Page 165 of Breaking Point
I’m beyond grateful to not see Grayson’s car parked in the driveway. The past three days we’ve tried to make it so Bambi isn’t alone while she adjusts, but I take it he’s beginning the long process of making Bambi feel safe and secure while alone.
Yet as I step out of my car, wiping tears from under my eyes and hearing her pitiful howls coming from inside, I surmise it’s not going well.
I open the door to find her panting, her legs wet from sweat and her body shaking.
“Oh, darling,” I murmur, bending to comfort her.
Grayson talked me through what it would look like. He even went so far as to send me articles on how to help anxious dogs feel comfortable alone at home. It’s going to be a long and painful process for her to get adjusted, but it’s for her own good.
She needs confidence and independence.
Perhaps a sister or brother to keep her company, but I haven’t sprung that idea on Grayson just yet.
I walk with her into the living room to her water and food station and sit with her as she greedily gulps. If I had to guess, she was too anxious to drink while we were both gone. While she does so, I pull my phone from my pocket, finding a text from Grayson that came in while I was driving back from the airport.
GRAYSON
I’ve been called into a meeting with my coach. I had to leave Bambi but I’ve taken all the precautions
just wanted to give you a heads-up. She’ll be anxious when you get back but she should settleonce you arrive
you can also turn off the dog camera I set up in the living room if you’re uncomfortable
Don’t want you to see it and think I’m spying
“He thinks of everything,” I whisper as I spot the dog camera set up on the TV cabinet, overlooking the kitchen and living room.
My hand is heavy as I lift it to pat Bambi as she wanders over and flops next to me.
Bambi and I have more in common than I thought. My entire body feels heavy and suddenly I don’t want to do anything.
I don’t want to move from my spot on the floor.
I don’t want to get up and turn the camera off.
I don’t want to work.
I want to crawl into my bed and cry.
But I can’t do that.
Bambi lays her head on my lap, her tongue lolling to the side as she continues to pant. Instead of focusing on myself, I focus on her. She needs to run off this anxious energy, get it all out of her system.
Groaning, I pull myself up, forcing myself to take one step after the other. I move toward the sliding glass doors, only to come to a screeching halt.
Sitting on the kitchen bench are numerous drawing pads. Along with pencils, paint, and a canvas.
I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Suddenly, my chest is tight and my eyes are stinging as tears want to make their way to the surface once more.
I’m surprised to see my hands are shaking as I step toward the kitchen, my chest heaving as my lungs finally demand a breath.
A note is siting against the supplies, written in Grayson’s messy scrawl.
I thought you might need this today.
The tears I was holding at bay fall, sliding down my cheeks atthe sincere gesture and thoughtfulness. I flip the note over, and the tears change from rolling to downright flowing as I find another scribble of his handwriting.
You’re not alone, Blaze.
