Page 20 of Scout Takes the Lead
This is the life you could have, they said. If you weren’t so damaged. I sat down on a bench and cried. Scout sat beside me, tried to lick my hands, but I ignored him. A family on their way to church passed me and stared, but I didn’t care.
When I’d finally emptied myself, I let Scout take me back home. When I got there, I checked my phone and found a text from Kenny, asking what time I’d be able to help him with training Cheyenne.
I thought it was silly that a grown man would write ‘cn u cm ovr’ as if he was a little kid just learning his abcs. But he added a plea that he had to get Cheyenne in shape before the next class, and to be honest, I felt worse for the dog than for the man. I had to do what I could for him.
I called him and we arranged that I’d come over to his place that afternoon and we could work with both dogs on obedience training. I didn’t need to do anything more with Scout because I’d probably be returning him to the shelter on Monday, but at least he’d help with Cheyenne.
I worked for a couple of hours on customer calls, with Scout curled on the floor beside me. Then I went to the gym, nodded a hello to Frank at the front desk, and started to build a new routine. I worked out for nearly an hour, building up a sweat, and then went home to shower.
That afternoon, I knew Kenny wouldn’t be prepared, so I nuked a bunch of hot dog chunks and put them in a plastic bag. As Scout and I walked to Kenny’s place, I was struck, as I often was, at how Hollywood was in the middle of a transition. Empty lots were salted between new condo buildings. The streets were developing a real downtown feel as new retails shops opened at ground level.
Scout and I managed to make it to Kenny’s building without my having to attack anyone. I found his door and knocked, and Kenny came out with Cheyenne on a lead, which he let go as soon as Cheyenne spotted Scout and pulled. I kept a hand on Scout’s lead as the dogs romped together in the driveway. “Let’s see what kind of progress you and Cheyenne have made,” I said. “Have you been practicing?”
“I figured he was doing okay so mostly we played,” Kenny said. “I want him to be my friend. He doesn’t have to be so perfect.”
I shook my head. “He’s never going to be your friend. He’s your dog. You can spoil him and give him treats and belly rubs, but at the end of the day he has to know that you’re in charge. Training does that.”
“He doesn’t have to be a service dog,” Kenny said. “It’s not like he has to keep me from going crazy. Just keep me from being lonely.”
“You know what? You and I have different ideas about dogs. And probably everything else. I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Hold on,” Kenny pleaded. “Please, stay? Let the dogs play, and then we’ll work on that training again. I need to be able to go back to Grace’s class.”
“You can’t short-circuit this,” I said. “Training your dog is work.”
“I know all about work,” Kenny said. “Believe me, I do enough of it.” He had that hangdog expression on his face again, and against my better judgment I relented.
After the dogs had played for a few minutes, I suggested we practice walking. “This is what I’ve been doing with Scout.” I put him on his lead and said, “Let’s go.”
He walked about a foot with me, then strained to go forward. “Stop.” I tugged on his lead. “Sit.” He plopped his butt on the ground.
“See? That’s the way to keep him from pulling. You try.” As soon as Kenny had Cheyenne on the lead, he tugged forward so hard he nearly knocked Kenny over. “Give him the command to stop,” I said. “Then sit.”
Cheyenne was wild for the first circuit around Kenny’s complex, but having Scout there got him settled, and on the second trip he was walking much better, well enough to get Grace’s stamp of approval. It took a lot of pulling and stopping and starting, but by the time we made it back to Kenny’s building Scout was walking like a champ and Cheyenne had begun to obey. Or maybe he was just tired. I know I was.
“Do you think they recognize that they’re brothers?” Kenny asked, as we turned for a third circuit. “I read on Perez Hilton that he thinks dogs do.”
“No idea,” I said. “But these guys were together for longer than average, and then it’s only been a month or so since they were separated. So for sure they recognize each other. Whether they know they’re brothers or not is beyond me.”
“Thanks for this,” Kenny said. “I really appreciate it. You want to come in for a beer or something?”
I hesitated. But hey, it wasn’t like he was asking to go to an indoor restaurant, where I might be hemmed in by other diners. I’d tried that once, soon after coming home, and my blood pressure skyrocketed and I had to rush away from the out-of-town friend who’d gone with me.
“Sure,” I said. He opened the door of his townhouse and walked inside. Scout and I stayed on the doorstep for a minute, until Cheyenne barked and Scout tugged forward. I can do this, I thought. I can walk into this guy’s house and not freak out.
I stayed in the foyer for a minute, getting my bearings. I liked what Kenny had done in his living room, mounting architectural artifacts on the walls. That carved mantelpiece, I thought, had to have come out of an old house. Decorative tiles and small wooden pieces that looked like they belonged on staircases dotted the walls. He brought me a cold bottle and I held it up. “Raspberry beer?” I asked.
“I like the fruity stuff,” he said. “Go figure.” He smiled. “I hope it’s okay. I can’t stand cheap beer.”
“And I usually can’t afford anything but cheap beer,” I said. “This’ll be a treat.” I thumbed the cap off and took a swig. It tasted sweet and a bit sharp, and I could feel the raspberry against my tongue. “I like it.”
“Have you always had dogs?” Kenny asked as we drank our beer. “You’re so good with Scout.”
I told him about Milo. Then I remembered I was supposed to ask him the same thing. “Sorry, I lost a lot of manners when I was in the Army,” I said. “How about you? Did you have a dog?”
He shook his head. “I wanted one, but my mom was allergic and she said no. I think it was more like she knew she’d get stuck taking care of it.”
He drank some of his beer, then said, “So, you were in the Army.” I tensed up immediately. I couldn’t talk about where I’d served and what I’d done without getting anxious, but Kenny didn’t go where I thought he was going to. “Did you go anywhere fun? Like on R&R?”
