Page 15 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

“Aw. You don’t have to pay me back yet. Just don’t go buy a pair of Jimmy Choos or I’ll be pissed.”

“What if they were on sale?”

“Lilly!”

“I’m kidding!” My life with Jimmy Choos and designer clothes is over.

“I’m gonna change.” Carlin stands. She’s wearing the scrubs she always wears to her job as a dental hygienist. “Are you home for dinner?”

“Of course. As if I’d go out and leave you with Otis.”

“Right. Okay, I’m making tacos.”

“Excellent.”

Otis is awake now and demanding to play again. I throw his ball for him to fetch. Luckily our living room is long, so he gets a bit of a run, but he’d probably rather play in the park. Welp, I’ll take him for a fourth walk after dinner.

—

The next day, I take Otis to see my grandma. We’re pretty close. When I moved to New York for college, she was my only family member here, so we saw each other fairly often. I think she was supposed to be looking out for me, but in the end, I’m the one looking out for her.

Only, not as well as I should.

Grammy’s in her late seventies. She’s still pretty sharp, but arthritis has really impaired her mobility in the last year or so, and she’s in a wheelchair now. She lives in a care home not far from where I live, and I think she’ll enjoy a visit from Otis. He’s not exactly into meeting new people, but hopefully he’ll be okay with Grammy.

It’s a nice day for a walk and Otis enjoys all the sniffs along the way. Finally we arrive at the home.

“Hi, Julie,” I greet the receptionist when I enter.

“Hi!” She peers over the counter. “Who’s this?”

“This is Otis. I thought Grammy would enjoy a visit from him.”

“We need to see proof he’s had all his shots,” Julie says.

Shit.“What? I don’t have that with me. I’m just looking after him for a friend.”

She studies Otis, bites her lip, and looks around. “Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll let it go this time. But next time make sure you bring the papers.”

“Thank you!”

Grammy’s room is on the third floor so I head to the elevators and push the up button. Otis is making funny noises in his throat and trying to back away. I grip the leash tighter. “It’s okay, little buddy.”

The doors open and I step forward and tug the leash. Otis won’t budge.

Oh right. He doesn’t like elevators.

People get off, and others get on, and I scramble to grab Otis and get inside before the doors close.

“What floor?” asks a man with an amused look.

“Three, please. Thank you.”

The doors slide closed and Otis wraps his front legs around my neck in a vise, his nose tucked down under my chin. He’s shaking.

Oh my God. This dog has even more problems than I realized.

I get off the elevator and as I walk down the hall I greet the various workers. I’m here often so I know Shanice and Valeria and Katy. I also say hi to Mr. Bernstein, sitting in his wheelchair outside his room.

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