Page 77 of This Love
Chapter 29
Tucker
Ava and I spent the next few weeks calling every organization that trained seizure dogs, getting on their waiting lists.
The dogs were expensive, some of them over twenty thousand dollars. But more critically, the wait times were around three years since the dogs took that long to train.
But Marcus got things done. He found a company that raised police dogs and identified a pup that had been through years of arduous training but failed the final test.
Then he searched until he found a woman who had retired after years of working with service dogs. With a combination of bribery and emotional plea, she was willing to take the beautifully trained, but not quite K-9 level, three-year-old golden retriever and teach her how to recognize a seizure, help Ava safely to the ground or cushion her fall, and use a landline phone with oversized buttons to call for help.
The training took months to complete, but the new medicine kept the seizures away. Sonograms showed the baby was fine and healthy.
Ava continued to take photographs and go about her day. Vinnie stayed with her as much as possible, and Gram and Maya filled in the gaps.
Finally, after six months, we drove to Dallas to pick up our dog, named Rosie.
I reached across the seat to hold Ava’s hand. She rested the other one on her belly, showing plenty of bump.
“The phone is all programmed?” Ava asked. She’d been sleeping more than usual the last week and had left that task to me.
“Yes, exactly the way Glenda said. The biggest button is 911. The two smaller ones are my cell phone and your dad’s.”
She stared out the window. “We’ve been lucky so far.”
“We have. The new meds are working.”
But I knew what was on her mind. At least week’s neurology checkup, Dr. Simmons said the likelihood of a seizure during labor was low, but the most common trigger was the rapid breathing most women experience.
They discussed whether to aim for a C-section to avoid that scenario all together since the repercussions of a seizure were so intense for us.
But Ava had never had an epidural either or any surgery. It was all pretty damn scary.
“I’ve never had a dog before,” she said.
“Me neither. And we’re getting a super dog.”
She laughed. “We won’t have to worry about house training her, that’s for sure.”
I glanced over at Ava. She was a picture, her hair brighter and thicker from pregnancy, her face softer and rounder. I hadn’t thought she could be more beautiful, but she was.
We pulled up to the sprawling ranch where Glenda had retired. Cows milled around, mostly keeping to the shade in the August heat.
We’d be staying on site for the weekend so Glenda could work with us, training us how to handle Rosie and letting Rosie get to know Ava.
We bumped over a cattle guard and crunched down the gravel drive to the main house. Before we even killed the engine, a white-haired woman stepped out onto the porch, waving.
“She looks nice enough,” Ava said, shoving her door open with a push of her tennis shoe.
Glenda wore a long floral blouse over stretch pants. She had one pair of glasses on her face and a second pair perched on her head.
“Hello, hello!” she called. “You must be Tucker and Ava.” She drew Ava into a hug. “Bless you, child. I’m so glad to help.”
She took Ava’s arm. “Dad, you get the bags. We can’t leave Mom out in the heat.” She escorted her up the steps.
Huh. Nobody called us “Mom” and “Dad.” The words felt foreign, like they belonged to somebody else.
I opened the trunk and extracted the weekend suitcase. Dust swirled around me. The cows seemed too hot to moo. I slammed the lid and headed for the front door. This place was the epitome of Texas, that was for sure.
