Star Crossed
an Angel Paws short story
Jordan Taylor
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Copyright © 2013 by Jordan Taylor. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Cover photo of “Simon” the yellow Labrador Retriever puppy by Eesterle on Wikimedia Commons, licensed under the Creative Commons.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
No trees were harmed in the creation or publication of this work.
Short Stuff Press
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Star Crossed
Star stood on the cement floor of the kennel, tail swinging slowly, head tilted as if hearing a strange sound. She watched Liz with her deep brown eyes shrouded by uncertainty.
The chain link door closed with a click.
“She’ll have a great time here,” the volunteer said to Liz and Tom.
Liz could hardly hear her, though she kept talking about the training, the feeding, the love and attention each dog received. Liz could not look into Star’s eyes for another moment—those endless, soulful eyes that stared into her. Her own green eyes were full of tears.
She walked quickly down the row of other watchful Labrador and Golden Retrievers, out the door. By the time she reached fresh air, Liz was running, blind with tears, shaking from head to toe.
“Liz?” Tom jogged after her. “Liz, please—”
“I want to go home.”
“I know it’s hard, but—”
“I want to go home!” Liz was through the parking lot, grabbing for the door of their blue CR-V.
She heard Tom fumbling keys from his pocket. The doors unlocked.
Liz already had her seat belt on as Tom climbed into the driver’s seat beside her. She pulled tissues from her purse, covering her face.
His hand rested on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
They sat there for a long time, him silent, her crying into the tissues, until Tom pulled the car out of the lot. Starting the hour’s drive home.
Leaving Star behind.
~ ~ ~
Elizabeth Barrett, universally known as Liz, had longed for a baby since she herself was a little girl. She carried dolls everywhere, tucked them in at night, told them stories, rocked and fed them and pushed them in strollers. Later, she babysat, played endless games of peek-a-boo with her little cousins, and daydreamed about the day she would cradle her own child in her arms.
But Liz had another feature which her mother insisted would take her far: practicality. One thing at a time.
She grew up, met Andy, fell in love, went to school to become a teacher, fell out of love, worked hard, met Tom.
Liz and Tom were married at 25. By 26 Liz’s friends and family started dropping hints that they were looking forward to the first baby shower—or had already been planning the event for her. By 27 the anticipation was turning to curiosity, even concern. Everyone in Liz’s life, from her mother to her favorite librarian, knew how much she wanted a baby.
Tom, who grew up with six siblings, couldn’t wait to start a family. They were settled, both working, not yet prepared for a mortgage payment, but comfortable and saving. They were ready. But there was still no baby.
One evening at dinner, with Liz’s mind miles away, wandering over grades and funding, Tom asked if she had ever considered getting a puppy.
Liz almost laughed—just stopping herself with the reminder that Tom was a thoughtful man. A draftsman, Tom could solve complex puzzles—that would make Liz’s hair stand on end—simply by looking at them for a minute or two. He wouldn’t have said such a thing if he wasn’t serious.
Keeping her tone mild, she said, “I’m not looking for a replacement, Tom.”
“Of course not.” He shook his head, then set down his fork across from her at the oak table. He had fixed them homemade pizza and a tossed salad: the only meal he could cook besides grilling, but always delicious. “That’s not what I mean at all. It’s just.…”
She watched him frown over his pizza, searching for the right words.
“We haven’t been blessed with a child yet. I’m not saying we won’t be. And I’m not saying we should get a dog instead of starting a family. Nothing like that. I always had dogs growing up. Maybe”—he smiled—“before the baby comes, we could see how well we do with a puppy. I don’t mean to say a dog and a baby are the same, but … it couldn’t hurt to have the practice.”
“I don’t know.” Liz shook her head, though it was impossible not to smile back. “I’ve never had a dog. It sounds like a lot of extra work just now. We’re not home enough for a puppy, are we? Do people take puppy maternity leave?”
Tom chuckled. “I don’t know about that. But I’m still working from home some and you’ll soon be off for the summer.”
“Then what? What if we get a dog and, in six months, just when it’s destroying the house and turned our lives upside down, I find out I’m pregnant? Then we have a teenage dog and a baby on our hands.”
Tom pushed away his plate and leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got me there.”
Liz chuckled, but she did think about a dog over the next few days. She’d never had a dog before, never thought of the possibility. Her mother was highly allergic and Liz had little contact with dogs growing up.
Now she began to wonder if a puppy wasn’t a good idea after all. It would take their minds off baby impatience, give them a common goal in the raising and training of it. And, perhaps, it really would be good to have practice taking care of a creature who was solely dependant on the two of them for food, shelter, affection.
Liz browsed online and went to the library, where she discovered book after book stating that getting a dog was a lifetime commitment. A dog could live 12, 13, even 16 years or more. There was food, medical bills, care for when they were out of town, exercise, training. What if they moved? What about landlords? What if there was an accident?
By the time she had skimmed a few dog books, Liz dropped the idea. They made it sound so dreadfully serious. One didn’t just go out casually to add a puppy to one’s life any more than one casually added a baby.
It was some weeks after Tom first mentioned a dog, and they had said nothing else about it, when Liz was at the grocery store and saw something that made her turn for another look. A black Labrador Retriever puppy sat quietly at a woman’s feet as she paid for her groceries in the checkout line. The dog wore a bright blue vest with white letters: DO NOT PET. Service Dog in Training.
Liz longed to approach the woman to ask about the beautiful pup, but they were on their way out and Liz couldn’t abandon her cart to chase them through the parking lot.
She made a mental note and went home that evening to look up training service dog puppies online. An hour later, she was still reading, enthralled. And had already sent a couple of emails. By the time Tom was home, she hadn’t even started dinner, but was on the phone with Cindy Williamson of The Canine Service Academy, only an hour from home.
When Liz hung up, she ran to Tom in the kitchen, beaming, slightly out of breath. “How would you like to be a puppy raiser?”
Tom looked at her. “I thought we decided that was too big a commitment right now.”
“This puppy is only for a year.”
Tom cocked his head. “I’m listening.”
~ ~ ~
The first time Star gazed into Liz’s face with those huge, inquisitive puppy eyes, black nose, floppy ears, all set in smooth, creamy gold fuzz, Liz finally understood the expression “melt your heart.”
All Liz wanted to do with Star those first days was cuddle and play and carry the puppy around every moment. Star seemed to have only two settings: On and Off:
She ran, chased, tripped over her own feet. She yapped, bit fingers, dragged soft puppy toys around the house like a proud conqueror. She kissed faces, licked toes, stuck her little face into shoes, crawled under beds, and even managed the back steps on her own. The next moment, Star would be out—flopped on her side, tail, ears, and all four limbs fanned like a sea star. At such times, Liz could pick her up, kiss her muzzle, carry her around on her back with her paws in the air, or settle her inside her crate bed—all without the chunky puppy even opening her eyes.
“I thought training starts right away,” Tom said, walking in one evening to find Liz rocking Star in her arms as she waited for the oven to preheat.
“She’ll get her training.” Liz smiled down into the smooth, peaceful face. “But she can have a few cuddles now and then.”
“Now and then, eh?” Tom grinned at them. “Remember, it’s only for a year.”
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be pros by the time she’s ready to start official training.” Liz pressed the puppy into Tom’s arms and turned to grab the casserole dish. She was off for the summer now—finding that cooking, learning about dog training from the service dog academy, and puppy raising all suited her.
Liz did get down to the training part over the next few days. Star wasn’t even house-trained and Liz had a prepared curriculum to follow, including weekly classes. Housebreaking, crate training, leash training, then basic obedience. It had been quite a process just to jump through all the hoops and qualify to get the service dog puppy in the first place. Now Liz and Tom were both determined not to let the organization down.
Star’s future—if she was properly raised and socialized, properly trained, had the right temperament for it, and passed all the final tests—lay in being a guide dog for a blind or visually impaired person. Less than a year to turn this fuzzy, mouthing heap into a calm, mannerly, even-tempered dog with all her obedience up to scratch. Then a professional trainer with the organization would take over and real guide training could begin.
As the first month flew past, Liz found herself amazed by how much time a puppy took. And she was, after all, only a puppy. One could not place a human baby in a crate for a couple hours to meet friends for dinner. Perhaps Star was good parenthood practice after all.
Although he didn’t coo over her or carry her around on her back like a baby, Liz could see Tom falling for their heap of golden fur just as much as she was. He spent short training sessions with her in the evenings, working on sit, lie down, and stay. He was always vigilant about her schedule, quick to take her out in the morning, then last to take her out at night, rewarding with lavish praise and petting when she did her business outside. If he watched TV in the evenings now, he did so with a couple of dog toys and a brush handy. They would play and groom, practice putting the Service Dog in Training vest on and off, then flop back together on the couch, Star draped over Tom’s lap like a stuffed toy.
Liz didn’t know if Tom was deliberately working extra hard with the puppy because he wanted to show her, Liz, what a good dad he could be, or if he just had dog experience from his childhood and knew how things worked. Either way, he was doing a good job, she thought, watching them one night as they lay on the couch together—Tom with his feet up, Star stretched out against him, paws twitching in sleep.
Star’s training grew more serious as she ventured farther and farther into the world. Once she had learned that it was safe and comfortable to be left home alone in her crate, she learned that it was even more fun to go along.
Tom settled a car crate firmly in the back of the CR-V and the two of them started Star’s education outside the home.
Over the next months, Liz took Star to the park to practice come, the grocery store to practice watch me, the drug store for stay work, the post office for lie down, and the bank—where Star impressed both clerks and clientele by demonstrating she already knew how to turn in a circle and shake hands on cue.
By the time Star reached five months old, she was going in restaurants, walking through the mall, riding buses, and had even been to her first 3D movie. She also had to go to work with either Liz or Tom, mostly Liz, every day now. In between, there was obedience at home, vet visits, meetings and classes with the service dog team, including other puppy raisers, and plenty of exercise for Star with long walks and games at home.
Such a lot of work. Liz marveled at what puppy raisers let themselves in for as she fell back in bed one night. Tom was already there. His reading light on, but his book on his chest and his eyes closed.
So much. Yet, Star made it easy. Even the other puppy raisers had noticed:
“That’s a lovely puppy you’ve got.”
“Is she always this attentive?”
“She knows just what you want.”
Liz glanced over the side of the bed to see Star stretched out in her new, full-sized crate, big enough to grow into. The door was open, but it was still her favorite place to sleep. Her light gold coat, dusted in white, gleamed in dim light. Her feet were enormous and her ears flopped too big around her soft face. She still had so much growing to do.
It’s all her, Liz thought, watching the big puppy. Star was the one getting Liz through this. Not Liz getting Star through. They had nicknamed her Little Lady, Emily (Post), and Big Eyes, because of her quiet manners, her watchfulness, her constant attention to them.
Although, of course, she was still a puppy and had puppy moments. The first time Liz made a special trip to the airport for Star’s benefit, Star spotted a police K-9 patrolling through the terminal and decided she needed to see him. She barked, whined, and jumped against her leash. The K-9 barked back.
Mortified, Liz dragged her pup out to the sidewalk, crowded with travelers disembarking taxis and private cars. Pulling Star out of the way, Liz snapped the collar sharply and shook a finger in her face.
“No. Sit.”
She had been warned not to go around doing that—no harsh physical corrections—but to use tone of voice and body language. Under no account was she to risk frightening her charge or making her leery of things like airports or crowded sidewalks. The puppy class trainer warned her that dogs sometimes generalize with alarming speed.
Star sat. She gazed up at Liz, dark eyes wide, ears back, ignoring the crowds around them. A passive but attentive face Liz could already read: I’m sorry. Tell me what you want.
“Good girl, good Star.” Liz scratched her neck, focused her with a treat, then led her back inside the noisy airport.
K-9 and handler had moved on. Star hardly took her eyes from Liz’s face as they practiced simple exercises like sit and down stay around the quietest bag check areas.
“You really are a star,” Liz told her and kissed her muzzle before leading the way back to the parking garage.
Liz and Tom were not the only ones enamored with their rapidly growing Labrador. Liz’s second-graders adored her. Tom’s architect and draftsman coworkers all knew and praised her. Nearly everyone in the local shops—from grocery store to book store to pizza place to service station—knew Star. Everyone in the bank and library spoke to her by name and asked Liz how things were going. When friends came over, they usually greeted Star before Liz and Tom:
“How’s the little lady?”
“Hey, Star.”
“Where’s Emily been visiting today?”
Liz had never had anything against dogs. But she hadn’t had much for them either. She thought dogs were nice to have around. Like the color pink. It wasn’t her favorite, but it was a great accent and just the right touch for certain occasions. While she’d never actually laughed at anyone saying their dog was like a child to them, she couldn’t take such a thing seriously.
Until Star. One puppy, one watchful, eager, affectionate dog, and Liz began to question everything she had ever thought, or not both
ered to think, about the most magical interspecies relationship in the world. By the time Star was in her sixth month, Liz freely admitted it: she was a committed dog person.
At the same time, a new doubt, a new worry, grew in the back of her mind. Six months. Star’s time with them was dwindling.
One day soon, Liz’s little lady would not be hers anymore.
~ ~ ~
Maybe it was the cement kennel rather than a comfy family room and couch. Maybe it was Liz’s own repressed emotions finally bursting through the surface. Maybe it was the expectancy changing to bewilderment in Star’s eyes. Maybe it was simply not being able to explain to her big, fuzzy baby girl the when and why of it all.
After crying herself home from the kennel on that long, horrible drive, worse even than the drive to take Star in—abandon her, lock her up—Liz couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. Couldn’t work. Called in sick for the rest of the week.
Just the sight of Star’s water bowl, still on the kitchen floor, or her favorite tennis ball, cracked and with half the green fuzz shredded off, would choke Liz, block her throat, fill her eyes.
Nothing anyone said helped. Because Liz already knew she was being irrational. Being selfish. She knew all along she was raising Star for a higher purpose. She knew she would have to give her up. She knew this would happen. And she had been ready. Ready to grit her teeth and say goodbye.
But she hadn’t known, could never have guessed, how devastating that goodbye could be.
After a few days, Tom packed Star’s things they still had in a plastic storage box. She could tell he didn’t like seeing them around any more than she did.
“Not to get rid of,” he said. “Just to … set aside for now.”
Set aside. She just had to set her little lady aside. In a kennel. Behind a cold, steel fence, with strange dogs, strange people. Set her aside.
By Monday, Liz returned to work, but all the kids asked about Star. They knew she had been returning to the organization to start guide training. Now they wanted to know how she was, when she would be a real guide dog, would they see her again one day?
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