Coming Home

The contractions started around nine o’clock, and as my wife Adera tried to walk through them, Scout danced around her, his face a mask of concern. When she perched on the edge of the bed, breathing through the crest of another wave, he sat at her feet. Later, while Adera and I were at the hospital, Scout paced the living room of our friends’ home.

His face was in the front window when I pulled up the next day. There you are! An explosive greeting, all tongue and tail. He gave me a good sniff. Hospital smell. And something else. Something new. His nose lingered. Through the short ride home, I saw him in the rearview mirror, watching me. Something new.

He burst into our home, his whole back end wagging with excitement. His nose came up in discovery. From the bedroom, our newborn, Brody, let out a tiny cry. Scout froze, his eyes widening. Whoa. He looked up at me. Whoa. Something new. He started to tremble.

“Come on, Scout,” I said, “come meet Brody.”

After some coaxing without him budging, I let him be. He walked to the far end of our home, across the long hallway leading to the bedroom, and sat down. Whoa.

Brody squirmed and cooed on the bed, a single sunrise to his name. “You’re going to love Scout,” I told him, swimming in long worn memories of warm fur against my soft skin.

After a while, I went out and sat next to Scout on the floor. He lay his head on my legs and sighed. One moment, he was the centre of attention—the lover of couch cuddles, runs on the beach, and treat after treat after treat—and the next, his pack had changed. I looked around our home. Everything looked the same. The photos hung from the walls in the same places, the same smiles, but the people were now different. Something new.

Scout came to us as a rescue, just a few months old. His name was Ghost then. He was scared of just about everything. We were told he needed extra love and support, and when we took him for a walk to see if we were a match, he clung to us like a toy shadow. Soon, we came to a small bridge over a creek. Ghost froze. When we tried to get him to cross it, he back-peddled, his tail tucked under himself. We became cheerleaders, urging him on. His ears perked up, and he eyed that bridge like it was a mountain. He took one step. Then another. And another. When he reached the other side we erupted in cheers, and he bounced between us, bursting with pride. He just needed a breath before he took a run at it. We took him home and named him Scout, a name to inspire the courage within him. Now, he just needed to take a breath before he took a run at this.

A couple of hours later, Adera and I were gathered on the bed around Brody like he gave us warmth, and Scout’s face appeared in the doorway. Usually he’d be in his place at the foot of the bed, tail slapping the duvet in anticipation of a walk. He waited, looking for approval. May I come in?

“Come on, Scout,” Adera said, “someone wants to meet you.” She cradled Brody in her arms.

Soft, slow steps to the bed. Something new looked fragile. Scout watched for a moment, putting a face to the smell.

“This is baby Brody, your brother,” Adera said. A name to the face to the smell.

Scout leaned forward and sniffed Brody’s head, ruffling the downy hair. Brody wriggled, and tiny fingers brushed the side of Scout’s face. A tender lick, Hello, made it official. We were a family.