Lost Dog 3

Lavene came down the staircase buttoning his uniform, surprising Christine. "You're early, I haven't fixed your breakfast yet." Her large ears, fell back, full of concern. She was a pure bred Golden, and as emotional as any of her breed. And most of those emotions were happy. He was touched and felt guilt all at once that he was the only one that added frown lines to her face.

"No breakfast today, Lovergirl. We got called in to a pre-work meeting. I'll catch something on the way."

She whapped him on the nose with a teaspoon as he moved in for a quick peck on the muzzle. "No, you know you've a routine to keep. You'll make yourself sick and then where will you be?"

He hid his nose in his hands, surprised that that had actually stung. "That hurt," he accused in case his watering eyes and hiding behind his hands hadn't been obvious. "Domestic violence is a criminal offense in this town, Lady."

"Enjoy it while you still have all your nerve endings." She shook the spoon threatening in his general direction. Her eyes were playful, but very serious in her own way. She'd spent their whole marriage aware that she could lose him all of a sudden to a stray bullet. Or even a well placed one. She had accepted that long before she agreed to walk down the aisle with him.

She was not prepared, however, to lose him a little bit at a time. They knew other diabetics. Some lost toes. Some whole limbs. One had even lost their sight. She couldn't wrap her mind around that; not when a certain amount of diligence could avoid those risks. And she was going to hold him to that.

Lavene cursed the day he allowed his wife to come to his diabetic support group. Especially, since he couldn't think of a decent argument.

Plus that spoon had been very cold and very hard.

He caved, "Fine, what do we have that I can eat and you can make in fine minutes?"

"Herrings and sour cream."

"Oh," he said and sat down as she bustled around the kitchen. Herring had sounded awful the first time he tried it. But the vinegar and the sour cream had won him over easily. Still, the thought bothered that herring and sour cream seemed so very much like a cat's meal. A bark of laughter came out from him that he should be bothered by any such thing. He'd seen the dark side of every breed, every species. It was no better to be a cat, a dog, a gecko, a dodo... they were all messed up at heart. "I think I might be turning into a cat, sometimes."

She smiled. Christine was no stranger to a cop's dark humor, or to her husband's own special flavor of it. Since the diabetes reared its ugly head, her husband constantly made cat jokes. Because being diabetic just wasn't funny. And her husband was a laugh or cry man. "I hope not, I heard they have thorns on their things."

"Some have a texture," he allowed as she put a bowl in front of him. "There was this one Tom, he was normal looking in every way but he was throwback between his legs. He'd leave a bloody mess where ever he dipped it." He stopped with a spoonful of fish and cream to his mouth when he caught the look on his wife's face. She also had a bowl of herring and cream in front of her. "But it's too early for that story." He started shoveling in his breakfast.

Christine sat down daintily, her tail wagging gently. She knew which cat he was talking about and had heard the story before. It was one of the few rape cases he had ever dealt with and it had been very satisfying to him that it had been so easily proven a false allegation. She wondered if the girl had ever gotten the help she needed. But mealtime was "No Gross Zone," and while the children were all out of the house, she thought it was a good habit to keep him in. They might have guests in the future and they wouldn't want to hear about hookers, glory holes, drug mules, or whatever vice Lavene found himself thinking of.

"So, why going in so early this morning?" She asked.

"Special instructions." He shrugged, wondering if he'd have time to get some gum. Otherwise he was going to be bringing in an unauthorized weapon: herring breath. "It's take your daughter to work day or some such nonsense. Probably just sensitivity crap. Don't curse. Don't scratch yourself. I got a text early this morning"

Christine smiled. "So, now you got a job safe enough you could have brought the girls to and they're all grown up."

"None of them are quite grown up; don't you go believing their press releases."

"They have boyfriends, apartments..."

"Roommates and not a single bill in their names except the cell phone. The three of them are my little girls from now until the end of time." He licked the bowl and stood up, "I really got to scoot." He glanced at his watch a little after the fact.

"Ok, then don't be late. Leave the bowl there, the traffic between the the table sink liable to be bumper to bumper." And she pinched his tail as he sheepishly ran out the door, leaving the bowl on the table.

They didn't say good-bye.

They'd been married almost three decades and they'd always avoided saying good-bye.

And he'd always come back to her.