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“You make an excellent point. In that case, I’ll get on with my project while you decide the future of the Dog’s Paw.”
“Deal!”
I love that my tiny office has an entire wall of windows. From here, I can see all the way down the gardens to the far side of the property. It’s like the world goes on forever. Sure makes number crunching on a Sunday with hand-written ledgers a lot more palatable.
My phone pings.
No message, just a picture from Alli. It’s Ranger… climbing a tree? That can’t be right. I turn the phone sideways just in case I’m looking at it from the wrong angle, but the phone turns the picture along with it. I’ll be darned, my border collie is climbing a tree.
This dog and I have a special relationship. That’s what going through years of avalanche training together will do. When we’re out there in the mountains, which we do most weekends when I’m not trying to solidify my job, it’s like we’re the only ones on the planet. He takes his job very seriously, far more than I’ll ever do as an accountant. And I understand why. Out there, he has purpose. He has a calling. He feels his instincts running through him like this is what he was meant to do.
I admire him.
Yes, I admire a dog. He is unabashedly, unashamedly, boldly, and proudly… himself.
When we’re together, tracking or training, part of him rubs off on me. I feel that pull too, that need to fulfill something greater than myself. To make the world a better place by helping a single person get through something hard.
But those are just dreams. A man needs a job, needs to put bread on the table and dog food in the dish.
And what I’m doing now with the Dog’s Paw is laying the foundation for them to do something bigger. I’ve found the ebbs and flows of their revenue streams. I’ve tracked the money-suckers and gold mines.
I just have to make it presentable for Miss Chardonnay so that the answer is plain as day.
There is a market to start a new service at the Dog’s Paw Dog Spa…
A mountain rescue service.
The sun is setting. I can’t see it from my office, but the streaks of red and orange are a masterpiece painted across the sky.
And my office is getting dark.
I’m almost done, but time is ticking and I’m always home for Ranger’s dinnertime.
My phone pings.
“I can feed him if you’re still busy.” Alli texts with a smiley face at the end.
It’s a smiley because she knows my reply already.
“Home soon. Fire up the BBQ and call your sis. We’re having wings.”
“You sure know how to talk to a girl.”
The irony. I wish I knew how to talk to girls. As it is, there’s only one girl I can talk to. And the irony goes even further because, with her, I don’t even have to talk. We can just share the air, and it’s like she knows.
But that’s part of the problem.
Alli is my best friend. We made a promise to each other a long time ago. It’s a promise I’ll keep.
Best friends forever.
“Home soon,” I reply, and I know how tonight will go. Cass and Alli and I will laugh as Ranger shows off his best tricks, possibly including tree climbing, as of today. Alli will tell tales that stretch the truth for comic purposes, while Cass will weave in stories of the wild cases she’s seen at the hospital.
Then our parents will descend for dessert, as they always do, since they’ve been friends almost as long as Alli and me.
That’s what Sundays have been like for the whole of my adult life, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Alli – Sunday
