Snapshots of a Small-Town Life
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI. Also, Bridgewater and Greyston County are fictional locations and the original characters that inhabit them are also fictional. Any resemblance they may bear to actual places is purely coincidental.
Rating: K
A/N: Hope you enjoy this because I'm going to be on a posting hiatus for the next two weeks or sowhile I visit Mexico City and return home to my beautiful New Zealand.
Chapter 8
Jenny was interested now, leaning over her mother's shoulder to look at the pictures as she brought them out.
"Let's see the next one!" she insisted.
And there was Nick, holding a squirming black Labrador puppy.
"Aww, there's Bruno," Sara said, her eyes misting for a second time at the memory of their first dog, who had died of old age two years earlier. She would never have pictured herself as a dog person back in the old days, but that was then.
"Your dad was so disappointed," she recalled. "He'd got me that lovely camera, and he thought all I'd gotten him was a pair of gloves…"
"These are great, honey," Nick told her, failing utterly to hide his disappointment. They were, after all, nice gloves: sturdy leather thickly lined with wool.
"Well, I thought they might come in handy with the rest of your present." She smiled at the way his eyes lit up.
"There's more?" he asked, once again reminding her of an eager little boy.
"Sure," she grinned. "It's in the garage."
He all but bolted from the room, and she followed more slowly, pausing to collect a warm blanket for Rosie, who she had been holding whilst her father took his turn under the tree.
By the time she reached the garage, Nick was already fussing over the puppy, which was licking his face, its stubby tail set to wag itself off with excitement.
"Do you like him?" she asked, and he looked up at her, eyes sparkling.
"Like him? Darlin' he's perfect. How did you know?"
She shrugged. "You did mention a couple of times that we should get a dog, and you always struck me as a 'dog' person. I figured Labradors are supposed to be good with kids, so he'd be a good choice."
"He is," Nick agreed at once. "What's his name?"
"That's up to you," she told him. "He's your dog – which means you're the one who gets to walk him and clean up after him."
Her husband laughed. "Sure, Mom."
"So, what are you gonna call him?"
"Hmmm, let's see. My credibility as a deputy is at stake here."
He had already suffered one blow to his masculine image because he refused to go deer-hunting, a favourite pastime for many of Bridgewater's male residents, his years in Las Vegas having left him permanently unable to see any sport in killing.
"What about 'Killer'?" he suggested.
"No!" Sara laughed, knowing that he was teasing.
"Okay. Tiger?"
"Tiger? He's a dog, Nick."
"Hmm. Bruno?"
"Bruno?" she tried it out. "Yeah, that's pretty good."
"Okay then, Bruno it is."
Bruno continued to wag his little tail joyfully.