cautiously at the water and then starts to drink noisily.
Bob reaches for Dave’s hand. “Thank you,” he says. Butch looks up at them, dripping water, his ears cocked forward; it gives him a puzzled air. “Okay,” says Bob, “I’ll show you the rest of the house now.” Dusk has fallen and it’s started to rain, tapping against the glass doors as they look out onto the terrace and tiny garden.
“Can I take him upstairs?”
Dave hesitates.
“His feet are clean, it wasn’t raining before.”
“Alright, let’s take him upstairs then. Come along, Butch.”
Bob has been standing with his hand on the dog’s shoulders. Butch follows them to the stairs, but he seems nervous to climb, until Dave says: “It’s okay.”
“This is our bedroom,” says Bob, standing at the door. He glances over at Dave and has to laugh; it is a bit weird to be showing a dog around the house.
They go back downstairs, Butch still sniffing at everything new, and Dave rings for a pizza. Bob gives Butch some food and gets a couple of beers out of the fridge and they sit on the sofa together; Butch comes over and settles into the dog bed with a sigh.
The doorbell rings and Butch leaps up with a start and races to the terrace door, his feet slipping on the floor. Bob goes to get a hand on his collar while Dave gets the pizza.
“It’s okay,” Bob tells Butch, who is looking out at the rain, and up at Bob, ears laid back against his head. “It’s okay, it’s not a race.” He rubs between Butch’s ears and slowly he relaxes. “It’s all a bit strange, isn’t it? I know. You’ll get used to it here.”
He can hear Dave talking to the delivery guy and then the front door closes and Dave comes back into the room with the pizza box and they both turn round, Butch’s nose twitching.
“Sorry, not for you, mate,” says Dave, putting the box on the counter and getting out plates. Butch walks over and sniffs at the box; he’s big enough to put his nose on the counter. “No!” says Dave, sharply.
“Come on, Butch” says Bob, “better not do that. Come back to your bed.” He puts his hand on Butch’s collar and tugs lightly and the dog follows him over to the sofa and lies down in his bed.
“I bet he’s never had to be around people eating before,” says Dave. “But he’s got to learn.”
He puts the plates on the table, and Bob comes over. Butch looks up, but he stays in his bed, laying his head down on his paws with a sigh.
Afterwards, when they sit down to watch telly, Butch gets up and comes and rests his head on Bob’s knee, looking up at him. Dave rubs between his ears. Bob has to close his eyes and just breathe. Then Butch lies down on his foot and Dave pulls Bob into a cuddle.
They are a family with a dog. Bob wonders how he got so lucky.
Before they go up to bed, they have to take Butch out. It’s still raining and Butch doesn’t seem too keen. “Come on, boy,” says Dave, “we don’t want to either, but we have to.” So they put on their jackets and go out and wait for Butch to piddle in the gutter.
“Having a dog isn’t all fun, is it?” Dave says.
“I don’t mind. You didn’t have to come out in the rain.”
“That’s okay. You done?” he says to the dog. Butch turns back towards the house.
When they get inside, he shakes himself off in the hall. His tartan jacket is wet, and Bob kneels down to take it off. He can feel Butch shivering. “I think he needs a blanket,” he says, “for his bed.”
“It’s not surprising he’s cold, is it?” Dave comes back from the airing cupboard with a big towel. It’s still warm.
“Here you are, Butch,” says Bob, tucking it round him in the dog bed. “We’re going upstairs now.” Butch is curled up small in his bed. They turn off the lights and go upstairs.
In the middle of the night, Bob wakes up when he hears a noise -- Butch’s claws clicking on the floor. He slips out of bed and goes downstairs. Butch meets him at the bottom of the stairs, ears cocked forward.
“What’s wrong, boy? Come on, come back to your bed.” He leads him back and Butch lies down again. “Good boy. Go to sleep now.” He crouches down rubbing his hand over Butch’s head until he settles down.
He goes back to the bedroom and slips back under the covers, shivering a bit, and cuddles up close to Dave’s warmth. “Alright, love?” Dave murmurs, still mostly asleep.
“Yeah. Maybe he’s lonely, though.”
“Mmmm, maybe.” Dave’s voice trails off.
The house is quiet again.
When he wakes in the dim morning light, there’s the sound of Butch’s claws clicking restlessly on the floor again, so Bob hurries out of bed and goes down. Butch is standing looking out the terrace door. He looks up at Bob and puts a paw against the glass.
“You need to go out?” He’s only wearing boxers and a t-shirt. “Can you wait till I get dressed?” Butch will have to wait. He goes back upstairs and pulls on a pair of trackies.
The dog lead is hanging up with the coats and his trainers are there too. He sticks his feet in them, Butch standing by the door as if to say “hurry up!”. He clips on the lead and opens the door. It’s freezing outside. Butch pulls on the lead and goes over to the gutter. He crouches down and craps.
“Shit, Butch!” And then he has to laugh. He’ll have to come back out and pick this up.
Butch looks around, sniffing the air. A car comes down the street and he flinches back, ears flat. Bob reaches down to stroke his head. He’s shivering, maybe from cold, since it’s fucking freezing, or maybe from fear. It’s hard to know. He must be used to loud noise, from the racing track, but maybe not to unexpected sounds.
“You done? Let’s go inside.”
Dave’s in the kitchen, boiling the kettle and slicing bread.
“I’ve got to go pick up his shit,” Bob says, rummaging in the drawer for a bag.
“One of the downsides of having a dog,” says Dave, brushing his hand over Bob’s bent head.
“I don’t mind.” Bob stands up with a bag. “Can we take him for a walk in the park later? It’s stopped raining.” He’s not working until later.
“Sure. You want breakfast, Butch?” says Dave, turning to where the dog is standing with his head cocked to the side, as if he’s listening to them.
When he comes back inside and washes his hands, Dave has made the tea and they sit and have breakfast, Butch looking hopefully at them. The sun has come out and there’s a patch of warmth on the floor. Butch lies down in it with a sigh. He is still asleep there when Bob has finished tidying up the kitchen and Dave comes back downstairs.
“We’ll go out soon,” Bob tells Butch before going to get dressed himself.
Dave’s in the hall when Bob comes back down; Butch is dressed in his coat. “Shall we go to Gunnersbury?” says Dave. It’s further away, but it’s a bigger, better park than the local one. “He probably wants a proper run. Don’t you, Butch?” He looks from the dog to Bob. And then he laughs. “We’ve gone soft,” he says. Bob reaches for his hand and stops him before he opens the front door, stretches up and kisses him. They’ve been so focused on the dog he hasn’t done that this morning. Butch is watching with his puzzled look, ears forward.
At the park, Butch strains on the lead; it’s clear he wants to run.
“We can’t left him off here,” says Dave. “He doesn’t know us well enough to come when we call him.”
“I’ll run with him. Come on Butch,” says Bob, and they take off running down the path. He gets out of breath pretty quickly, but it feels great, to run with their dog. Maybe he’ll come do this often. He slows to a walk and they circle back around to where Dave is walking. “He loves it!”
Butch is panting, his tongue hanging out of his mouth; he looks so funny, people walking towards them break into grins themselves.
“Great dog!” says a guy out for a run.
“He’s so cute!” says a young mum with her baby in a pushchair.
“Do you think he needs a drink?” says Bob. “We should have brought water for him.”
“I suppose we could have. Next time we will,” says Dave.
Butch is walking along happy enough, sniffing at the grass on the edge of the path, coming back close to them when other walkers pass by. But he stops and goes rigid when a man with a pitbull comes towards them. His ears are flat on his head and his tail tucked in, and he growls quietly. “It’s okay, Butch,” says Dave, and steps in front of him, shielding him from the other dog.
“Alright, mate,” says the pitbull’s owner as he passes, his dog pulling on his lead towards Butch. “No!” he says to his dog, and gives the lead a tug.
Bob drops his hand to Butch’s head and feels his trembling. “They said he liked other dogs.”
“I suppose he did like the dogs he knew at the kennels. He’ll be okay,” says Dave, rubbing along Butch’s flank. “You’ll be okay, boy.”
They turn back to where they left the car, Butch walking between them. He seems interested in what he can see from the car window as they drive home. There, he drinks a whole bowl of water in messy gulps and curls up in his bed.
Bob goes to shower, he has to get to work soon for an afternoon shift.
“I wish I didn’t have to go,” he says, coming back down. Dave has made them lunch, and Butch gets up and comes over to the table as they eat.
“Not for you, sorry,” says Bob. “What are you going to do later?” he asks Dave.
“I’ve got a quote to finish up, and I need to look over the supply list for the new job.”
He comes to the door with Bob when he has to leave. Butch follows them and watches with his puzzled frown as they kiss. Bob gives the dog’s head a rub before he opens the door.
It’s been dark for ages when he gets home, although it’s not that late. He hears the telly from the hall as he hangs up his jacket. Butch’s bed is in the doorway of Dave’s study, but he isn’t in it. Bob goes through to the living room. Dave’s on the sofa; he’s nodded off. Butch is up there too, curled against him. He looks up and his tail thumps against the cushion. “Shh, boy,” says Bob, going over and crouching down in front of Dave. He rubs his hands slowly up his thighs.
Dave wakes up and smiles down at him. “Hello, love,” he says. Butch’s tail thumps the cushion again. “He wanted a cuddle,” Dave says. “Did you have anything to eat? I made a pot of soup.”
“No, I waited. Glad I did,” says Bob. He stays there, one hand on Dave’s thigh and the other on Butch’s head, for a bit, until Butch shakes him off and climbs down from the sofa; then he stands up and leans down and kisses Dave. “Let’s go to bed early,” he says.
Later, when he comes with a shout, Butch barks once and they hear his claws skitter on the floor. Bob buries his face in Dave’s shoulder. “We frightened him,” he says.
“He’s okay,” says Dave.
When Bob goes down to check on him much later, Butch is lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on, boy,” he says, “you can’t sleep here.” He leads the dog to his bed next to the sofa, but Butch follows him back to the stairs.
“You want to sleep here? Alright.” He fetches the dog bed and Butch settles down.
“He wants to be closer to us,” he says when he gets back into bed.
“He’ll get used to it,” says Dave.
Bob isn’t so sure, but he lets it go; what does he know about dogs?
When he goes down in the morning, Butch has his chin on the bottom stair.
“I know,” Bob tells him.
They’ve got to go grocery shopping. “Butch’ll have to stay here,” says Dave. “You’ll be alright,” he tells him as they pull the door shut. Butch is in his bed at the foot of the stairs, he sighs and lays his head on his paws.
They aren’t gone that long, but when they return, Butch pushes his way out of the door and is off, down the street. Bob wants to run after him, but Dave stops him. “That’ll only make him run faster, love.”
Luckily, he headed further down the quiet street, not the other way, where the traffic is busier. They follow, walking quickly, but not running, looking into front gardens, and when they go round where the road bends, there’s a guy standing on the pavement holding Butch by his coat. A little girl is sniffling next to him.
“Thank god! Butch!”
“He yours? What’re you doing, letting him run around in the street? He terrified my kid!”
“I’m sorry, he gave us the slip.” Bob takes hold of Butch and steps back. “What did he do?”
“Nothing really. He’s a bit bigger than she’s used to. She was surprised, more than anything.” The child rubs her eyes with her fists and grabs her dad’s hand. “You’re alright, Holly,” he says.
“Sorry,” Bob says to the little girl. “He didn’t mean to frighten you. He’s new here.” Butch’s tongue is lolling out of his mouth and his ears are flopping.
“He’s funny,” says the child from the safety of her place behind her father’s leg.
“He is, isn’t he?” says Dave. “His name is Butch. We better take him home now. Sorry again,” he says to the father, “first time he had to stay home alone and he was off the minute we opened the door.”
“It’s okay,” says the guy. “Glad I could grab him for you.”
They turn and walk back to their house. “Butch!” says Bob.
“No point telling him off now,” says Dave, “it’s too late. We’ll have to take him to obedience lessons. It could easily have been worse.”
It could. Bob doesn’t want to think about what could have happened if Butch had run towards the busy street. Or if he’d bitten the child.
*
He’s got to work again, late shifts all week. Everyone has to work on New Year’s Eve tomorrow; lots of people want cabs to go out and get home safely.
“Will you be okay? Don’t you want to go out? What do you usually do on New Year?”
“No, I hate the crowds. I usually stay in. We’ll be fine, love.”
“Wish I didn’t have to work, but I had Christmas, so no chance.”
“We can’t leave him alone, anyway. If there are fireworks he might be scared. Loud sudden noises.”
“I wouldn’t want to go out, but it’d be nice to spend it with you.”
“Yes, it would. More than nice.”
They stay in the rest of the day. It’s raining and “You’ve had a run already,” Dave tells Butch as he stands looking out at the rain falling into the puddles on the terrace. But the rain stops just before Bob has to go to work, so they take him for a walk around the block. Dave kisses him goodbye standing next to his car in the late afternoon dusk. “Bye, see you later,” says Bob, and rubs his hand over Butch’s head.
“Me or the dog?” says Dave, amused.
“Both of you, of course.”
Work is boring, not too many trips. Maybe people are saving it up until tomorrow. Bob shows the lads a picture he snapped on his phone of Butch curled up in his bed. “Cool dog,” says Abdul.
“He ran off today,” says Bob, “I thought we’d lost him. But he didn’t get too far.”
The house is mostly dark when he gets home. He lets himself in carefully. No sign of Dave or Butch downstairs. He climbs quietly. Butch’s bed is on the landing outside their open bedroom door. The dog gets up and comes over to him, pushes his nose into Bob’s hand. “Breaking him down, are you?” he whispers. Butch follows him as he goes to the bathroom first, but gets back in his bed as Bob goes into the bedroom, getting undressed quickly.
“Hello, love,” Dave murmurs when he slips under the covers.
“Hello. Butch broke you down pretty quick.”
“Seemed safer, less chance he would duck out the door.”
“Uh-huh,” says Bob, grinning as he kisses Dave and settles down to sleep. In his bed by the door, Butch snuffles and sighs.
In the morning, there are no clicking claws to wake him. Instead, Butch sticks his nose into Bob’s face, wet and cold. “Fuck!” It’s Dave’s turn to laugh as Bob wipes dog spit off and climbs out of bed and into Dave’s discarded trackies. “Come on then,” he tells the dog, who skids down the stairs ahead of him and is waiting by the door as he pushes bare feet into his trainers, and pulls on his jacket. He clips on the lead. On the bench under the coat rack is a pack of dogshit bags they bought yesterday and he pulls one out before opening the door. The air is freezing and damp with drizzle, Butch looks like he really doesn’t want to go out. “Don’t know what you did at the racetrack, mate,” says Bob, “but it’s outside or nothing here. Just hurry up, won’t you.”
They’re both shivering by the time Butch has finished and Bob has picked up after him.
Dave hasn’t come downstairs, so Bob washes his hands and makes tea and feeds Butch. The dog follows him when he goes upstairs. His paws leave a slightly muddy trail on the carpet.
“It’s crap weather,” he says, getting back into bed, leaving the trackies on the floor. “Let’s stay in bed.”
“Suits me,” says Dave, leaning against his bunched up pillow to drink his tea. Bob slides down and rests his head on Dave’s hip when he’s finished. Dave scratches lightly through his hair. It’s started to rain harder, and water gurgles in the gutters. Butch is quiet in his bed.
Bob turns over, so his face is in Dave’s lap, he pulls the band of his boxers down a little and mouths along his warm, musky skin, pushing the bottom of Dave’s t-shirt up and running his hand up his body. Dave shifts and lets his legs sprawl open.
Behind Bob, Butch sneezes. “Do you mind? That he’s here?” he says, looking up at Dave, but keeping his mouth on his hip.
“As long as he doesn’t try to join in,” says Dave. “Stay in your bed, Butch. Do you mind?”
“Nah,” says Bob. “Try not to surprise him though,” he says, smiling against Dave’s skin, remembering the other time.
Dave is quiet, and Butch doesn’t get a surprise.
They stay in bed, dozing and cuddling, for ages. Bob is also pretty good at being quiet when he needs to.
When the rain looks like it’s going to stop, they get up and shower, so they can take Butch out for a walk, just to the small local park. Bob runs with him down the path, dodging puddles. When he sits on a bench to catch his breath, Butch jumps up with his paws on Bob’s knees, covering him in mud. As they walk further, Butch barks at blackbirds and drinks from the deepest of the puddles.
“It’s good, isn’t it? Taking him out, running. I sit on my arse too much.”
“You can never be lazy when you have a big dog,” says Dave.
Butch is a good walker, staying close to his leg when they are on the pavement going back home, looking up at Bob with his silly grin.
Dave fetches an old towel to dry the dog’s feet when they get home. He frowned at the trail up the stairs earlier, but didn’t say anything.
“Wish I could stay here,” says Bob as he gets ready to go to work. “Our first New Year.”
“We’ve had a whole new year, haven’t we love?”
“Yes.” Every day is new, with Dave.
The early part of the shift is really busy, taking people to their New Year parties, but then there’s a gap, before the pick-ups start. Bob wonders what Dave is doing. Watching telly probably, or reading. He was going to phone his mum and dad. “Tell them I said hello,” Bob had said.
He’s sitting in the car waiting for a very late call to come down, and they’re taking their time, so he pulls out his phone: “What are you doing?” he types.
“Telly. Butch is asleep on my foot.”
Bob has to swallow down the lump that rises in his throat. He can picture them in the living room, the light of the TV on Dave’s face, Butch snuffling in his sleep.
“Not on the sofa?”
“Don’t be cheeky.” Then: “Not yet.”
The fare finally gets in the back of the car. “Got to go now,” Bob types quickly.
Last New Year, he was at a rowdy party, getting pissed with One Two, till he pulled and went off somewhere with her. At midnight, everyone counted down, shouting the numbers drunkenly. Bob was sitting in a dark corner with a bottle of Scotch someone had brought. This year, he’s alone in the car, driving to fetch someone, when the skyline lights up with fireworks and his phone pings.
When he has a chance to look, it says: “Happy New Year, love.”
The street lights blur a bit, even though it’s not raining. He was more alone last year. Waiting outside his next pick-up, he types something he hasn’t said often: “Love you. Thank you.”
It’s three in the morning before he gets home, the last of the drunks dropped off.
The house is silent, only the hall light on. Butch’s bed is on the landing, but it’s empty. He walks over to the bed, hears Butch’s tail thumping against the covers from where he’s curled up small.
Dave murmurs: “Hello, love, you’re home.”
“Yes. Home.” He gets undressed quickly and crawls into bed, fitting his feet into the gap between Dave and Butch. “Budge over,” he says to the dog.
“On the bed?” he says, his mouth against the back of Dave’s neck.
“He was frightened of the fireworks.”
Dave reaches for his hand, drags it over and holds it against his chest.
“He peed on the living room floor. He’s better close.” Bob can hear Dave smiling.
Butch sighs and rests his head on Bob’s foot.
Bob says again what he said in his text: “Love you. Thank you. For everything.”
“Oh love,” says Dave, turning over and stroking his hand down Bob’s face and kissing him.
Bob falls asleep between his boyfriend and his dog. It’s a very happy new year.