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1 - The Hollanders
June 2005
“Hi, Shane,” the woman in charge of the charity said brightly.
“Morning,” he mumbled, closing his book and handing it to his dad.
“I think, if it’s okay with all of you, I’d like to take you to meet your dog on your own first.”
Shane nodded. “Sure.”
“Whatever you think is best, Clara,” his mom added.
“Lovely. Follow me.”
Shane followed her down the corridor, fidgeting with his cuffs.
“How are you feeling?” Clara asked gently.
He swallowed. “A little nervous.”
“That’s perfectly normal,” she reassured him. “Remember, we can take this as slow as you need.”
They stopped in front of a door with a large glass panel. He could see a dog sitting patiently inside with one of the trainers.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he replied.
She opened the door and led him inside. “This lovely lady is Biscuit. She’s about 2 years old now. If you want to sit on this couch, Shane, Anna can bring her over to you.”
He sat, looking at Biscuit. She was a golden labrador, a popular choice of breed for assistance dogs. He had done lots of research since his application went in four years ago.
“Okay?” Clara asked.
He nodded. Anna, the trainer, walked Biscuit over to him and asked her to sit by his feet. She did so instantly.
“Do you want to give her the reward?” Anna asked.
“Yeah, okay,” he replied.
She gave him a treat. Biscuit’s brown eyes tracked the movement of her reward. Shane offered it to her on an open palm and she took it gently.
“Hi, Biscuit,” he said softly. “I’m Shane. Do you want to be friends?”
He ruffled her ears. They were incredibly soft. Her tongue lolled out and she booped his arm with her wet nose.
“Anna’s going to let her off the lead now,” Clara said. “We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes, then we can see how you feel about bringing your parents in. Alright?”
Shane nodded. Anna unclipped the lead and the two women left the room. Shane and Biscuit looked at each other. He stroked her head again and she pushed up into his palm. It was nice.
“Do you wanna come up here?” he said, patting the couch beside him with his free hand.
She hopped up and laid her head in his lap.
“Good girl,” he praised her. “That’s really nice. I think we’re gonna get along okay.”
The weight of her head on his legs and the softness of her fur under his fingers were grounding. He scratched between her shoulder blades and she gave a shiver, relaxing more onto him. It felt like hardly any time before Clara returned.
“Looks like the two of you are getting along well,” she remarked with a smile. “Would you be happy for me to go get your parents?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
“Okay. I won’t be long.”
She left again and Shane turned his attention back to Biscuit.
“You’re gonna like my mom and dad,” he told her. “We’ll all take you on lots of walks and we can play every day and we’ll be best friends.”
She looked up at him, her eyes seeming to say that she already thought he was the best thing since sliced bread. He ruffled her ears again and she sighed happily.
Soon, Clara returned and ushered his parents inside. His mom gave him a bright smile.
“Looks like you two are friends already,” she said.
Shane smiled back. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be good.”
2 - Hayden and Jackie
October 2010
Shane felt more nervous than he really should have done. He’d already told Hayden about his diagnosis and shown him photos of Biscuit on his phone. Still, taking her round for a dinner at their house seemed like quite a big step.
“Alright,” he said as he rang the bell. “Best behaviour, Biscie.”
She licked his fingers. It was only a moment before the door was opened.
“Hi, Shane, I’m Jackie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Hi,” Shane replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She smiled warmly. “Come on in. Hayden’s just in the kitchen. And this is Biscuit, right?”
“Yeah. I think the team’s going be jealous you guys got to meet her before the rest of them.”
Jackie laughed. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
She led him through to the kitchen, where Hayden was laying the table.
“Hey, man,” Hayden greeted Shane as he looked up. “Glad you could come.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” Shane replied. “Hayd, this is Biscuit.”
Hayden came forward and patted Biscuit on the head. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Does she like scrambled eggs, Shane?”
“Yeah, she loves them. They’ve gotta be cooked without any milk or seasoning, though.”
“I think we can manage that.”
3 - Ilya
June 2011
As soon as he got outside, Shane’s breathing felt easier. Winning was exciting and gratifying, but all the attention was stifling. He had felt himself becoming tenser as the evening wore on, until Biscuit had nuzzled his hand with her wet nose and began to forcibly lead him towards the elevators up to the rooftop bar. Clearly Rozanov had wanted to escape the crowds too, because he was leaning against the rail, smoking a cigarette and taking in the view.
“Hey,” Shane said as he approached.
“Hi,” Rozanov replied without looking round. “Congratulations. Big night for you.”
“Thanks.” Shane sighed a little. “It’s a lot, right? All of this.”
Rozanov nodded. “Yes.”
“Would’ve been nice to see you down there.”
“Is not about you, Hollander.” Rozanov took a long drag from his cigarette, letting it out slowly. “I go home in three days.”
Shane wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Must be nice.”
Rozanov let out a bark of humourless laughter.
“Isn’t it?” Shane asked.
“No, it isn’t,” Rozanov confirmed. “My father is only interested in winning.”
“And your mother?”
Rozanov stiffened. “She is dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was young.” Rozanov turned for the first time to look at Shane. “You have a dog.”
Shane was only too glad to change the subject. “Yeah, this is Biscuit. She’s my assistance dog.”
Rozanov frowned. “Assistance dog?”
Shane nodded. “I’m autistic. She helps me out with a lot of things like anxiety and regulation.”
Rozanov considered this, then motioned with his hand. “Can I -?”
“Of course,” Shane replied. “Go on, Biscie, say hi.”
Rozanov crouched and gave Biscuit a firm pat on the head. “Privet, krasivaya devushka. You’re so soft.”
Shane chuckled. “She’s great.”
He sat down with his back to the glass barrier. Biscuit climbed onto his lap, positioning herself so she could continue to be petted. Rozanov sat beside them.
“What is her favourite treat?” Rozanov asked.
Shane grinned. “She loves peanut butter cups, but she doesn’t get them very often.”
Rozanov laughed. “Ah, a woman of taste. I bring some next time I come to Montreal.”
Something about that made Shane’s heart flutter. In that moment, they weren’t Hollander and Rozanov, the great rival hockey players, they were just two young men, hanging out with a dog.
“You know,” Shane began, “I’d split the trophy down the middle if I could. I wouldn’t have had half such a good season if I hadn’t been playing against you.”
Rozanov smiled, possibly his first genuine smile of the night. “Thank you.” He leaned in to brush a brief, soft kiss to Shane’s lips. “We make each other better, I think.”
“I think so too.”
“And is more fun to beat you than anyone else. You look like angry kitten.”
Shane laughed, giving Rozanov a shove. “You’re such an asshole.”