Page 88 of Doing Life

“Hey, I was the one to say you needed him.” Lance reached up to touch his shoulder.

“You did. I can’t wait to take him camping. Okay. Be back in a bit.”

He got all the paperwork settled, and he had to grin at how many folks were stunned that a former military K-9 guy was willing to adopt a big, goofy hound who had washed out of drug-sniffingandcadaver work.

“What are you gonna do with him?” the one attendant asked.

“Go on long walks. Play ball. Maybe do some scent training for fun.” Just let him be a dog.

It didn’t get much better than that. This was his emotional support Maynard, dammit.

They were going to have so much fun together he could hardly stand it.

Lance threw the ball,knowing as long as he kept it low enough it would stay in the backyard.

Abby and Maynard chased it, Abby silent and quick, Maynard baying loud as he gallumped along.

God, they were a hoot. Abby let Maynard have the ball about one in every three turns so he didn’t get frustrated, he thought. They slept together on the couch and in the bedroom. They’d had to get bigger dog beds.

Those two were thick as thieves.

And God knew, Maynard had become a therapy dog not just to Sloan, but to all of Lance’s friends as well. Brick and Stan and Chris adored him.

It was impossible to not be joyful around the big lug. He exuded it all the time.

“They having a ball, honey?” Sloan asked as he came out. He had to have a shower when he got home. Some asshole had thrown a Coke at him while he was on a traffic stop.

“Ha-ha,” Lance said. “Very punny.”

“I amuse the fuck out of my— oof. Hey, Maynard. Did you miss me? Here you go, buddy. Abby, want a cookie?”

He was always amazed at the running commentary Sloan kept up for him so he could “see” what was happening. But then, Sloan had always been wordier than him anyway.

“Want a beer, honey?”

“If you brought one for me, sure. I waited on you.”

“I appreciate it. Man, I was sticky. Had to wash out my uniform too. It’s like I pulled a double shift at the Waffle House.”

“Ick.” That was some sticky, then.

“How’s Maynard been today?”

Lance chuckled and shook his head. “Fine. He caught a squirrel, let it go. I assume that’s what that was, anyway. They’ve had forty-seven rounds of zoomies, a couple thousand belly rubs. It’s been good.”

Sloan sat down with a thump and handed him a beer bottle. “We’re out of Shiners, so these are Coronas.”

“Works for me.” He took a deep draw from the bottle, the citrusy flavor of the beer refreshing as fuck.

“How was your day?”

Lance had to grin. He would have said that he would have been bored sitting here at the house, but really, for the most part, he had a lot to do. He researched on his computer. He’d almost decided that massage therapy school was an actual thing.

Hell, he had the dogs to occupy his time. He’d made himself lunch, he’d done dishes. He did his physical therapy.He was actually sort of busy. He’d even done a load of laundry. “It was good, normal. I liked it.”

“Good deal. My day was less wonderful, but not bad. I mean, barring the Coke explosion thing. That kind of sucked.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. Yeah, I can’t…There’s just no good there.”

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