Chapter Text
“What sort of dog do you think we’ll get?” Bob has been thinking about dogs ever since he opened Dave’s present. Now he’s getting dressed to go to work. Dave’s still in bed, because he isn’t working until after New Year.
“What sort do you want?”
“I don’t know. A dog you can throw a ball to, in the park.”
“Bound to be plenty of those,” says Dave, as Bob sits down on the bed to put on his socks.
“Can we can go after work?” He’ll be off by mid-afternoon. “Will they be open now, do you think?”
“Yes,” says Dave, “let’s go today.” He laughs as Bob turns and falls on him and kisses him.
“Thank you,” says Bob, sitting back up, “I can’t wait!”
“You better go now, you don’t want to be late on your first day back at work, love.”
“No. I’ll just make some tea, though.”
He makes the tea and brings Dave a mug. He wishes he could stay in bed, too.
All day while he’s driving, or waiting, he wonders about the dogs they’ll meet in the afternoon. He was never allowed a dog when he was a kid. And he knows now that a dog would have been a disaster, then. His Nan’s neighbour had a little terrier that would bark and snap at you, but liked to fetch a ball. “Gentle, Bob, gentle,” he was always told.
Some of the guys he met, in the One Two days, had dogs. Big muscular dogs straining on leashes, supposed to make their owners look tough. One had even worn a muzzle, as if to say it would bite you if given half a chance. But one of the toughest guys he ever met had a little sausage dog that wore a jumper.
Finally his shift is over, and he drives home. The hoover is running when he opens the front door, and he goes up the stairs to find Dave. The noise means Dave doesn’t hear as he approaches, but he catches Bob’s eye in the mirror in the bedroom.
“Hello, love!” he says, switching the hoover off and turning around.
“Hello. Can we go now?” says Bob, already pulling off his tie.
“Of course.” Dave laughs and comes over to kiss him.
Bob hurries into a sweatshirt and jeans and they go down the stairs together. They take Bob’s car. They don’t talk about the dogs on the way, Bob’s too keyed up. He tells Dave about a little girl who made him laugh in the car today.
Finally Dave says: “There it is,” and points to a building with the name “Battersea Dogs and Cats Home” in huge blue letters.
Bob can’t help the grin he gives Dave as they get out of the car. It’s hard to believe they are going to get a dog. He lets his hand brush against Dave’s as they walk to the entrance.
The building is quieter than you’d expect. Dave walks up to the reception desk. “Dave Parker,” he says to the young woman who looks up. “I registered and you’ve checked the house. Bob here’s come to meet the dogs today.”
“Hi!” says the woman, Mandy, her badge says. “They’re all lovely! You’re sure to find one you love. Have you looked on the website? Anyone in particular you want to meet?”
“No,” says Bob. “I thought I’d just come and see.”
“That’s great,” says Mandy. “Do you know what sort of dog you want?”
“One that likes to go for a run? Not too huge, though,” he says, remembering what Dave said at Christmas.
“Oh, we have lots, all kinds. All dogs like to go for a walk. Come through.” She grabs a jacket and leads them to a door that opens back outside. “The kennels are along this way. Would you like to just have a look first? Then you can meet anyone you really like the look of.”
“That sounds good,” says Dave, “They’re all here?”
There’s a long building with glass doors all along the front. In each kennel is a dog. Some are lying on their beds, snoozing, or playing with a toy. Some are standing looking out, as if to say: “Hello, please pick me.” There are all sizes of dog, from little terriers like his Nan’s neighbour’s snappy dog, to big muscular pitbulls. There’s a funny dog with skin that looks too big for him. “Blue’s a Shar pei,” says Mandy. “He’s a nervous chap,” she says. “Do you have children?”
Bob almost laughs, that anyone would think that. It’s nice though, really, that she doesn’t think they couldn’t. “No, it’s just us,” he says, glancing at Dave. It took him a while to get used to thinking of and talking about him and Dave as “us”. He likes it. Dave smiles at him. He likes it too.
They’ve walked almost all the way along the kennels, pausing to look at each dog, when Bob sees him. A greyhound. They’ve seen quite a few of them. Tall, nervous-looking dogs. “Retired racers,” says Mandy. “We’ve always got greyhounds.” She frowns.
This dog is different from the others, somehow. This dog is a sort of yellow with black streaks. Both ears flop over in the same direction. It gives him a comical look, like he’s on the edge of having a laugh. He trots over to the glass door of the kennel and looks up at Bob. He’s wearing a tartan coat. Bob hardly has to crouch down to look him in the eye. He does though. The dog’s tongue lolls out of his mouth; now he really looks like he’s just heard a joke.
“That’s Butch,” says Mandy. “Would you like to go in a meet him?”
Bob looks up at Dave. “He’s great, isn’t he? But you said not a big dog and he’s a bit big.”
“Oh, greyhounds can be big lapdogs really,” says Mandy. “Just, they can’t live with small animals. You don’t have a cat, do you?”
“No, no cat,” says Dave. “Do you want to meet him, love?”
Bob really does, he likes the look of him, his shambling, untidy look, even though he’s thin and elegant, too. “Can I?”
Butch is looking through the glass with big pleading eyes as Mandy hunts among her bunch of keys to find the right one. She opens the door a bit and says: “You can go in, just don’t let him give you the slip.”
Bob turns himself sideways and steps inside. The dog takes a step back and stands still in the middle of the room. “Hello,” Bob says, keeping his voice soft. “How are you, boy?” He holds out his hand. Butch steps cautiously closer and sniffs at his fingers. His nose is wet and cool as he pushes it into Bob’s hand. Bob glances over his shoulder at Dave. He’s smiling. Bob turns back to the dog and rubs his hand softly over his head. Butch tips back into the touch. Bob knows that feeling. “You’re a nice boy, aren’t you?” Bob scratches lightly behind his ears, and Butch looks at him and it seems like he’s smiling. Bob looks over at Dave again. He knows he’s got a silly soft expression, just from the way Dave smiles at him.
He crouches down, but the dog startles and jumps back, his crazy ears flat against his head. “Sorry, boy.” Bob stands up slowly.
He looks over his shoulder again. Mandy smiles at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says. “He’s just a bit of a sensitive soul, is Butch.”
Bob turns back to the dog. “Sorry, boy,” he says again and holds out his hand slowly. Butch steps forward and sniffs it, and then he licks Bob’s hand and looks up at him and his ears aren’t tense anymore, one is standing up, so he looks a bit like a kid who hasn’t combed his hair. Bob feels himself relax. He really really wants Butch to like him, and he has been tense without realising it. “Would you like to come live with us?” he says, quietly. “With me and Dave? Look at him, isn’t he lovely? He is. You’ll like him, I promise.” Bob smooths his hand over Butch’s head again. “Do you want to say hello to Dave?” He turns back to the window. “Come and say hello, Dave?”
Dave glances at Mandy, who nods, and he steps carefully through the door and holds his hand out to Butch. “Hello there,” he says. Butch sniffs at his hand and gives it a lick.
“There, I told you, didn’t I?” says Bob.
“What did you tell him, love?”
“I told him he’d like you.” If Mandy wasn’t standing outside, Bob would reach for Dave’s hand. He feels almost shaky with emotion. “He’s lovely, isn’t he?” he says, not quite sure if he’s talking to Dave or to Butch.
“He is, love, he is.”
“Can we take him home? He’s not too big?”
“Maybe we should find out a bit more about greyhounds before we decide? Just to be sure we know what we’re getting ourselves into?” Dave is still scratching lightly behind Butch’s ears as he says this. “He used to be a racer, we should be sure we know how to help him be a pet, don’t you think?”
“He needs to learn how to leave his old life behind him,” says Bob.
“Yes.”
Neither of them says it, but Bob is thinking how that’s just what Dave helped him do.
“Okay. Can we tell them not to let someone else take him though?”
“I’m sure we can do that.”
Bob holds out his hand to Butch again. “Bye, boy.”
The dog follows them to the door and stands close to the glass as they step out again.
“Do you have any information about adopting greyhounds, anything we should know about them specifically?” Dave asks Mandy, who is shivering slightly in the late afternoon dusk.
“Oh yes,” she says. “They’re not as difficult as you might think. Big cuddlers, actually, once they get to know you.”
Bob turns to look back at Butch as they walk back to the office block. The dog is standing looking out at them, his head cocked to one side and his silly ears flopping.
In the office, Mandy gives them a couple of pamphlets on greyhounds, and assures them that no one else will take Butch while they decide. “You can come visit him again. Maybe take him for a run,” she says.
“Isn’t he lovely?” says Bob as he pulls the car back onto the street.
“He is, love. What was it about him that caught your eye?”
“He looks like he’s about to laugh at a joke. He looks like he’d like to have fun, go for a run. But, you know, also like he needs a new start.”
“Yes. He wants a change.”
It’s time to start cooking dinner when they get home.
Afterwards, they sit on the sofa with the pamphlets Mandy gave them. It seems that retired greyhounds aren’t that difficult to train. They don’t even need all that much exercise, the pamphlet says.
“You know there’s a website where they tell you about each dog?” says Dave. “Should we look and see what it says about Butch?”
The Battersea website has lots of pictures of him, all with his ears flopped over in the same direction. It says he is “kind natured”. Dave smiles at that.
“I really want him,” says Bob. “He reminds me of me. You know, before.”
“Oh, love,” says Dave, pulling Bob into a hug.
***
Bob’s working the same morning shift the next day, but Dave says they can go back to Battersea in the afternoon. It’s even harder to wait and focus on driving than it was yesterday, but finally he’s done and can go home. When he opens the front door there’s a dog bed and a bag in the hall. Dave steps through the living room door.
“I thought Butch would need some things,” he says. “I didn’t get everything, just the basics. You can choose the rest when we’ve got him home.”
“Today?”
“Yes, why wait?”
Bob has to push his face into Dave’s shoulder so he doesn’t cry then. “Oh, love,” says Dave, rubbing his thumb in a circle on the back of Bob’s neck. “Go and get changed,” he says when Bob straightens up. Bob takes the stairs two at a time.
There’s a different person in the office at Battersea, Andrew, but he says when Dave gives their names: “You’ve come to see Butch?”
“We’ve come to take him home, please,” says Bob. “Can we? We’ve got a bed for him, and food.”
“That’s brilliant!” says Andrew. “He’s a great chap, I’m so glad you can give him a home.”
There are some papers to fill in before they can go and get Butch. Andrew says they will also need to register his microchip with their address. Finally, it’s all done and Andrew pulls on his jacket to take them to the kennels.
As they walk along past all the doors, Bob feels a bit sorry for the dogs who aren’t going home. When they get to Butch’s kennel, Andrew asks them to wait while he goes in and puts a collar and leash on him. Dave reaches for Bob’s hand and gives it a squeeze, and then Andrew steps out with Butch on the leash. He stops and Bob puts his hand out for Butch to sniff.
“We’ve come to take you home, boy,” he says. “Would you like that?” Butch licks his hand.
“I think that’s a yes,” says Andrew. “Do you want to take his leash?” He hands it to Bob, and Butch walks calmly next to him.
Bob can hardly believe it. He has a dog.