Technically, the beast belonged to Prouvaire, but what belonged to one Ami belonged to them all. Prouvaire had found the creature, dusty and tired, wandering the paths through the Luxembourg. Softhearted Jehan never could bear to see anything needlessly suffer (although Bossuet once remarked that Jehan's definition of needlessly was rather more limited than one might imagine), and had taken the pup home for bathing and feeding. Once clean, the creature revealed himself to be a relatively healthy French Spaniel, two feet high and just under its ideal weight but with a glossy coat of white marked with large brown splotches. Jehan called a meeting to discuss plans for the dog, surely the misplaced companion of some nobleman, but from the start there was only one viable option.
Unfortunately, Jehan could not keep the dog in his own apartment. Enjolras balked at taking a bourgeois pet in his flat. He'd grown up around the species, and had found the breed synonymous with aristocratic self-indulgence and the animals themselves to be irritatingly clingy. Unfortunately for him, he was overruled. Combeferre and Joly's apartments, with their scientific detritus which included dead organisms in various stages of decay, were much too unsuitable. Feuilly's and Bahorel's landlords were no more fond of animals than Jehan's, and Grantaire was in no position to care for a pet. And Courfeyrac, envisioning the horrifying destruction of his collection of hats, flat-out refused. Faced with the imploring eyes of both Courfeyrac and Prouvaire, Enjolras surrendered gracefully, and pretended to ignore the amused smirks from Combeferre and Feuilly. The pup was christened Rousseau and ensconced in his new home.
Rousseau proved to be a lively, energetic roommate. He laid claim to Enjolras' kitchen table, scratching and chewing on the legs with great delight. Enjolras' favorite pair of boots also succumbed to puppy curiosity. He eschewed Courfeyrac's gift of a luxurious dogbed, preferring to sleep at the bottom of Enjolras' wardrobe. Apparently, discarded cravats and fallen waistcoats made comforting sleep toys. He was predictably clingy, butting against the nearest hand available and demanding attention. Luckily for Enjolras, his apartment was rarely empty, and attention was in ready supply.
Bossuet and Joly visited frequently. Bossuet loved to pet and tussle with Rousseau, and Rousseau adored him, jumping up in greeting to lavish sloppy kisses along Bossuet's arms. Unfortunately, Bossuet's skin was not informed of this mutual devotion, prickling into small red bumps when in prolonged contact with the canine fur. Lesgle laughed it off as one more evidence of Fortune's ill favor, and refused to let his hives keep him from his friend, proclaiming, "If I avoided everything that caused me the mildest discomfort or risk, I'd have no life at all." Enjolras accepted Bossuet's sentiment with a small nod, knowing that Joly would worry and tend enough for them both.
Often Grantaire and Bahorel would join them, bringing wine for the men and bones or bits of meat for Rousseau. Bahorel and Rousseau would wrestle as Grantaire laughed and invariably sided with the dog. Bahorel doted on the pet, engaging in hours of "Catch My Tail" as he discussed reports with Enjolras and hand-feeding Rousseau his favorite pieces of game. Grantaire once sketched a detailed portrait of Bahorel laughing as he tweaked Rousseau's tail, the furry end caught between the dog's teeth as Rousseau twisted himself in a near-complete circle to bite the offending tassel. Its artist soon forgot it, and the sketch found its way to Enjolras' desk.
Combeferre and Feuilly made it an evening ritual to stop by Enjolras' place every few nights and discuss the day's news, work, and progress. They bore scraps of paper and cloth to entertain Rousseau while the revolutionaries worked. Rousseau played at their feet, and it soon became customary for debates to officially conclude with a triumphant rub of canine belly. Combeferre was fascinated with Rousseau's intelligence and quick learning. Soon, he was keeping a log of new tricks, commands, and activities.
"You've grown quite fond of him," Combeferre remarked to Enjolras one evening.
"He's a good-natured creature, and more well-behaved than Courfeyrac or Grantaire." Enjolras reached down to play with the silky ears, and the matter dropped.
Courfeyrac and Jehan took Rousseau on daily walks around the best of Paris. The former had been delighted at the way Rousseau had rearranged and repurposed Enjolras' wardrobe. With a devilish smile, he shrugged off Enjolras' order to desist from any clothing-related thoughts, until Enjolras finally sighed in resignation and accepted Courfeyrac's replacement additions. Courfeyrac had cordoned off a section of his own wardrobe as "Canine Clothing". The three made an appealing picture as they strolled through the Luxembourg gardens, attracting frequent appreciative stares and smiles. The bolder mademoiselles would approach, ostensibly to coo over Rousseau, who showed off his best manners. They picnicked by the Fountain and sometimes Jehan would write little verses or delight Rousseau with his flute. All three would return to Enjolras' place, exercised, refreshed, and ready for a snooze.
Despite his initial reluctance, Enjolras adapted quickly to life with Rousseau. The dog was an excellent listener and a cheerful morning companion. And at night, when all their guests had gone, the two would relax at the table, Rousseau's head resting on Enjolras' knee, the fingers of Enjolras' free hand combing through the long, tangled fur as he finished his coursework or prepared his plans. Once the candles burned to nubs, they would retire to bed and look forward to the new dawn.