Reign of Terrier

by Lori R. Taylor

  “Anyway. Hey, I was wondering if you might wanna study? Together, I mean. Like, tomorrow. I always focus better with someone else around to keep me on task, don’t you?”

  It was a trap question, the sort someone asked when they were actively out to keep you from saying “no” to them because here they were, putting themselves out there, trying to better their lives and asking for your help, and you couldn’t just say no to that, not when they were coming to you for help.

  Tessa could see her laying the trap down in front of her, pretending to hide it under a dusting of friendliness and enthusiasm, and she knew as soon as she opened her mouth, she would be stepping straight into it.

  And yet…

  And yet, she wasn’t wrong. Tessa did study better when there was someone there to keep her on task — that was at least a part of why her studying had fallen so apart after Livy. Aside from the fact that her encouragement was the reason she’d made the jump into the program, her needling was what kept Tessa going even when she didn’t want to, even when it would’ve been so much easier to throw the anatomy and physiology text at the wall and go back forever to spreadsheets and data cells.

  So, yes, she did study better with someone else around.

  And here was someone else, offering to be around. To not only be around, but also to help her study. Someone who was in the same program, at the same place, working toward the same thing.

  Eliza’s question was a trap, but it was a trap that Tessa was happy enough to step in.

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good. Um … tomorrow evening, maybe? We can … order pizza?”

  Eliza giggled. The sound was much younger than her twenty-something appearance — or maybe that was just the distortion of the phone. “Ooh, a pizza study party. Like bona fide college kids. That’d be fun!”

  Tessa smiled then. She couldn’t help it — the way she said the words made it sound indeed like quite a bit of fun. “Great. Why don’t you come over to my place at…?”

  “Six?” she suggested.

  She gave Eliza her address, and they hung up with mutual smiles.

  She beamed down at Princess, who looked back up and thumped her tail against the couch cushions.

  Livy, she imagined, would be just as pleased.

  Tessa shuffled into the kitchen with Princess following dutifully along at her heel. She assembled a bit of dinner for both of them. She’d have to go to Walmart or something to get dog food and dishes, but that could wait for a day where she hadn’t already used up all of her capacity for socializing. Leslie had given her two weeks’ worth of the food Princess had been eating, enough to transition her properly onto whatever she ended up feeding her, and she had a couple of cereal bowls that would work for food and water in the interim.

  Tessa fed her, then reached for something simple for herself. Tonight felt like a spaghetti night.

  She knocked down a pan with my exhaustion-heavy hands, and it clattered to the floor, and suddenly, the dog at her ankle froze so completely that Tessa stumbled over her back as she reached for the fallen pan.

  Princess’ amber eyes grew unnaturally wide, her legs and tail suddenly stiff, and she snapped at Tessa’s reaching hand as if hoping to feel her teeth strike the skin. Her whole body shook.

  “Princess?”

  The pan. The darned pan.

  Tessa recognized that look in her eyes, the blind, uncomprehending fear, the sense that everything was somehow both extremely far away, unable to be reached ever again, and also oppressively close, choking the air right out of the room.

  She wasn’t just startled by the noise of the pan hitting the floor — she was outright triggered by it.

  “Hey.” Tessa dropped to her knees, lowering her voice to a gentle hum. “Princess. Hey, puppy. You okay?”

  She didn’t expect Princess to understand, to answer, of course not, but then Tessa never answered with words in the middle of a panic attack either.

  It wasn’t about the words. It was about the sound of the voice. Something gentle and sure, something solid when the world went loose and sideways.

  She didn’t touch her, not yet. Not until she looked up and recognized her as someone safe.

  “Princess, Princess,” Tessa hummed. “It’s all right, puppy. It’s okay. It was a pan hitting the floor. It’s not going to hurt you.”

  It’s what Livy had always done: told her what it was that had caused the fear, if it was something specific and easy to identify. Tessa didn’t always understand the words, but then, the words didn’t matter.

  Princess looked at her. There was no comprehension, no recognition in her eyes, but at least she looked at her.

  “That’s it. You’re okay, you’re safe. I’m here. I’m here, and you’re home.”

  Slowly, slowly, her eyes cleared. Tessa reached out a hand, slow and smooth like approaching a nervous dog she didn’t know, and just as slowly, Princess tilted her head into the touch.

  Chapter Ten

  I’m here. You’re safe. You’re home.

  The sound of Tessa’s voice — her human’s voice — cut through the panic-stiffening muscles and clogged head.

  Tessa.

  Tessa was here.

  She was home.

  An impossible promise, home, but one that she made without hesitation, without reserve.

  Home.

  Her surroundings came back into focus as the panic began to loosen its grip. A strange sensation, given the fact that everything just a moment before had been heightened so that Princess could accurately see and predict the movements toward and away from her body, so that she could lock her teeth around anything that came at her.

  Tessa, making herself small in front of her, a low stream of words slipping from her mouth. Gentle. Reassuring.

  Princess, Princess. It’s all right.

  The kitchen she’d already thoroughly investigated and found to be acceptable. Nothing awful hiding in a corner waiting for her to drop her guard. Nothing of cages and rotting flesh here.

  You’re safe. It was just a pan.

  The pan in question, abandoned on the floor, stilled and unmoving.

  Princess had snapped at Tessa when she reached for it, seeing her movement only as towards her and too fast. Not realizing it was her. Her human.

  I’m here. You’re home.

  Tessa held out her hand, moving with the slow, even pace Leslie always did when extending herself to touch her, and Princess realized what she should’ve already understood:

  She knew. Tessa understood.

  Princess had understood Tessa the moment she stepped into that room in The Front. They’d met each other’s eyes, and she recognized in that woman things she knew from herself. Fear all mixed up with a desire to be seen and loved despite it. The urge for a gentle touch to remind her she was worth that love even when it seemed impossible. The terror of possibly realizing that she might not be after all, that she would be lonely forever, that loving her was impossible.

  She’d seen it all in a moment, in that flash of understanding that had rushed through her upon recognizing her. Princess knew, and her touch had been home from the first.

  But she could never hope that Tessa might understand her right back. They’d recognized each other, yes, but she was a human, and Princess was a dog. There were barriers of understanding that probably weren’t meant to be crossed.

  And yet…

  She knew. Just as Princess had seen her and understood, just as she’d wanted in that moment nothing more than to love her, to be her gentle touch, her promise of worth, Tessa felt the same.

  Tessa saw her and loved her anyway.

  Her hand paused at the end of its stretch, fingers loosely pressed toward her palm, protecting the most sensitive part of her hand, offering only the smooth skin along the back of it, the soft ridges of knuckles, in case Princess snapped at her again.

  She wouldn’t. Never again. She would never, ever do anything to disrupt the fragile new understanding blooming between them.
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  She tilted her head until her skin was up against the side of Tessa’s face; Tessa’s fingers lined up to scratch at the perpetual itch behind her ears. It had been a while since the bugs that liked to crawl around that spot had finally been killed, but she doubted that spot would ever not itch at least a little. At least enough that fingers there would be a glorious relief.

  Tessa scratched, and Princess melted into her touch.

  It was a quiet night. Princess liked the quiet, especially after the terror of the pan crashing on the floor, and Tessa relaxed into it, too. She’d been carrying a visible tension in her shoulders all day, the undercurrent of her fear never not floating in the air. But as night settled around the house, and she returned to the couch with a plateful of some of the most delicious-smelling meat sauce, Princess watched and sensed her relaxing by degrees.

  The strange talking box was playing again, tiny people who were both somehow in and not in the room tripping around spaces that weren’t really there, and more invisible people laughing at their tiny boxed antics. Tessa watched them idly as she ate, sometimes smiling or laughing along with the invisible people, as if this weren’t the most preternatural thing that had ever existed in the world.

  Princess settled next to her on the couch, her own attention riveted either by the box or the wafting leftover smells of her food. Eventually Tessa set her plate on the low table near the couch, pulled her feet up beneath her, and placed one hand on Princess’ back, fingers combing rhythmically through her fur.

  Oh.

  This is what everyone always went on about. Going to The Front, never returning. Talk about home and family.

  If Princess thought she understood the idea from hearing Leslie and Dr. Dale and the various other humans who had cycled through her life at Pretty Paws talk about it, she was quite wrong.

  This. This is what they meant. The quiet, the easy touch, given freely and without a second’s consideration.

  Princess closed her eyes and sighed, long and loud, as all the tension she didn’t even realize had always been there drained from every inch of her.

  Eventually, Tessa turned off the box and stood, arms stretched high, jaw clicking with a yawn. Princess stood, too, and Tessa smiled down at her. “Bedtime?”

  Princess hopped off the couch and followed Tessa up the stairs.

  This was an entirely new section of the house that she hadn’t yet explored, and the muscles that had been mostly relaxed on the couch tightened a little at the unfamiliar corners and rooms. But Tessa was already taking a right at the top of the stairs and going through one of the doors into a bedroom, and she realized exploration of this level would have to wait until later.

  Princess hesitated at the foot of the bed — she’d never touched a human mattress, and this one looked gloriously soft, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be welcomed.

  Tessa changed into fleecy pajamas and sat at the edge of the mattress. She considered the dog for a few moments, then tapped a welcoming hand to the space beside her.

  Princess didn’t need to be told twice.

  They spent the night bundled up with each other, and Princess had never slept for so long or so peacefully.

  They woke to the sound of Tessa’s phone buzzing near their ears. Tessa blinked open her eyes, and for a single moment, she stared uncomprehending at Princess, like she didn’t know who she was and expected to see someone else. Princess flicked out her tongue — they were close enough that the tip of it brushed against Tessa’s — and the blankness in her face melted into a soft smile.

  Tessa pulled an arm free of the tangle of her blanket and rubbed her head. “Morning, puppy.”

  Princess whined back a greeting of her own.

  Her smile widened. “Right.”

  They got up and shuffled downstairs again. Princess ate her breakfast while Tessa fiddled with some kind of human contraption that soon spit out weak-smelling coffee. Then they went back upstairs and into a different room at the other end of the hall from the bedroom where a desk and computer and large office chair took up most of the space. Tessa sat in front of the computer, and Princess curled up at her feet beneath the desk.

  She could grow used to this. She hoped she’d get the chance to.

  It was later — probably hours, but Princess, lulled into a doze by the tap-tap of Tessa’s fingers on the computer and the occasional brush of her slippers against her back or sides, wasn’t up for keeping track — that she got up again. She hadn’t spoken at all in that time, but it didn’t matter. They were together, and it was a quiet, comfortable togetherness, and that was all they needed.

  Tessa changed again, out of the fleecy pajamas she’d been wearing and into jeans and a hoodie like the volunteers in the shelter commonly wore.

  A few minutes later, she was out the door. Not just of the bedroom or computer room, but the entire house.

  She shut the door. Princess whimpered and scratched at it, begging for her to either come back or to take her with her, but she didn’t answer.

  Tessa was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maggie waited at the driveway, just as Tessa had asked. “Where to?”

  “Walmart’s fine. They have a few pet aisles.”

  She pulled onto the road.

  “Day off?” Tessa asked as they merged into the pre-holiday traffic of Main Street. Better small talk than having to concentrate on how tight her fists were around the edges of her seat.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “They happen every once in a while.”

  “I don’t know how you manage it. Two jobs would be too much for me.”

  “I do what I have to.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. Of course. I guess it just reminds me to be grateful for my spreadsheets.”

  She snorted and pulled into the Walmart parking lot.

  “Do you need anything?”

  “I got it.”

  Tessa bit her lip, aware suddenly that her tone had turned defensive, that she was offending her. Which was the opposite of what she was trying to do — the fact that Maggie had been so generous and willing to cart her around the last couple of days had her immensely grateful to have a friend no more than a quick text away, and she certainly didn’t want her embarrassed or ashamed of anything because she was thoughtless.

  “I know,” Tessa muttered, head dropping a little. Her hair was pulled back into its usual braid, so not much help for hiding the heat flaring across her cheeks, but she tried anyway. “I was just asking if you wanted to come in.”

  Maggie smiled easily back, a forgiving sort of smile, and unclipped her seatbelt.

  Tessa didn’t dawdle inside Walmart — the pre-holiday crowds definitely weren’t her thing, and it took up most of her socializing energy to make her way through them.

  But even though she didn’t dawdle, it took way too long to collect and buy the things she needed: food, treats, dishes, and a couple small toys to experiment with how Princess preferred to play. (Fetch or tug? Bones or pig ears? Plushy or bouncy? She avoided toys that made noises, since the moment with the pan last night suggested she didn’t care for that sort of thing.)

  Maggie met her in the checkout line with a few things of her own, and as they walked toward the exit, the little sub shop tucked into the corner of the store caught Tessa’s eye.

  “You hungry?” she asked on impulse.

  “I could eat.”

  “Lemme buy you lunch?”

  “You don’t—”

  “To say thanks for the ride?”

  “Um.” Maggie blinked, and for a moment, conflict raged across her expression. But then it settled, and she smiled. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

  They got in line, and a few minutes later, sat at one of the little fast-food tables in the corner of the space, a bit apart from the Walmart crowd.

  Maggie grinned as she unwrapped her sub. “It’s been a while since I had someone else make my food.”

  Tessa grinned back. “No one delivers Chinese to your place, huh?”


  “Never. I don’t think it’s technically a rule, but it might as well be, that employees don’t eat the takeout. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we know what’s in it.”

  “Never find that out if you wanna keep enjoying it.”

  “Right. The bakery goods are good, though. And Maeve’s coffee is great.”

  “It is. They have it at the shelter.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Maeve likes Pretty Paws. Got her dog from there. Baker supposedly has some kind of preternaturally good nose for baked goods. I’ve never heard the whole story, but apparently there was some kind of competition she helped Maeve win.”

  “So Pretty Paws is at least two for two.”

  “Something like that.”

  They were quiet for a couple of minutes. Tessa’s sub was good, tuna with Pepper Jack and onions, and it felt nice to be eating with another person.

  Food was always meant to be a social experience, and Tessa was far too likely to forget that fact when not reminded. Even the silence was comfortable as they ate, without the strained quality silences often came with.

  Eventually, sub finished, and chip bags opened for a bit of munching, Maggie broke the quiet, voice low. “How are you?”

  Tessa glanced up from her bag of Lays (ruffles, because she liked the texture and snap and the way the salt tended to collect in the valleys of the chip). Maggie was watching her, eyes as soft as her voice had been. Concern pressed lines in her forehead.

  She let out a breath that was shakier than she’d intended it to be. “I’m getting by.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It’s … not always easy, especially right now, but I wake up in the morning, and I get my work done, and I go to sleep at night.”

  “Wasn’t it just yesterday…?”

  She let the question fade off, and Tessa was grateful for that. Saying the rest of it out loud would only make it real — and worse.

  But she knew what Maggie was saying. She nodded.

  “I’m sorry.”