If Mike’s golden retriever hadn’t had the infected paw and been kept for two days at the vet’s he never would have met Rick. More precisely, though, if Mike hadn’t been the kind of person he was, their paths would never have crossed.
Mike was just sort of kicking around that day, with little to do, and he decided to go down to the vet’s and visit Rusty on a whim. Perhaps it was the hangdog look on the face of his other golden retriever, Nail, missing his mate and not knowing why she wasn’t there that made Mike feel guilty. He had no engagements that day and had planned to just lay around and sun himself on the lawn and maybe take in a movie later. And here, one of his beloved goldens was locked up in a cage and probably panicked at the thought she’d been abandoned—when she was in pain. For all Mike knew, Rusty could think she’d done something wrong, something to displease him, and was being doubly punished.
So, Mike mentally kicked himself in the butt and pulled himself out of the chaise lounge on the back lawn, dressed, and headed out to the edge of town, where his vet had his office and kennel.
As Mike pulled into the parking lot, which was nearly deserted on a Saturday afternoon, he noticed a car parked over in the corner, near the low-lying branches of a tree, about as far away from the entrance to the vet’s as it could get.
Parking closer to the entrance, he stepped out of his car and looked over at the other one again. Someone was in the car, in its driver’s seat, but hunched over. It was a man, and he seemed to be quaking.
Maybe he’s having a seizure, Mike thought. Maybe I should go over and see if he’s OK.
This is the sort of person Mike was, and so this is how he first met Rick.
“You OK, guy?” he said when he’d arrived at the car. It was a little Italian sports job and he had to lower his head to peer into the driver’s compartment. He could see some sort of rug or fur coat wadded up on the passenger seat when he scanned the interior. Mike was the cautious type. Finding a man in a car hiding out in a corner of the lot like this raised some “take care” instincts in Mike. He wouldn’t have known that was what he was doing when he first peered in the car if he’d been challenged on the issue, but truth be unfurled, he was scanning for some sort of weapon—something the man acting strangely could use on himself or someone else.
The man looked up, a dazed look on his face. Seemingly surprised to see another man staring in at him through the window glass but also numb and slow to react. Mike thought he looked nice and sane enough—in fact he was very good looking and not yet into his thirties. Blond and clean cut, someone who took good care of himself.
But tears were streaming down his face. It didn’t take a genius to know that he was in considerable distress. Mike looked him over real well—at least the part of him that he could see from outside of the car, looking for some sign that he was wounded, but not finding anything.
The man was giving him a slightly quizzical look, but he reacted in no other way.
“I said, are you OK, guy? Can I help you . . . do you need . . . could you just roll down your window, please?”
The man just stared at him for the longest moment, not comprehending, but then it dawned on him that Mike was trying to communicate something to him and was being impeded by the rolled-up window. He leaned over and pressed a button, and the window smoothly retracted down into the door panel.
“What . . . ?”
“I asked if you were OK. You seem to be in distress.”
“What . . . oh, yes I’m OK. I’ll be able to do it . . . soon . . . in a few minutes. Am I . . . ?” The man didn’t complete the sentence; he just sort of wound down.
“Do what in a few minutes? I don’t understand. Is something wrong?”
“No,” the man responded, but it wasn’t a convincing no; it was a quite possibly yes no.
“Are you alone? Is there someone I can call? Have you been out here for a long time? Are you here to see the vet? Are you on medication? Or is there some medication you should be taking and didn’t?”
The man just let the questions pile up, and a confused, and now quite concerned, Mike nonsensically kept adding one on top of the other, hoping that something would ring a bell with the man, that some question would be one he’d answer and this perplexing—and distressing—mystery could start to unravel.
“Are you here to see the vet?” Mike repeated, having felt that this question had affected the man more than any of the others did.
“Just a few minutes . . . a few more minutes more. Then we’ll go in. I think he’s asleep, and he isn’t whining now. I don’t want . . . to disturb him.”
“Him? Him who?” Mike asked. But then his eyes picked up the movement in the passenger seat. The rug or whatever it was there was moving. And focusing closer now, Mike could see that it was breathing—if only in belabored fits and starts.
“Is that your dog?” he asked, his voice going soft how, his mind racing ahead, assessing all of the options, close to the answer. An answer he didn’t want to be the answer. He didn’t know this guy and he didn’t know this dog, but Mike worked closely with dogs—and he worshipped the two he had.
Oh, God, he thought silently, don’t let this be that.
“I was supposed to bring him in on Thursday,” the man now said in a low, pained voice. “But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Jack seemed to be getting better. Whenever I checked him out he seemed to be getting better. But this morning I realized that he was only trying to seem to be getting better—for me. I can’t . . . I know he’s in pain. They told me the pain would only get worse. They told me it was for the best . . . for Jack.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mike murmured. “I know how hard it is. I’ve had to . . .” The words caught in his throat. It didn’t mean anything to this guy that Mike had had to do it too. Those weren’t this guy’s dogs. It wasn’t Mike facing this now.
“I’ve had him for three years. Got him when my dad died. Dad asked me to take care of him. But I think it was him who was taking care of me. Gave me a life. Made me think of something else—another living creature with needs and affection to give—other than me.”
The guy who hadn’t been able to talk before was now gushing it out. The fur ball moved, whined, and a muzzle unfolded and moved over to the guy’s lap. Mike could see the eyes now. The dog was looking up into the face of his master now. Trust in those eyes, but also sadness and pain. Mike could see that the dog was trembling. He could tell that the dog was in pain. Tears were still rolling down the guy’s cheeks, but Mike could feel his own eyes going misty too. The man snuffled and so did Mike. The dog gave a pitiful little whine, but his gaze up into his master’s face was unflagging.
“Sorry, I’m running on,” the man said. “Thanks for checking, but we’ll do this . . . just a few more minutes.”
“How long have you been out here?” Mike knew he should just turn and leave—leave the two alone for whatever last moments they had. But his feet were lead; they wouldn’t carry him away from the car.
“Is it still morning?” the man asked.
“No, it’s getting pretty late into the afternoon.” Mike had his answer and he knew now that he couldn’t leave. That the man couldn’t do it.
“I can walk you in . . . if you’re ready,” he said.
“A betrayal. I promised my dad I’d take care of Jack.”
“Not a betrayal,” Mike murmured. “Don’t think of it that way. A last kindness.” And then to take an edge off that, “How old is Jack?”
“Fifteen,” the man answered after a long moment of silence.
“Ah, well, then,” Mike said. And then they just remained there in tableau, the two men not moving, the dog breathing hard and whimpering—but guardedly, trying to the last to fool his master—to make him think it was getting better.
“It’s getting late,” Mike said. “They’ll close soon. Do you want to come back on Monday?”
“No. No, I can’t. I know he’s in too much pain. God, I’m such a failure. This one thing my dad ever asked of me . . . and I can’t.”
“Would you like for me to take Jack in for you? Then it wouldn’t be you. I’d stay with him. He wouldn’t be alone. I’d make sure they gave his collar to me, and I’d bring it back to you.”
“You’d do that for me? For Jack?”
“Yes, of course. I’d hope someone would do it for me . . . if I needed it. But I’ll need your name and address or something to take in with me. Is this your regular vet?”
“Yes,” the man whispered. “It’s our regular vet.” He rummaged around in his back pocket and came up a wallet. He extracted a business card from that and handed it to Mike through the open window with such shaking hands that Mike had to chase the card for a couple of seconds before grasping it.
“So, it’s OK? You want me to?”
The man didn’t answer—he couldn’t speak; he couldn’t say the words. But he nodded his head and Mike walked around to the passenger side and scooped the sheltie, Jack, up into his arms as gently as he could, and started walking toward the entrance to the vet. He looked down and saw that the dog was looking up into his eyes now with that trusting, pained look, but mercifully Mike couldn’t maintain eye contact for long. His own eyes were full of tears.
He hadn’t gone far when he felt a tug on his sleeve and he realized that the man had gotten out of the car and, although clinging to him, was trudging along beside him.
“I can’t not be there with him. But could you stay with us too?” he said in a halting voice.
“Sure,” Mike said. “I’d be glad to.”
Later, when they came out—with Mike only briefly stopping in the kennels in back to hug his own dog, Rusty, and whisper that he’d be back to take her home soon—he offered to take the man for coffee and then to drive him home if the man felt like he couldn’t manage it.
The man accepted. The coffee and Mike’s gentle way with him calmed the man down considerably.
“My name’s Mike,” Mike said after he’d brought the cups of coffee out to the sidewalk table.
“Oh, sorry, hi, Mike. I’m Rick. And thank you. I feel much better about it now. It was time. He had had enough.”
“I’m glad you can see it that way,” Mike said, “but it’s OK if you don’t feel better. I can tell what Jack meant to you.”
“I hated that dog. And I hated my dad for foisting him off on me. When he did, as he was dying, I thought it was his last hateful dig at me.”
Mike didn’t respond. He thought Rick was in shock and was overcompensating. He didn’t have to see any more evidence than he had that this guy hadn’t hated that dog.
Rick, who had been staring down at the surface of the café table when he said that, gave a little nervous laugh and looked up into Mike’s eyes, grateful that the man had been sensitive enough not to jump on him for saying what he’d blurted out.
“That was just the beginning, just the first couple of days, of course,” Rick said. “We actually bonded quickly. But that dog upset my apple cart. He was a ranch dog—he’d spent most of his life on my dad’s ranch, herding sheep. That’s what shelties are best for, you know—herding sheep. He’d never been an indoor dog. And here he was, dumped on me with no notice. Me living in a city apartment. An apartment house that didn’t allow dogs, and a super from hell. He made my life hell over that dog. I can’t even begin to describe what I had to do to keep that dog and me from being tossed out on the street on our tails before my lease was up. It was sheer hell.”
Mike said nothing. He just lifted the coffee cup to his lips and took a long, slow sip—providing an excuse for not saying anything.
Rick laughed again, the laugh not as tight this time. No hysterical edge to it. “Best thing that ever happened to me,” he muttered. “God, I loved that dog.”
Mike grunted—letting Rick know he was listening. Letting him know he wasn’t pushing him either way or being judgmental—or, as he almost had mistakenly done at the car, started making any of this to be about himself.
“Soon as I got to the end of that lease and out from under that super, Jack and I headed out here, to the edge of town. Got us a little house with a good-sized yard and nice neighbors willing to help with Jack when I had to work long hours or go off on a business trip.”
“Good for Jack, that,” Mike now said. “Good for a sheltie to have plenty of room.”
“And good for me too,” Rick answered, his voice now stronger, more confident. “He was my freedom too—changed my life a lot. In good ways. Best thing that bastard of a father ever did for me.”
Mike sensed that it was time. “Yep, a guy should always have a dog. I’ve got two now—golden retrievers. A matched set. But a dog is good to have. And they say it’s always good to get right back on that wagon.”
Rick went silent. Mike didn’t push further or try to fill in the silence. He could see Rick working that over in his mind.
“I don’t know. I don’t know how soon . . . or ever.”
“Know what you mean,” Mike said, “but still . . .”
“A heartbreaker . . . a real heartbreaker . . . when . . .”
“Still. There’s heart there. And a lot of good times. Some really good memories that go begging otherwise.”
“Yes, I guess, but . . .”
“I saw from your card that we don’t live far from each other,” Mike said. “Ever take Jack to Penn Park on weekends? They have off-leash days there then. I like to take mine and just let them run. It’s good for them. And I enjoy watching all of the dogs myself—seeing the variety and watchin’ them play with each other.”
“No. I’ve heard about the park. But I’ve never been there.”
“I thought not. Don’t remember ever seeing you there. It’s a lot of fun. Nice for folks who love dogs.”
"Yeah, I bet it would be."
"So, maybe I’ll see you there then someday."
"I don’t know . . ."
"I’d like that," Mike said. "I’d like to see how you’re doing . . . as time goes on." And when Mike said that, he realized that he really did want to see Rick again—and that his interest in Rick didn’t really have anything to do with dogs.
The two sat there drinking their now-cold coffee down to the bottom of the paper cups. Mike felt contented, and he noticed that Rick wasn’t shaking any more.
But he also noticed that he was holding Rick’s hand in his. He had wanted to be sensitive and supportive, but he hadn’t intended to be forward. He had to admit to himself, though, that he was attracted to Rick. He probably wouldn’t even have walked over to his car in the first place if he hadn’t been. Rick noticed that they were holding hands at the same moment that Mike did. But he didn’t withdraw his hand. He looked into Mike’s eyes, and what was conveyed between them in that look wrote volumes of what might be possible in other circumstances.
Suddenly flustered, Rick slowly took back his hand and sat back in his chair. He only now realized that both he and Mike had been leaning into toward each other over the table top. "I think I can go back to my car now," Rick said quietly when he had crushed his empty coffee cup and laid it on the table in front of him.
"You’ll be OK? Here’s my card, by the way . . . in case you’d like to meet up at the park someday and see my golden retrievers. I have yours."
"Yeah, thanks for the card. And I think so. I think I’ll be OK . . . if not today, tomorrow or the day after that. But thanks. Thanks. I don’t think I would have been OK if you hadn’t come along. That was really kind of you."
"Like I said back there, I would hope that someone would do the same for me . . . if I needed it. And I’m glad I met you." Mike lifted his eyes, hoping that he could catch Rick’s eyes with his and repeat just how glad he was they had met, regardless of the circumstance. But Rick was still staring at his crushed coffee cup.
Mike parked the car in the vet’s lot when they returned, and he forced himself not to look back as Rick walked over to his car. Mike entered the vet’s, glad that he’d gotten back a half hour before they closed up office. He suddenly wanted to see his Rusty. He wanted to bury his face in her fur and hug her close. And then he wanted to go right home and do the same with Nail.
Later that evening, Mike already having showered and clad only in a silk lounging robe, heard a knock on his front door.
It was Rick, standing there, hanging his head, and looking like he was about to turn and flee. But when Mike invited him in, he crossed the threshold.
Rick was holding Mike’s calling card in his hand like it was a bus ticket and nonsensically said, "Your address was on the card."
"Yes, yes, it is," Mike said.
"You were telling me about your dogs, your golden retrievers, and I thought I might—"
"Ah, yes. Nail’s closed up in the back bedroom, but you certainly can—"
Rick started to speak, but then he coughed—and cleared his throat. "You wouldn’t happen to have a drink of water I could borrow, do you?"
"I think I can spare one you can have. The kitchen is that way. I’ll get you a glass."
They moved into kitchen like zombies, and Mike opened a cupboard and took out a glass while Rick stood at the sink, his hand on the cold water facet handle, but just resting it there, not turning the water on. Mike came in close behind him and moved the hand holding the glass around to in front of Mike. But Mike didn’t take the glass. Mike was close enough behind Rick to know he was trembling. And Mike moved even closer in behind him and carefully set the glass down in the sink. Rick’s arms were spread away from his body, the heels of his hands dug into the edge of the kitchen counter at each side.
Mike took Rick’s wrists in his hands and pressed his body into Rick’s back, receiving a shudder as response and knowing that Rick could feel the urgency of him through the thin fabric of the robe and the nearly as thin fabric of Rick’s trousers and briefs. Rick sighed and moved his buttocks back into Mike, who then lowered his lips into the hollow of Rick’s neck and kissed him.
“Tell me if you don’t do this—if this makes you uncomfortable,” Mike whispered in Rick’s ear.
There was a pause, but then Rick said, in a low voice, “I can’t tell you that.”
Mike moved his pelvis, raising it and lowering it, his erection sliding up and down between Rick’s butt cheeks, leaving no doubt what he’d like from Rick. Rick moaned and turned his face and Mike raised his lips to meet trembling lips.
“I’m an exclusive top,” Mike whispered when the kiss broke.
“Good,” Rick responded. He reached back and held Mike’s erection through the thin fabric of the robe. They held for several instances and he ran his fingers up and down the length of the shaft, getting its measure.
But then Mike broke away and moved down the counter, opening a cupboard to keep his hands in check and pulling out a couple of wine glasses. It shouldn’t be easy like this. Rick was vulnerable and in shock. It would be taking advantage of him to do it like this, here, and now.
"Ummm. I think we both need a drink. White or red."
"What?" Rick was still standing at the sink, quaking.
"Wine. White or red. Go on into the living room and get comfortable. I’ll bring out the wine."
Mike wasn’t rejecting the idea of sex, but he thought it best to give Rick more time, more room—and an escape, if he wanted it.
"Oh. Uh, red, I guess." Rick turned, and the rapidity with which he fled the kitchen told Mike that he must be having second thoughts. It was good that he had stopped.
But when Rick entered the living room, it was empty. He looked over at the door. It was closed, but that didn’t mean that Rick hadn’t recovered himself and left the house. But then he looked around and saw that the door to his bedroom was wide open. He always kept that door closed. The dogs had visitation rights in his room, but not free access.
Rick was stretched out on the bed, on his belly, and naked. Mike pulled at the sash of his robe and it fell to the carpet. And then he was on the bed, his body stretched out full length on top of Rick, who was trembling but who murmured an "Oh, god, yes. Please," as Rick began to move his hands and body on Rick’s back. Within minutes, Rick dug his knees into the bed spread and raised his hips into Mike’s moving pelvis.
"Please. Cover me. Please." Mike was whimpering.
He was ready—more than ready—and Mike crouched over Rick’s back, encircling the trembling young man’s body with his arms. Rick shuddered as Mike slid right into him and they were transported into the rhythm of the fuck almost immediately. Mike was crying and thrusting his hips back hard with each dig of Mike’s cock.
"I’m sorry. Am I hurting you?"
"No, no. Please don’t stop. Please . . . don’t . . . stop."
Rick never did see Nail that evening.
