“I think that’s a fairly accurate description.” Michael finishes with the other dog, and lowers him to the floor. “I think you’ve got yourself a good home now, my friend,” he says as he scratches him under his chin. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Michael offers.
“Thank you.” I’ve attached Zhen’s lead to the other dog, and Zhen’s walking beside me without one. We head out, and I pay for the second vet visit.
I get both dogs in the car, and head home.
On the drive home, I go over the conversation with my Mom in my head. I try and get every possible combination of answers for why we should keep the dog.
I drive through the gates, up the rounded driveway, and park under the four-car carport on the side of the two-car garage.
Opening the back door, Zhen jumps out first, and runs to one of the poles holding the carport up. The other dog does the same thing. Zhen sniffs, lifts his leg, and pees. The other dog waits until Zhen is finished, then does the same thing. “There’s another three poles. You don’t have to wait. And look, there are shrubs and trees everywhere.”
I head in, with both dogs following closely behind. Opening the door, I listen for where Mom is. I can’t hear her. “Mom!” I call.
“Bathroom,” she shouts. Judging by where her voice came from, she’s in the bathroom down stairs between the guest room and the den.
I walk into the large, bright kitchen, and get some dog food out. Placing it on the floor, the new dog pounces on it, like he hasn’t seen food in days. He probably hasn’t. Zhen stands beside me, watching the newcomer.
“Honey, your ho…who do we have here?” Mom asks as she enters the kitchen.
“Well, it’s a bit of a long story.” I proceed to tell her the whole thing while I pour myself some water.
Mom sits on one of the dining room chairs as she keeps looking over to the dog, then back to me. She places her hand to her chest, as I continue to tell her about what happened. Her shoulders slump forward, and she shakes her head. “What did Michael say when you took him to the vet?”
I continue to fill her in. “So now, we have to make a decision as to what we’re going to do with him,” I say.
“What?” Mom turns her head, her top lip turned up in a semi-scowl. I’m not sure if she’s mad, or angry or something else. “We’re going to keep him.” She stands and walks out of the kitchen, only to return a few seconds later with her phone. “I’ll call Izzy the dog washer, and get her to come wash both Zhen and him today.” She points to the dog who’s now lying on his stomach, his hind legs stretched out behind him. “What are you going to call him?”
“We can keep him?” I ask. I was ready to try to convince her why we shouldn’t surrender him.
“Look at him.” We both turn to see how comfortable he is in front of the large floor to ceiling glass doors overlooking our backyard. “Even if I wanted to get rid of him, which I don’t, he wouldn’t want to go.”
I run to Mom and throw my arms around her. “Thank you,” I say.
“He’s your responsibility though, Molly. You better come up with a name.” She flicks through her phone book, then brings her phone to her ear. “Izzy, it’s Paris Dawson.” She listens for a few seconds. “No, I know Zhen isn’t due yet. But Molly has brought home a stray, and he’s really hard on the nose. Any chance you can…” She listens for a few more seconds. “Five? Thank you, I owe you.” Mom hangs up.
“She’s coming today?”
“Five o’clock.”
“Wow.” I lean against the kitchen counter, and think about the bunny rabbit. “Mom, I have a question for you.”
“What is it?”
“When I came to live with you and Dad, did I have a stuffed bunny rabbit?”
Mom’s shoulders stiffen. She visibly swallows. “You came to us with the clothes you were wearing, and a small bag with a few articles of clothing,” she says. Mom’s told me little bits and pieces, but nothing substantial.
“I know you’ve told me you didn’t know a lot about my life before I came to you, but do you know anything about it at all?”
“Only what we’ve told you, sweetie. You came from a broken home, your birth mother wasn’t on the scene, and you lived with your father. Authorities were called when the neighbor heard you crying. You’d been left alone in the house.” I nod my head. This stuff I’ve heard before. “Why, what’s bothering you?”
“Something happened today, and I don’t know what it means.”
“The guy at the dog park?”
I nod. “When I saw him hit his dog, I stood up to go and confront him, but I just got this vivid picture of a mangy stuffed rabbit. It’s like I had a connection to it, but I have no idea from where or how. It made me feel uneasy. My stomach churned, and it was like a warning or something. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me if I came to you with a white rabbit. It had big, floppy ears. It was supposed to be white, but it was discolored.” Mom’s shaking her head. “Nothing?” I’m desperate to try and find out about this bunny.
“No, I’m sorry. I can tell you about Tina’s adoption though. But that’s not useful considering your birthparents are different.”
“Okay, well…I don’t know.” I shrug. “I wish I knew what this rabbit meant.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
I walk over to Mom, and give her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s okay. I’m going to head up so I can do some research on dog names.”
“Okay. Izzy will be here at five. We’ll get both dogs washed. I’ll call you down when she arrives.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I head out of the kitchen, both dogs right behind me. I take the steps two at a time and get to my room quickly. Again, both dogs right by my side. “Right, let’s find a name for you.” I sniff, and get a waft of the dog. “Stinky wouldn’t be nice, would it, boy?” I pet him. Zhen lays beside me.
Opening my laptop, I search dog names for courageous males.
“Zhen, Zorro,” I call both boys. They’re outside, playing in the backyard. Both ignore me. “Dinner,” I say, louder. Just like magic, they stop playing and run toward me. “So you come when I say dinner? Traitors.” I run my nails through Zhen’s short hair, then pet Zorro.
“He needs fattening up,” Dad says as we sit at the dinner table.
“Yeah, Michael said he’s underweight.”
“You can see it,” Dad says. “He’s a good dog, though. I’m surprised he’s as well behaved as what he is. Especially if he came from a home where he was abused. I’m really surprised he’s not cowering every time we put our hands down to pet him.”
“He probably feels comfortable around us,” I answer. “Even Tina likes him, and we both know she’s not a fan of animals.”
“Who’s not a fan of animals?” Tina asks as she comes in and sits beside me at the dinner table.
“You,” I answer.
“They’re alright.” She shrugs. “I mean, I wouldn’t ever purposely hurt an animal, but they’re not really my thing.” She reaches down to pet the dogs. Both clamber to stand beside her.