That was the last straw. Jameson opened his arms, and Little A plowed into him, bumping his chin with his head and crying at this very brave, very hard thing he was doing. The pup scrambled up with him, and suddenly, Jameson had two kids in his arms.
“He must be a very good dog,” Jameson murmured into Little A’s sweaty head, as he corralled the bundle of puppy energy in his other arm.
“He is. He’s my bestest favorite, but I want you to have him because he’s brave like you, only…” Harley’s son took a deep, shuddering breath. “Kin I come and visit him sometime? And you, too?”
By then Jameson could barely speak. Settling the pup to the floor between his shoes, he shifted Little A to his knee, and swallowed hard. He’d purposefully avoided getting a seeing eye dog. His cane was enough of a statement to the world; he hadn’t needed another. But now…?
“You bet. Come see him anytime. What’s his name?”
“Tank. He was so teeny when he was borned, that we had to keep him in an aquarium tank under a warm light, but…” Little A’s voice muffled as he ran an arm under his nose. “You kin call him anything you want because he’s your dog now, and he’s not mine, and....”
Little A burst into tears, and Jameson was right there with him. He took a covert swipe at his eyes, then wrapped both arms around the sobbing boy on his knee and patted his back. Harley, Judy, Georgie, and Maddie were out there watching, and one of them was sniffling, too. But for now, Jameson’s attention was focused on the brave little soldier on his knee. “I like it. Tank’s a good, strong name for a dog. It’s hard giving your best friend away, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
“Ah huh,” Little A grunted, as he wiped his mouth or his nose again. It was hard to tell which. “But I gotta do it, cuz that’s why these dogs are borned in the first place. They got important things to do, too. Like Daddy and Mommy. Like you. They gotta amount to something or I’m not a good dog owner, only I am. I took real good care of my pups just so I could give this one to you.” Again, the boy’s voice rapped higher into a whine by the time he finished.
Jameson lifted his face in the direction where he supposed Harley was standing. Everyone was so quiet, it was hard to know for sure. “You’ve raised a good man here, Harley. You too, Judy.”
Harley coughed. “Yeah, well…” He coughed again. “Judy’s the reason these guys turned out as good as they have. I’m just their old man.”
“You’re a thousand times better than my old man,” Maddie murmured from Jameson’s right. “You should be proud.”
“I am.”
“He’s the best Daddy in the world,” Georgie added from Jameson’s right, “cuz he’s my dad.”
“Mine too,” Little A said quietly, “and he’s goofy and he’s funny, and I love him.”
“Aww,” Judy whispered.
Harley sounded like he needed a cough drop or someone to smack his back.
“Tank, huh?” Jameson asked Little A. “Will you show me how to feed him? What’s he like to eat besides flipflops?”
“He likes his kibble and raw pork bones and fresh cow hoofs and chicken legs and eggs and—”
“And pretty much anything that isn’t nailed down,” Harley interrupted. “He’s teething, so the more chew toys you provide, the longer your furniture’s going to last. No leather cowhide and no baked bones, though. The leather crap will twist his gut, and cooked or baked bones splinter. Might tear up his innards.”
“I brought his dishes and some puppy pads in case he has to pee before you can talk him for a walk and—”
“Cripes, A, take a breath, will ya?” Georgie grouched.
“I don’t hafta,” Little A shot back at his brother.
“Do too.”
“Do not! I can talk how I want.”
“Boys,” Judy scolded. “What do we do when you’re visiting friends?”
“We hafta be on our best behavior,” Little A replied meekly.
Georgie snickered, which earned him a thump on what sounded like his head and a stern “Behave,” from Harley.
“Wanna take him for a walk, Uncle Jameson?” Little A asked.
“Come with me?” Jameson asked as he set Little A on his feet, the leash firm in his hand.
“Aw right! Then I kin show you how to do it. See?” He took the leash back. “Tank already knows he has to walk on your left side, cuz that leaves your right hand free. Let’s go!”
Jameson looked toward where he knew Maddie was standing. “We’ll be right back. Wait for me?”
“Always,” she answered, a dreamy tone in her voice. “I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you kids get back.”
Jameson left the debate over donuts or a healthy breakfast behind as he opened the door and began his new life as an uncle and a dog owner. By the time he and Little A had walked around the block, he knew Tank was trained to sit when they came to a stop, to stay on command, and to be quiet. Little A had insisted Jameson hold the leash once they were on the sidewalk, which was mature for the little guy. He was only six. But Jameson also knew that Little A was afraid of the dark, which was why Harley had given him a dog to begin with. He also knew Georgie was a bit of a bully; he lived to destroy Little A’s LEGO creations. Also that Harley and Judy needed to soundproof their bedroom. Kids did say the darnedest things.
When they circled back to the apartment’s main entry, Little A asked, “How do you know which place is yours and where you should stop? You don’t have your cane, and Daddy says you can’t see. How’d you do that?”
“I count steps,” Jameson told him easily. “And today, I could tell we were nearly back home because Tank slowed when we turned the last corner.
