Page 8 of Scout Takes the Lead
“Yeah. He started hitting her when I was about twelve, and when I was fourteen he broke both of her arms. We had to move into a shelter for abused women then.”
I looked down. I was surprised that I’d opened up so much with Alex, who was still a relative stranger. I was usually much more circumspect about my background.
“I’m sorry,” Alex said gently. “I was lucky. Good parents who had enough money to get by, didn’t fight too much.”
“Are your folks nearby?”
He shook his head. “My dad died when I was in junior college, and then my mom was killed in a highway crash when I was in Afghanistan. My aunt and uncle took over the estate, sold the house and gave away most things, so by the time I got back there was nothing left for me except a bank account.”
I reached out and touched his arm, and his skin was warm under my fingers. He flinched, but I kept my hand there. Somehow, I sensed he needed this human connection. I said, “I’m sorry. No brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. You?”
I took my hand away. I didn’t want to appear forward. “Older sister. She was able to get out when my dad started acting up. Last I heard she was in Colorado somewhere.”
We sat and drank our coffee as Scout dozed beside us, on his side with his legs splayed. I liked the way we had both been able to open up to each other—-sometimes when I went on dates the guy was too focused on himself, or we only talked about mindless stuff, like movies and social media.
But Alex seemed like a guy who had opinions, and I wanted to know more about them. The alarm on my watch beeped and I looked down. “Sorry, I’ve got a client in a half hour,” I said. “Nice lady, but she can’t discipline her dog for anything. I have to work hard every week to get her to stop spoiling him.”
Alex grinned. I liked it when he smiled. It made me happy. But I had to go.
“Thanks for the coffee. I’ll see you next week, all right?”
“We’ll be there.”
5: Friend: Alex
During the next week, I worked with Scout on basic techniques I had learned from Grace, along with a few things I picked up online and what I’d learned about training in the Army. But the book made it clear that if Scout was going to become the service dog I needed, there was a lot he had to learn. Even if I was nervous, I had to keep going to Grace’s obedience class.
Combat Engineering had been a good fit for me in the Army. I enjoyed the classroom part of the training, and it was fun to learn how to blow stuff up—at least at first.
Now I was happier to build than to destroy. I was always good with my hands. When I was a kid I worked with my dad in his home shop, building and repairing stuff. Then as a teenager and college student, I worked construction in the summer. I had accumulated a collection of hand tools, and fortunately my aunt and uncle held onto them for me.
When I brought them to Florida, I wanted something to do with them. I surfed around and found a group that donated toys to kids in shelters, and then discovered plans online for a small wooden dollhouse.
I chose that project because it was something I could build without a whole workshop, and I thought it would be a good deed.
Scout and I got into a regular routine. I spent a couple of hours during the morning on customer calls, then took a break to work with him. I had some trouble convincing him that he wasn’t supposed to chase ducks or squirrels, and every now and then he’d nearly pull my arm off going after one.
I tried to be consistent, telling him no, then praising him when he returned to normal behavior. After our walk, I’d reward both of us with a stop at Java Boys, where I bought a coffee for myself and a plain croissant for Scout. I tore it into tiny pieces and fed it to him by hand.
“Watch my fingers!” I said when his teeth got too close to them.
He gulped whatever I gave him eagerly and wanted more. When I told him that was all, he slumped grumpily at my feet, but he was always ready to jump up and be happy again.
I got friendly with Akimbo, chatting with him about the weather and local news. Once I explained that Scout was a service dog in training, Akimbo invited me to bring him inside, and I found a regular spot by the wall, where I could be on my own and have a clear view of the whole café.
Then I’d spend some time working on my dollhouse until dinner time. I bought a piece of plywood at Home Depot and used a small Japanese handsaw to cut them into narrow planks, which I glued down as flooring in the living room, dining rooms and bedrooms. Then I glued tiny bathroom tiles to the floor in the kitchen and the bathroom. It was very satisfying once they were all down.
Once Scout and I had eaten, we’d take a long walk around Hollywood. After that I’d settle down at the computer and work on customer calls until midnight. I’d found that if I tired myself out during the day, I could sleep at night, with Scout there beside me.
Thursday afternoon I was sitting at an outdoor table at Java Boys with Scout when the orange-haired guy from the obedience class walked in with his puppy. They came right up to us, crowding in our space. “Your dog and mine look like they could be brothers.”
His name was Kenny, I remembered. His frisky gold and white puppy was straining as Kenny held tight to the handle of one of those extendable leashes. While Scout sat obediently by my right leg, Cheyenne romped and tugged, clearly out of his control.
“Where did you get yours?” Kenny asked. “Cheyenne! Stop jumping!”
The dog ignored him and went down on his front paws.
