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Red and gold leaves crunched under their feet as they walked, but Makkachin wasn't chasing them the way he used to. Last year he’d running ahead to every leaf pile, in the hope finding mice or another dog's leavings. Instead he stayed at Victor's side, his rheumy eyes staring down the path that wended through the trees.
"Maybe we should get him a jacket," Yuuri said. "It's going to be colder here than back home."
"Oh, Makkachin has been through much worse than this!" Victor said brightly. Yuuri knew that even the winters here in America would be nothing like Victor's home, but that hadn't been his point. The vet who had given Makkachin his heart medication had said he was otherwise healthy, but Yuuri had been up half the night reading about other risk factors; sudden chills, too much salt, dramatic increases in exercise. He had tried to present a list of Makkachin's necessary lifestyle changes, but Victor just laughed and insisted Makkachin had to enjoy his old age.
Yuuri realised what was going on in Victor’s head just as they reached the park, down the road from their new apartment. Between Victor's new sponsorship tour, and both of their training schedules, they had been working so hard that it was their first time walking the dog together since they'd arrived. Usually whoever was home at walkies hour – almost always Yuuri in the evening, after dark, or Victor early in the morning on his way out the door – took Makkachin for a cursory walk to the park and back. This weekend was a welcome break for everyone. But it shouldn’t have taken them this long. Not when Makkachin’s time was getting shorter.
They'd reached the dog walking section of the park. Makkachin's ears pricked up and his tail began to wag. Victor let him off the leash and he bounded over to greet an enormous wolfhound that was stalking across the grass. They sniffed each other thoroughly and then Makkachin tried to lure the wolfhound into chasing him. The wolfhound didn't take the bait, leaving Makkachin looking plaintively over his shoulder, wagging his entire back half furiously. Instead a terrier spotted the game from across the oval and raced over in a blur of tiny legs. Makkachin raced off with a thrilled bark, the terrier yapping at his ankles.
Yuuri looked over at Victor and saw that his eyes were alight and the smile was back on his face. He looked back at Makkachin and the terrier. This winter was going to be hard enough, living in a new country, working separately, and all the pressure on Victor's comeback tour. If Makkachin didn't make it through the winter, things could spiral into a disaster. They had to find something to focus on that would keep Victor happy no matter how hard things got.
Half thinking aloud, he blurted out, "We should get a puppy!"
---[]---
"We need something small. The apartment's only big enough for the three of us as it is."
"Not too small," Victor said. "Not one of those handbag dogs they love over here."
Yuuri was on his laptop scrolling through lists of breeders in the state. Dogs of every shape and size slid past him. "What about a pug?"
"The wheezy things whose eyes pop out when they sneeze? Ugh, no!" Victor dropped down onto the sofa, throwing his head back dramatically. He stretched the entire length of the couch, feet hanging off the end, his torso stretching enticingly in his button-up workshirt. "So undignified."
Yuuri pouted to himself. He loved pugs. But their vet bills were expensive and they were already spending more on Makkachin's care than they did on their utility bills.
"A pomeranian?" He suggested.
"I said no handbag dogs!" Victor groaned. Makkachin got up from his bed and began to slobber on his hand.
They were yappy little animals, too, Yuuri reminded himself. "What about a fox terrier?"
Victor gasped. "Absolutely not! Don't you remember that one that attacked Makkachin in the park? Little beasts."
They didn’t seem like the brightest breed, either, Yuuri agreed silently. He kept scrolling. "Well, let's ring this place that does French bulldogs," he said. "I know you like them, don't make excuses."
---[]---
The puppies were like little black and white cannonballs, dashing and rolling around the yard. Yuuri had to repress the urge to squeal with delight as they came bounding up to the veranda. Their round, dark eyes peered up at him, pink rogues lolling, flat faces grinning.
"Victor, they're so cute, I'm gonna cry!" He pressed his hands to his face and turned to the middle-aged woman in gumboots and a jeans who had led them round to the back of the centre. "Can I pick them up?"
"If they'll let you," she drawled.
Yuuri did squeal, just a little bit, and sat down on the bottom step. The puppies mobbed him immediately, trying to climb onto his legs, nipping at his track pants with sharp milk teeth. Their mother, relieved of them briefly, lay down in the grass a few feet away. Yuuri picked up the puppy that had managed to get into his lap, it's round belly fitting snugly in his palm. He brought it up to his face as it squirmed and gave tiny, offended barks.
"I want one," he pleaded, resting the puppy on his shoulder where it licked his ear. He looked over at Victor. "Look, he loves me already!"
Victor was smiling indulgently at him. "We'll think about it," he said to the woman. Yuuri sighed.
---[]---
The next breeder was a tall, thin man with thick, greying hair that sprouted all around his head and out of his nostrils. He showed them the two young Italian greyhounds in his yard, while four adult dogs sat lounging or pacing in their pens. The first Italian greyhound ran straight up to Victor and did a loop around his legs, coming up no higher than his knee. Victor laughed and clapped his hands with delight.
"They're both house-trained," assured the breeder.
"Isn't she perfect?" Yuuri pressed.
Victor's expression went flat and he touched his chin. "Well, maybe not perfect."
---[]---
The daschund puppies waddled across the floor of their room, one hiding behind its brothers while the others sniffed curiously at Yuuri's fingers. They were not the short-haired breed that Yuuri was used to from cartoons and TV, sleek as seals. The had coats of thick, curly hair that on the puppies was as soft as down.
"They're a great temperament," the elderly woman said, squinting through thick glasses at Victor as he crouched to pet the shy puppy at the back. For a moment it twitched away, but when his hand didn't give chase it sidled back to him, straining up to nuzzle his fingers curiously. "I've been handling dogs for fifty years now. Nothing like a daschund."
"I've known some nice daschunds too," Victor agreed.
There was a long pause afterwards. Finally Yuuri prompted. "…and you like these ones?"
"They seem very cute!" Victor agreed, in the same bright voice he would use to tell a rival skater their jumps were a very high difficulty. It might be true, but it wasn't going to save them. Yuuri sighed and picked up the friendliest of the puppies, cuddling it to his chest.
The elderly woman looked between them. "You boys don't seem like you're in the same mind," she said. "Why don't you think about it and give me a call?"
---[]---
"Maybe a puppy wouldn't be a good idea," Yuuri mumbled, reaching back between the seats of the car to scratch Makkachin's head. "It'll need so much training. We haven’t got the time."
They were driving back from a check-up with the vet. Makkachin had his own seatbelt installed in the back of the car, which he loved, as he didn't have the stamina to brace himself for a trip of any length. He'd developed a limp a couple of days ago, but the vet had given it the all clear; no stroke or loss of muscle tone. Probably he'd just launched himself too enthusiastically into bed one morning and sprained it. Short but frequent walks for only for a few days, and he'd be fine. Yuuri didn't know how they'd fit more walks into their already neglectful schedule.
"No, we should keep looking!" Victor insisted. "We'll find something, I'm sure. It's just a big decision."
"What are you looking for that we haven't found?" Yuuri sighed. "I shouldn't have pushed the matter. I just thought a puppy would be a good start for us here. Especially if Makkachin won't be around much longer."
It was the first time either of them had said it out loud, though they both knew. The vet had used much plainer language.
Victor slowed down for a traffic light, opened his mouth, but for once in his life nothing came out. He didn't say anything for several minutes. Yuuri wondered if he'd gone too far in trying to pierce Victor's eternal optimism. He stared out the window, resting his chin on his hand, and realised suddenly they weren't on the usual route home.
"Victor?" He looked around. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see!" Victor beamed. They were heading to the edge of the suburbs, passing the occasional vacant lot.
A few blocks later, Victor suddenly leaned forward. "Here! I thought I'd missed it."
He turned into a long driveway bordered by tall fences. The sign nailed beside the entrance read WAGGY DOG SHELTER. PLEASE CALL AHEAD FOR VISITS.
"Wait. We're gonna look at rescues?" Yuuri asked. "But I thought you wanted a puppy."
"I thought I did too," Victor smiled. "But I've been thinking a bit longer, and I realised my last rescue worked out pretty well," he winked at Yuuri, who felt the blood rush to his cheeks.
Makkachin raised his head and licked the window as they got closer, hearing the distant bark of other dogs. They met a baggy-eyed, smiling, woman with a big head of black curls who let Makkachin smell her hand before she shook Victor's.
"Keep him on the leash for now, but you can bring him round the back. Our volunteers are exercising most of the adoptables in the yard right now," she said. "He can come meet them."
Out the back of the shelter was what looked like an old baseball pitch, mostly dust but with some grass left in places and a few struggling saplings that had been planted around the edges. Over a dozen dogs were running around, barking at the sky and each other, while three college students tried to throw balls for all of those clamouring in front of them.
Makkachin strained on his leash, wagging his tail. Victor laughed and let the dog lead him into the yard, where a couple of wild-eyed mutts bounded towards him. Makkachin tried to reach them, looking back at Victor to let him off the leash, but the shelter coordinator shook her head.
Yuuri was eying the dogs suspiciously. Some of the younger ones, not quite fully grown, tussled with each other with growls and barks. Makkachin ran behind Victor's legs in surprise, tangling the leash around his ankles. Almost at once, before the volunteers had even looked around, a hulking golden retriever bounded up to the two young dogs and got in between them. She made no sound, patiently eying up the more snappy of the two pups until it backed off and scampered around the trees.
Yuuri's heart had started pounding at the yelps of the dogs, though there was clearly no harm done. He looked around for somewhere to sit and headed for the last line of remaining baseball benches. Despite the cool autumn air, there was another large dog sitting in the shade underneath. His tongue was hanging right out of his mouth, his head raised to watch the others playing. There was grey on his dark muzzle and he sniffed at Yuuri's shoe and then went back to watching the other dogs. His long fur hung around his head like a mane.
The shelter coordinator came over, leading Makkachin while Victor squatted in the dust to let several curious dogs run up to meet him. Yuuri could hear him laughing as one jumped up to paw his shoulders and knocked him backwards. The coordinator sat on the bench and leaned down to scratch the ears of the dog underneath. Makkachin settled at Yuuri's feet, legs flopping in all directions, head angled towards the dog under the bench.
"This is Jimmy," said the coordinator. "Used to be a farmhouse dog until the old man died and the land got sold to industry. Apparently his mum was a German shepherd, but we thinks he's got Labrador and collie on the other side. He's been here a few months, but he's getting on in years and most people want one of the youngsters. Vet bills and so on."
Kind of like old skaters, Yuuri thought. Hard to make a comeback.
"It's tough with old dogs," he agreed. "They're chilled out, but you're never sure if they're happy or not."
Jimmy had heaved himself up suddenly and come out of the shade to sniff Makkachin all over. Makkachin turned his head to watch him and then rested his head on his paws. Jimmy slumped down beside him and they sat together, both watching the younger dogs play.
Victor was walking over, dusting off the butt of what Yuuri knew was a pair of slacks too expensive to be sitting in the dirt. As he approached, his eyes lit up at the sight of Makkachin and Jimmy lying next to each other.
"Who's this?" He asked. "He's perfect!"
And Yuuri finally realised what Victor had been worrying about all along. Not Makkachin dying, but Makkachin lonely in his old age, stuck in the house all day with no one around, sleeping through his final years instead of enjoying them.
Oh, Yuuri thought, it’s a metaphor, and I’m an idiot.
A week later, after signing a lot of papers and passing their background check, they brought Jimmy home. They'd bought him a new bed and put it in a quiet corner of the house. Jimmy walked around every corner of the apartment several times before flopping down on the bed and going to sleep. When Yuuri checked on him later, Makkachin was lying beside him, blinking into a snooze. Yuuri ran his hand through his hair and headed to bed, turning out the lights along the way. Two old dogs… this meant twice as much work for twice the heartbreak eventually. He was already having second thoughts.
By the time he'd brushed his teeth, Victor had fallen asleep with his book in his hand. Yuuri tugged it out of his fingers, tucked a bookmark in and placed it on the bedside table. He lay down next to Victor, tightening his arm around his waist, and tried to stop thinking about the future of their dogs or their careers.
Within minutes he was asleep.