CHAPTER 3
Three days later, I decide that the house is ready for Sammy’s arrival. In the morning, I install the baby gate at the foot of the attic stairs. I don’t want Sammy getting up there. The stairs are too dangerous and too steep, and there’s nothing for him up there. Well, maybe rats. He would like that, chasing rats or mice. Yes, the terrier in him would like that.
I collect him from the kennel in mid-morning. I walk him up to the front door. He keeps his nose to the ground and sniffs his way up the path. The leash is tight, but he doesn’t pull. When I rattle with the keys at the door, he looks up at me with a wagging tail. I step into the porch with him and undo the lead. He’s off down the hall like a shot, nose skimming everything in his way – skirting boards, bottom step, kitchen doorway, the glove I dropped on the floor earlier.
I follow him into the dining room. His front paws are on the table, and I tell him off with a laugh. He looks guilty, then runs around the table, taking in all the smells around it. I haven’t had a single meal in that room yet, so there are no crumbs for him. He’s probably disappointed, but he quickly discovers where the food is kept and makes a beeline for the kitchen. He uses the other kitchen door to return to the hall, runs to the sitting room, takes a turn into my office and returns to the dining room. He sits down in front of the piano and looks up at it with a longing in his eyes. My heart feels heavy. That’s how I look at it sometimes, wishing that Jeff was here. I guess Sammy can still get his scent, at least, while I haven’t even got that. That brings a tear to my eye, but not wanting to ruin my reunion with Sammy, I move to the patio door and let him out. He is overjoyed with the space. Our old place never had much room for him to run around in. I have a feeling he’s going to be very happy in this house.
* * *
Everything’s a little better with Sammy around. He sleeps on the landing outside the bedroom and greets me enthusiastically every morning, excited to chase the birds in the garden or check if a rabbit has made an appearance overnight. One of the mornings, he chases a squirrel up a tree. Yep, Sammy’s enthusiasm for life is enviable but also a little tiring to watch. At least the house no longer feels empty. Sammy is barely any quieter than Jeff is, and Sammy dares to bark at the neighbours passing by, which we never would. I just try to wave politely.
I count the days since Jeff was last home. All the technology in the world can’t make it any easier being apart from your loved one. In some ways, it makes it harder. I selfishly want him to be home with me.
On the days I work from home, I sit in the office, occasionally staring out the large windows into the garden. On nice days, Sammy is running around or lying on the grass, enjoying the sunshine. He’s a rescue dog, so he loves his new lease of life.
Sometimes, even when I’m not working, I sit in the office looking up the latest on Jeff and his band. It’s the photos that hit me, the professional shots from photoshoots. The age of those pictures ranges, so he looks different in them. Sometimes his hair is half-long, a short kind of long or really long, but it’s always long by conventional standards. The Mrs Richardsons of this world would not approve. There are his blue eyes and the unsmiling mouth. Sometimes, when there are shots from stage, he smiles a little. It’s his happy place. I like those the most. I’m also fond of videos, so I spend a lot of time on YouTube.
I spend the evenings on the couch with Sammy.
At least I have someone to curl up to.