Chapter Nine: Don't Get on That!

As soon as I got home, I turned to the new face I had come to appreciate, and said in a low, calm voice, "Listen up buddy. I am going to take you in there. It is my apartment. No one has stayed here since Greg died. That name sounds familiar doesn't it? Well, I am going to get a filling meal in you, give you a warm bath to make sure I know what colour that fur of yours is, and give you a nice night's sleep inside.

Don't look at me like that. I am sure you miss your owner, but I---I want to take care of something. Even if it is only for one night. I will take you first thing tomorrow okay?"

The dog was sniffing behind him very quickly, and then turned to me and barked only once, as if giving me a one syllable answer. Yes. I smiled to myself, turned off the car, and climbed out of the driver's seat. I opened the back seat and grabbed the first bag of newly purchased items. I also opened the passenger car door, letting the dog out. His back right leg was not swollen or cut up and he quickly made his way up to the apartment. It surprised me that he knew which one was ours, but I guess it was a fifty-fifty chance he would get it right.

I balanced the brown paper bag on my hip, pulled out my keys, and unlocked the door. Greg the puppy sniffed at the open doorway, as if inspecting for something that was there. The smell of last night's chili wavered over to both of our nostrils, telling me something I didn't know. I was hungry too. I set the bag on the counter. "Welcome to your temporary home. I will be right back."

I walked back outside, admiring the sunset for the first time in almost five years. There was a whole spectrum of colours, starting with purple seeping down into a red sun. I thought of the roses that I left on House's grave just an hour sooner when I saw the bright red. As I stood there, probably looking like a fool staring at something that is almost the same every night, I asked to the sky. "Have you come back to me Greg?"

In answer I felt the last flickering sunbeams of warmth and I closed my eyes, as if House was kissing my cheek. I wished so desperately that the moment I opened my moistened eyes that he could be next to me with that usual smirk on his gruff, handsome face. But he wasn't. Taking a calming breath, wiping my eyes, and sighing I made the final steps to my car, where I grabbed the bed and the second and last shopping bag.

Locking my car behind me with my fingertips, I waddled awkwardly to my ajar door, where I kicked it open. "Here we go, Greg. We are not going anywhere else tonight. I am exhausted and hungry and you look like the last thing you ate was a dead rabbit." I set the large brown bag on the counter, and set the bed next to mine in the bedroom. I strutted like a wounded soldier to the door where I locked it and hung the keys on the coat rack. The dog was waiting patiently by the chair opposite my own. Greg's chair.

I still had a table setting there with House's wineglass next to it. My heart ached a hallow pain whenever I imagine him sitting there, or anyone else for that matter. I washed the dishes by hand, but then I put them back right where they were the night I found them. He had also written on the table next to where he always sat. "Hey Jimmy. Keep your chin up. Your eyes deserve to see the sunlight. –Greg 2009" I ran my hand over the permanent marker's inscription, vowing again to myself to never, EVER replace this table. I bit my lip to fight back the wail I knew was one second away from escaping.

The dog seemed to notice my change of heart; he wrapped his warm tail around my pant leg, and lowered his head on my foot. I looked down for a moment and exhaled slowly. "Let's get some food on our bellies shall we?"

Greg sat up, leveling his head as he did so, making it look like a sort of nod. I reached into the first bag and pulled out a food and water dish. I then pulled out a smallish bag of dry dog food, ripped it open and poured a hearty amount into the dish. I then went over to the sink and filled up his water dish, and added a drizzle of water to the food. I heard it helps digestion, especially when you don't know how a dog is going to take the meal itself. I set it on the floor next to House's seat.

At first the brilliant blue eyes brightened and then they dimmed as if in disbelief. I smiled warmly and squatted down. "It's for you. I am not going to take it from you. You can have all that you want. It's okay." I stood to my full height and turned around to my refrigerator wanting some of that old-fashioned chili from last night. The moment I pulled out a bowl with cellophane around it and popped it into the microwave I heard loud crunching and eager gulping of water. The sound of noisy eating put a half-smile on my face.

I put the chili in the microwave, turned back to the fridge and got myself a glass of milk. I remember the first time I made this chili for Greg. I was terrified that he wouldn't like it because it was meatless. But that night he ate three times the bowl amount as me, and ate it for lunch the next day too. That man sure had a healthy appetite, something I only enforced by cooking for him. By the time I put a spoon and napkin on the table, the cooking device beeped, and I pulled the steaming bowl out.

I set it down on the table, raised my wine glass full of milk to an imaginary man next to me. "To your eternal memory." I took a sip, and noticed out of the corner of my eye how the dog momentarily stopped eating, and drank when I did. I shook my head, just trying to focus on not spitting out my milk in laughter. I picked up my spoon and blew on the steaming stew before taking a bite. Still tasty.

An Hour Later

"Come on you stubborn beast, get in the tub!" I strained to say as a flailing dog leapt out of my arms for the umpteenth time. My sleeves were rolled up, my white shirt soaked, and pants looking like I just couldn't contain myself after a cola drinking contest. I sighed, sitting on my knees, and put my hands on my hips. The dog was sitting on the other side of the bathroom, with that panting smile once more on his face, and an adventurous twinkle in his blue eyes.

"What can I possibly do to get you in this bathtub?" I said desperately, as if my life depended on the dog getting sudsy and clean. I reached into the bag of dog supplies, now a brown, pulpy mess because of all the water damage and found the rubber ducky. I squeezed it once above the lukewarm water, and I saw the dog twitch and stiffen. I squeezed it again and the dog made a quick galumphing start, and dove into the water, his sharp teeth latching onto the duck. Without a second to prepare, there was a tidal wave of water and dog shampoo that came raining down on everything.

I slowly unpeeled my face from my elbow shield, eyes opening one by one, scared to survey the damage. The towels I had laid up for after the bath looked as if they were dipped in the bath itself. The mirror above the sink looked like it was a windshield of car on a rainy day. My shirt would definitely win best wet t-shirt contest, not that I have entered in those or anything. The inside of the tub contained about half the amount of water as before and a happy dog with the toy of his choice in his mouth. I couldn't complain…at least he was in the tub.

I took this time to unbutton and shed my soaking shirt. I was feeling kind of stupid for not doing that in the first place, I laid it down on the floor next to the towels. I grabbed the sponge that was on the floor next to the tub and squirted some pet shampoo onto it. I made sure to buy the hypoallergenic kind to just be safe in case my furry friend was allergic to anything. I started by scratching behind his ears with my free hand. He seemed to like that a lot. After his eyes closed, I switched hands, and he didn't mind at all. As if he liked feeling pampered and special.

"That isn't so hard is it, huh?" I cooed, feeling like a mother giving her troublesome toddler their first memorable bath. I scrubbed gently and thoroughly all the way down his back and his limbs, carefully avoiding the bad one. I didn't want any dog bites, no sir. After I was finished, he did the typical and predictable shake of the back, and hopped out. "Thanks. I needed to clean the bathroom anyway. Thanks for the help."

Many Towels and Quiet Grumblings Later

I felt exhausted. I did more drying than I thought was possible in one sitting, and I still had to get ready for bed. At least it was the easiest part of my day. I crawled into bed wearing new, dry boxers and a warm tank top. The dog limped into the room behind me, still slightly damp, but not wooden floor damaging wet. He surveyed the room by sniffing every corner and crevice, and then found his bed. He looked up at me, and down at his bed, and up at me again.

"No. Don't do that. Those guilt trip eyes won't make me cave. No one has slept on this bed besides me since Greg died, and I am not going to give that up. Even for you. I'm sorry, but that is where I stand. Or lay rather. Stop. Don't whine at me. Have I cried around you yet? No. I don't think so. Good night." With that final thought I turned off the light and curled up under the covers. Not five minutes later I felt something bounce onto my bed and curl up on his side. "Welcome home Greg." I mumbled and fell asleep.