The room was hollow, dripping with despair, no light to spare. Peace was present, but only behind the apricot fur of the six month old poodle, sleeping without a care in front of the fireplace. Burning oak was no comfort to the man, the woman. Wet cheeks and grief, fear, kept them cold.

“You tell me mother. How am I to explain to a five year old that he is never going to see his mother again?” He held his head in his hands, his crew cut left him without any hair to pull. They had not been home more than an hour when the hospital called to say her heart had stopped.

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Mother! He’s a boy, a boy who probably up until yesterday in his subconscious could still remember suckling her breast. All of that gone now, replaced with what mother? Blood? Twisted metal? Sirens? How can you be so callous about her death, so cruel?”

“Wait a minute, how can I be so cruel? Wasn’t Shana the cruel one when she drove drunk with Graeme in the car. Every day he looks in the mirror, his scar will remind him of what she did to him. She scarred him in more ways than one! It’s unforgivable! She can rot in hell for all I care.”

Wind gusting from the west startled them all with what sounded like a knock on the door, and Booker, only trying to do his job awoke with a bark, his signature, four shorts one long.

“Mother what good does the blame game do now, and will you shut that thing up?”

“Thing! Jake! He’s a puppy! And puppies are known to bark! Com’ear Bookie. Good boy.” Booker jumped up on Nana’s lap and nuzzled in. Her anger and his body warmed her just enough. She pet him from head to tail, tickling him like a concert pianist touching piano keys and talked softly to him. “He doesn’t mean it Bookie. He’s just sad and mad is all.”

“I’m sorry mother. My nerves are shot. I didn’t plan on my wife drinking and driving and I certainly didn’t plan on her early demise. I’m gonna need your help, ya know. A lot of help.”

“I know baby. We’ll get through this together. It’ll be okay someday, you’ll see. I promise. Whatever you need for Graeme, Bookie and I will be here as much as you need us. I’ll move in for awhile until life resumes back to normal, as normal as normal can be.”

The next morning, Jake sat in the same rocker Graeme had been nursed in, watching him sleep with anticipation until he woke up. As soon as Graeme’s eyes opened, Jake leaped into the bed wrapping up his son like a shell to its oyster. If he whispered the words, maybe it would soften the blow? Saying what he had to say softly was all the strength he could muster, anyway. “Graeme, Momma has gone to heaven. She won’t be coming home from the hospital.”

Graeme frowned, with a downturned bottom lip and looked at him blankly for about a half a minute. What he said, said more than what he didn’t say, “Is Nana still here? Where’s Bookie?”

“I think I hear them in the kitchen. Nana’s probably fixing some pancakes.”

“I want to play with Bookie.” And it was then that Jake realized the best medicine for his son’s grief was already in his house. Graeme raced down the stairs like it was Christmas morning to join Booker. Nana too, but mainly Booker. Oh, there would be therapists and guidance counselors and the seen and unseen scars, but there is something to be said about the healing effects of a boy’s best friend.

“Nana. Nana! Where are Bookie’s little balls? He likes the green one best right?”

“They’re in my bag Graeme. I’ll go get them. Yes he loves the green one best.” Mother and son looked towards each other lifting eyebrows and shoulders silently signaling to roll with Graeme’s wishes.

Nana stopped flipping flaps and got the balls out of her bag, little balls that were just the right size for a fifteen pound mini poodle’ s mouth.

“What’s that word you said Nana? He’s abses?”

“Obsessed Graeme. Obsessed. Bookie is obsessed with his green ball and will play all day fetching it, if we let him.”

“That’s what I want to do today. Play ball with Bookie all day, okay?” Sure thing son, said Jake, holding back his tears. “Right after breakfast and after I change your bandage my brave boy, okay?”

“Okay Dad. Anyway, I am abses with Nana’s pancakes, too!” And the three of them were able to let out just a little bit of a chuckle, before big bites of fluffy jacks.

And so it was, the days went on, the scar began to heal and every day Nana and Booker were there for Graeme. Since she had trained other poodles over the years, Nana was in the process of teaching Booker to sit, give paw, roll over and more, but her favorite trick was the cha cha cha. Holding a treat over Booker’s head, she’d make a zig zag motion to a cha cha beat, and he’d stand up and dance for her everytime. But Nana never took credit. She’d practice each day with Booker when Graeme was at school, and when he got in the house, it was always Graeme that believed he was the dog whisperer, positively giddy at feeling accomplished as Bookers trainer.

“God boy Booker, do you want a treat?” Rollover, lay down, cha cha cha, and one day became the next until he came off the bus with his head down and a frown they had rarely seen since his mother passed away. When he got in the house and he didn’t seem interested in seeing Booker, that’s when Nana really became concerned. “What’s wrong Buddy? Do you feel sick?”

“No.” Blopping down on the floor, defeated. “Graeme you know you can talk to me about anything. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you.”

After some hesitation and more prompting from Nana, Graeme finally conceded and said, “Okay. It’s Johnny at school. He said on the bus that I have an ugly Frankenstein face, and I think he is right. All the kids laughed when he said it, and he got in trouble, and had to sit next to the bus driver, but that didn’t make me feel better. And I think all the other kids have mommy’s, because I see them waiting at the bus stop and I don’t have mine, and sometimes that makes me very sad and very mad about what happened.”

Oh, honey, it’s all going to be okay, someday Graeme. I promise. It’s not true that you look like Frankenstein. You are a handsome boy and anyway as time goes on that scar will fade. And it’s true and it’s very very sad that you have no mommy, but I’m here for you and Booker’s here for you. You don’t want to make him sad too, do you? Why don’t we get the green ball and take Booker over to the park?”

“I don’t want to. I feel too sad and mad and now Booker probably won’t like me anymore, either.”

“Oh, that’s not true. Booker loves you,” and as if on cue, Booker leaped across the room and into Graeme’s lap, with a whole lot of puppy dog kisses. As if the conversation never happened, Graeme said, “Where’s the green ball Nana, let’s go.”

When they were walking back from the park, Nana had an idea. “Hey Graeme. What if I call your teacher and see if we can set up a show and tell with Booker and you can show off all the tricks you have taught him.”

“Can we Nana. Can we?”

“I can’t promise, but I’ll call the school tomorrow and ask.”

The school principal was happy to grant Nana and Booker access to the school. The show and tell was all set for Friday afternoon and Grant was so excited he woke up before the crack of dawn, practicing tricks with Booker before Nana could get the coffee pot on. He was happy to get on the bus, but unhappy about having to wait till 1 pm, because in his mind, there was an eternity between 8:30 am and 1 pm, the scheduled event time. In school, he must have stared at the clock every minute, his mind trying to push the minute hand without success. And then finally after eternity less a minute, it was 12:59 and a knock rang the class’s attention. Mrs. Schultz stood before the class, clapped three times, then put her pointer over her mouth with one hand, and with the other she raised her arm high, the signal for the children to pay attention in silence. And then she announced.

“Children we have a special guest today. Graeme’s grandmother is here with his dog for show and tell. I want everyone to sit quietly in your circle spot.” Graeme was so happy that his teacher said his dog and not Nana’s dog. Nana always said that too, and he inwardly embraced her kindness, her generosity, and her promise.

Mrs. Schultz opened the door, and in came Booker on the leash with Nana close behind. She waved at all the kids and they waved back and then Mrs Schultz said, “Graeme, I understand that you have taught Booker a bunch of tricks and you would like to demonstrate what you have taught Booker to the class. Is that right?”

Graeme came forward and said, “Yes, Mrs. Schultz.” And with that Nana passed him the baggie they had packed before he left for school filled with Booker’s assorted treats. She gave him the leash and he took over without hesitation proving that practice makes perfect. One after another, with total concentration, Graeme perfectly executed all of Booker’s tricks in front of his classmates, with a grand finale of a very long cha cha cha, across the classroom floor. There were so many oh’s and ah’s from the dance that Graeme snapped back out of the zone, looking towards his teacher and then towards Nana, not needing to hear that he had done a good job. All the kids clapped a long round of applause and then Nana asked Graeme if he wanted her to sign him out early, or if he wanted to go home on the bus. “I think I’ll go home on the bus Nana.”

And he stepped onto the bus confidently, the star of the day, each and everyone of his classmates, even Johnny, asking questions on the bus about Booker. “That was so cool.” And, “I wish I had a dog.” And, “How did you teach him all those tricks?” And more. Long after that day, eventually Nana did start sleeping at her house again, but without Booker. Booker had found his way into a little boys heart, and down at the foot of his bed each night as they both slept peacefully. It wouldn’t be fair to say Graeme forgot about the love of his mother, but when lost, love has a way of finding us again. In Graeme’s case, it was found behind the apricot fur, gifted by Nana in more ways than one.

They walked along the way; just a boy and his dog.

The boy held a big stick, brushing it along the fence as they passed by Mr. Marlin’s house. The dog wagged happily about, gaping curiously at the everyday wonders of the neighborhood. The boy looked up at the bright blue sky full of big puffy clouds, then glanced back down at his little furry companion and couldn’t help but smile.

Cuttle was a gift for Finnegan’s twelfth birthday. One that was more fun than any of the water guns or scuba men he’d received on previous occasions. One that was even better than the remote control monster truck that Aunt Albecore had given him for Christmas. One that he could take for a walk, feed, brush, wash, play with and look after every single day. One that he swore on his very own heart never to lose, abuse or let run away. One that he promised to have and to hold, to cherish and care for the rest of his life.

Finn promised all this because he was instantly attached to the little puppy from the moment he opened the blue polka-dotted present box and looked into it’s two big adorable eyes one hundred and ninety-six days ago. Also because he was determined to prove to his parents how responsible he could really be. He would never be allowed to look after the house alone, babysit for extra money, or officially have a girlfriend if he wasn’t even capable of taking care of one tiny little pet.

As they crossed at the corner of Coral and Tide, Finn heard a distant bell. Turning, he saw Melanie-Ray approaching on her shiny seafoam blue bicycle. As she pedaled, the bubblegum beads at the ends of her long braids bounced. Finn’s cheeks turned just as pink. She was his neighbor from the next block, and he was her secret admirer. Never ever did any other girl make Finn feel the way that Melanie-Ray made him feel just by smiling at him.

“Hi, Finn!” she exclaimed, rolling to a stop right beside him. Cuttle barked to greet her.

“Hi, Melanie,” Finn smiled shyly.

“Where are you taking Cuttle?” she asked.

“Uh… Just for a walk, I guess,” Finn fidgeted, “Nowhere in particular.”

“Oh. Okay,” Melanie blinked.

“…Where are YOU going on your bike?” Finn asked after a pause.

“Just for a stroll, I guess,” Melanie smirked, “Nowhere in particular.”

A beautiful idea weaved its way into Finn’s lovestruck brain. It would be perfect if only he’d muster up the courage to ask.

“Hey, could we, like… go… get some ice cream?” he stuttered.

“Sure!” Melanie peeped.

“Okay, then. Cool,” Finn grinned, brows lifting in surprise.

The two children continued to smile at each other until Cuttle yipped and pulled against his leash, yanking Finn abruptly.

“Woah!” he shouted, “Silly dog!”

Melanie covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress her giggles.

The biking girl rolled slowly down the road, Finn walked beside her, and Cuttle took the lead. On the way, they discussed which flavors of ice cream they would try, which toppings they would choose, and whether a cone or a bowl was best. Arriving at the parlor, Melanie dismounted her bicycle as Finn opened the door for her.

“Such a gentleman,” she curtsied jokingly.

They quickly found a booth near the counter and took a seat. Cuttle barked in excitement.

“Sorry, little guy. You can’t have any ice cream,” Finn pouted, rubbing the puppy’s head, “But, I promise to get you some bacon treats when we get home. Okay?”

Cuttle licked his owner’s face in approval.

“Hey, kids,” a teenage boy shouted walking over, “No dogs allowed inside of here.”

“Who are you?” Finn snapped.

“That’s Devon,” Melanie rolled her eyes.

“Mr. Grayling’s nephew, of course,” the boy barked proudly.

“Mr. Grayling lets Cuttle sit in here with me all the time, ”Finn frowned, “He’s a good, well-behaved dog.”

“Well, my uncle put me in charge today,” the boy huffed, “And he told me that no stinkin’, filthy, no-good little mutts are allowed in his ice cream shop or else.”

Melanie looked up in surprise.

“That doesn’t sound like something that Mr. Grayling would say at all,” she gasped, narrowing her eyes.

“Well he said it, and that’s final,” Devon smiled, “Now, I suggest you tie that little thing up outside or you can all leave and get your sundaes somewhere else.”

Melanie parted her glossy lips to speak, but Finn raised his finger to silence her.

“Fine. We’ll leave!” he stood and headed towards the door, “Come on boy.”

Melanie followed the two outside with a worried countenance.

“That guy is always so rude,” Melanie said, shaking her head in disgust, “Cuttle isn’t any of those things. He’s a pure-bred, sweet smelling puppy that you probably just washed this morning.”

“I know,” Finn sighed, sadly glancing at his wide-eyed pet.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go for ice cream today,” she shrugged, “Thanks for the offer anyway, though. Raincheck?”

Finn couldn’t let a pesky guy like Devon ruin his first date.

“No!” he said firmly, causing a bright display of shock across Melanie’s face, ”I mean, how about… we go over to my house? I have ice cream in the fridge, actually.”

“But, your parents aren’t home, are they?” Melanie asked.

“Well, that’s okay,” Finn blurted, “My father’s at work and my mother ran to the market for a moment to fetch some extra ingredients for tonight’s dinner. They shouldn’t mind me having a friend over for fifteen minutes, should they?”

“I guess not,” she responded after some thought, “Last one there is toast!” Quickly mounting her bicycle, she raced down the street.

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Finn laughed as he and Cuttle chased after her.

Melanie dropped her bike down on the green lawn and ran up to the porch of the big blue home.

“I win!” she cheered. Finn slowly jogged up the walkway panting more than Cuttle.

“And, now… we can celebrate… your victory… with ice cream,” he breathed.

Laughing, the two kids and the dog stepped into the cool of the house.

“This feels much better,” Finn sighed in relief.

“And smells good, too!” Melanie added, “What’s cooking?”

“That’s the chicken casserole mom started, and the pot of beans on the stove,” Finn said, “She had to run out and get more pepper, cauliflower, and other things. I forget... Hey, I bet they would love if you stayed over for dinner. We surely have more than enough”

“Thanks,” she responded, “But my parents will be looking for me,”

“They probably won’t mind if you ask them first,” Finn suggested, “BUT, not until after we’ve had our ice cream.”

The children headed into the kitchen and gathered all the ingredients they needed from the freezer, fridge, and pantry, consequently making a mess of the counter and stove top. Then, they went up to Finn’s room to devour their elaborate creations.

“These are almost as good as the ones Mr. Grayling makes!” Finn smiled with a mouth full of cold cream.

“Ten times better than the ones Devon makes,” Melanie smirked. After eating, the children felt full and satisfied.

“I think I’ve spoiled my dinner,” Melanie whined.

“Me too, but, it should be fine,” Finn glanced at his octopus wall clock, “Forty for minutes ’til five. It should all be digested by then. If not, we can always feed some to Cuttle!”

The two looked around for the puppy and realized that he was nowhere in sight.

“Cuttle?” they both called simultaneously.

“Aww, man! He must have gotten hungry and rushed off to find the bacon treats I promised him.” Finn sighed.

“I should help you look for him,” Melanie said.

“No, that’s okay. You need to get home and ask your parents if you can return for dinner later,” Finn reminded her, “Don’t worry. I’ll find him. He couldn’t have gone too far.”

“Okay. Thanks again for inviting me!” she squealed, “I hope you find him, and I hope my mom says yes.”

“Me too,” he smiled, “See you later if so.” Melanie’s pink beads rattled and shook as she rushed down the stairs and through the door.

Smitten, Finn couldn’t resist the urge to peep out of his window and watch the girl race down the street on her seafoam bike. “One last look,” he whispered and collapsed onto his bed with a sigh. Closing his eyes, he began dreaming of future ‘dates’ with his love; A day at the park playing cops and robbers, an afternoon at the beach building zombie bunkers, a hike in the forest to dig up worms, an evening with a loud beeping machine in a dark room that reeked of ashes…

With a deep inhale, Finn’s eyes flung open and shut again due to the murky cloud of black that had suddenly surrounded him. He heard the smoke detector and smelled fire. Coughing, he slowly regained consciousness, realizing that he was lying on his bed as smoke seeped in from underneath the door. There was no fire in the room yet, but he could feel warmth raging below the floorboards.

“The stove! The beans! Mom’s casserole!” he panicked.

Not knowing what to do, he stood and began pacing back and forth. He heard the wood creak under his feet as if it were about to give in to his weight. He glanced at the window; A way of escape. He ran to the window and flung it open, taking in the fresh, warm summer air. Staring down below, his body suddenly froze as if it were waiting for his brain to remember something. Was he afraid of heights? Tie sheets together as a harness to descend upon? Should he grab his baseball cards? His deluxe remote control monster truck? His pufferfish bank that contained his entire life savings?

No.

No.

No.

Something more valuable.

“Cuttle!” Finn screamed to the top of his lungs.

Slamming the window shut, he took off straight for the bedroom door. When he flung this open, though, he was greeted with a much more scorching blast of wind. With a scream and a thud, he fell back into his room. Down the steps, he could see the glow of the orange inferno.

“Cuttle!!!” he yelled desperately.

Hearing no response, Finn regained his footing and mustered the strength to travel downstairs into the boiling heat.

At the end of the stairwell, he walked out into the living room and was greeted by more intense smoke heat.

“Smoke rises to the top…” Finn reminded himself as he crouched down and began crawling towards the dining room. There, he came face to face with the flames. They were slithering over everything, devouring the curtains, the walls, and the table cloths.

“Cuttle!!!”

“Cuttle!!!”

He called between coughs. His breathing became heavier, and his eyesight became blurrier.

“I have to find him!” he thought to himself, “Where could he be?”

Just then, a cardboard box of ice cream cones caught his eye. Though no flames were touching it directly, it was wilting, singed by the heat alone. Finn remembered the ice cream. He remembered the parlor. He remembered promising Cuttle the bacon treats.

“Where did dad put the bacon treats?” he wheezed.

His head became heavy and it fell to the floor. Overwhelmed with smoke, Finn closed his eyes.

Suddenly, his ear heard muffled barking as it rested on the carpet.

“The basement!” He gasped with a new wave of determination.

As flames, objects, and pieces of the house fell all around him, he army crawled into the fierce flames spewing from the kitchen. He felt as if he were being cooked alive, but every fiber of his being was set on finding Cuttle. Finally past the stove, he arrived at the basement door which was cracked open. He reached for the knob to hoist himself up onto his knees but quickly retracted. The whole kitchen felt like an oven, and everything inside, especially metal things. Removing his shirt, he covered his hand and tried again.

Using the knob for support, he carefully stood and inched into the basement stairwell, slamming the door behind him. Feeling lightheaded, he stumbled down the steps. As he descended, the air got cooler and the smoke cleared. There, at the base of the steps, he found his beloved best friend, panting and yapping, leaping at the half-open bag of bacon treats that was perched upon the metal tool shelf.

“I-- promised--” Finn breathed, dropping his charred shirt.

He reached up to pull down the treats, then fell onto the puppy and held him tightly in his arms.

In the cool of the basement, he could still feel the roaring fire that was surely now engulfing the entire home. He heard wood creaking all around him, and large chunks of debris burying the two alive. Finn’s clammy skin touched the cold linoleum tile, but he didn’t shiver. Cuttle barked, lapped up a few kibbles, and licked his dear owner’s face. As his breaths slowed, Finn closed his eyes with a smile.

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“Go on Stan.” My words came out through gritted teeth with more force than intended so my chin pressed hard into my knee. Desperate for warmth I wrapped my arms tighter around my shins and shifted my cold backside on the hard step. My new jeans were warm but I should have worn my fluffy coat like my Mom said. Still, I couldn’t leave him to defend his bowl on his own. He had lost one battle already today.

The black cat, the skinny one from two doors down, lifted another paw forward. Her green eyes lasered onto the bowl piled high with my leftover salmon. Wednesdays were salmon day - my worst day, Stan’s favourite. Just one more way that we fitted together so well. Rising, his hind legs quivered with effort, a horrible tremor took over and his behind hit the ground again. Gently, I wormed my hands under his furry hips, the backs of my hands scraping against the gravel and I hooched him up and nudged him forward.

“You got it, boy”. And he did. His wet nose buried itself in the small mountain of food and his pink tongue got to work. I wiped my bloody hands on my jeans. Over Stan’s shoulder, I watched the cat slink away and I felt the sweet swell of victory expand my ribs.

“Tomorrow is vet day Stannie,” I said, easing him down into a lying position. “You’ll be all fixed up.”

I kneeled down, my thigh pleasingly warm against his long back and leaned over him, burying my nose in the musty warm nook behind his ear.

“No one will steal your dinner after tomorrow. Mom says there are magic tablets for arthritis. It will be like the old days. Remember? No cat will dare enter your territory. Not ever.”

I didn’t know if this was true but I had to give him hope.